"The consensus in academia used to be that the war on cancer was an endless arms race: we invent new drugs, tumors evolve resistance. But if our theory is correct, the arms race will end."
Yang Ping spoke with considerable excitement.
"This won't be an arms race, but a dialogue. We've finally learned to speak a language that cancer cells can understand, telling them: your existence is a mistake. Now, correct it."
After discussing with everyone for a long time, Yang Ping left the institute late.
His mind was still swirling with data, models, and patient screening criteria...
When he opened the door, a small light was left on in the living room. Xiao Su had already gone to sleep, but there was a thermos on the dining table, with a note tucked underneath:
"The soup is in the thermos, good night, my Professor."
Yang Ping held the note and stood in the living room for a long time.
