In media reports or books and magazines, scientific progress is just a phrase, unremarkable.

In reality, what drives scientific progress is countless amounts of money.

Not every scientific research gets a positive response; often, this is unattainable, as the research direction might be wrong, or technological limitations restrict it, ultimately turning the funds invested into a mere accumulation of techniques.

Accumulation is not success; it is just a necessary preparation for success. From an investor’s perspective, and in terms of returns, it’s at least a loss in the short term.

The more cutting-edge the technology, the truer this becomes.

The more people demand something, the more researchers will delve into it, the more money will be invested, and the more people will flock to the industry.

If there is a common vision for all humanity, it must be the longevity of life.

Whether poor or high society, everyone yearns to live longer.

From the beginning of human civilization, the pursuit of eternal life seems engraved in people’s genes.

Conversely, inherently within human and biological genes exists the desire for eternal longevity.

Every year, large amounts of money are transferred by wealthy individuals, dignitaries, and even secret accounts into cutting-edge medical research. When theological paths to immortality prove unfruitful, they naturally turn their gaze to medicine.

Perhaps medicine cannot truly make humans immortal, but it can extend life to the greatest extent.

Years ago, a science fiction movie called "Many-Faced Man" premiered, in which aliens could swap brains with humans using advanced technology, hiding among humanity. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

This movie greatly inspired medicine. Since human aging and death stem from organ aging, if people were to receive completely new organs, wouldn’t they become immortal?

Thus, the subject of organ transplantation has continuously advanced with the support of various wealthy and influential figures, both openly and covertly, yielding early results in animals.

However, the success rate remains relatively low, with persistent issues affecting these projects, such as rejection problems.

People are constantly resolving these issues. Some scientists believe that within ten to twenty years, organ transplant technology could mature, and in fifty years, it could successfully be applied clinically.

Fifty years... too long; Mr. Wycliffe cannot wait fifty years.

After a new consultation, Mr. Wycliffe stayed with his attending doctor, leaving them alone together.

"I’ve recently felt my heart growing weaker..." Mr. Wycliffe’s face was slightly pale, and his expression looked grim.

The doctor nodded, "This is an inevitable process; some people deteriorate faster, some slower. We can’t precisely assess the exact time, but your situation is indeed serious."

Mr. Wycliffe stood up, walked to the window, and watched the children running on the lawn under the sun, showing a trace of jealousy on his face.

"The surgery you mentioned... are you referring to heart transplantation?"

The doctor didn’t hide it, "If your situation reaches the point where surgery is necessary, it indicates that medication can’t control it very well anymore. You’re faced with only two options."

"Attempt surgery with a very low, perhaps less than five percent chance of success, or give up all treatment and face death."

Heart failure isn’t like other things; once it’s gone, it’s gone. If the heart stops beating, nothing else matters.

Even intervention offers few solutions; replacing the heart with a healthy one seems to be the only way.

Mr. Wycliffe fell silent for a moment, "I don’t intend to give up my life; I have an idea..."

For money’s sake, the doctor patiently replied, "Please, go ahead. I’m listening."

He turned to the doctor, his gaze somewhat compelling, "Why don’t we directly conduct experiments on humans; this should apply faster to humans than researching on animals!"

The idea isn’t entirely wrong, considering even if animal studies show a 100% success rate, numerous issues arise when applied to humans.

So why not start researching on humans from the beginning?

The doctor forced a couple of laughs, "Mr. Wycliffe, I understand your concern about your current physical condition, but your inquiry..."

He shook his head, "We haven’t fully mastered these technologies yet; recklessly applying them clinically might result in significant experimental failures, and it violates ethics."

Mr. Wycliffe raised his hand, halting the doctor from continuing, "I don’t care about ethics, nor whether others might die. My only concern is that when the time comes, how likely I am to survive."

"You can speak with the hospital’s senior officials, those responsible for these research studies. I can arrange suitable venues for your investigations."

"Some people in this world should have died long ago, yet they’re still alive; maybe this is the reason they survive!"

The doctor nodded, refraining from further disputes despite feeling that perhaps this endeavor could succeed.

Scientific progress often requires sacrifices, and advancements in medical science are no exception.

"I’ll convey your thoughts, Mr. Wycliffe..."

Watching the doctor leave, Mr. Wycliffe’s eyes showed only unwillingness; he refused to leave this world prematurely and began seriously contemplating how to obtain funds.

Even if the hospital here doesn’t support his proposal, he can find others to conduct these studies; within a year or two, he still waits, through constant trials, to find solutions.

And all this requires money.

Money becomes increasingly important, increasingly critical!

Regarding Mr. Wycliffe’s anxiety, Lynch couldn’t relate at all; firstly, he wasn’t ill; secondly, he was young with ample time to indulge—truthfully, not entirely.

The Federation’s current average life expectancy is just over sixty, despite high medical standards; with Lynch almost twenty-five, a young man.

Yet in terms of average age, he has lived half of his life.

Humans are truly a pitiful species; endowed with wisdom giving rise to a brilliant civilization, yet cruelly constrained by limited lifespans.

The fleeting life force endures too much suffering; if people lived longer or without developing self-awareness and personalities, how wonderful it would be.

Toiling through life like those monkeys, arriving ignorantly and leaving ignorantly, without concern, without sorrow.

As the President’s pen touched the treaty, the "Bupen Treaty" was officially signed.

Countless cameras flashed, with the President standing centrally among twenty-four diplomats, ministers, and various diplomatic officials.

This organization will fundamentally alter the disorderly status quo in international trade, making everything orderly—a common desire.

For small countries, perhaps they don’t grasp the strategic intentions expressed by the Federation Government nor understand the significance of international financial warfare; they simply seek orders.

Orders can aid their escape from current economic difficulties; some also desire industrial assistance or some form of aid.

Whatever their purpose, at this moment, everyone is tightly united.

The President smiled joyfully, revealing his slightly yellowing teeth.

His dentist said it’s not tooth discoloration but age-related degradation exposing deeper tooth dentin layers.

These dentin layers easily stain, thus appearing somewhat yellow, not due to neglecting oral hygiene—an inevitable circumstance.

To him, this moment holds importance and remembrance; absent grand ambitions, achieving historical recognition through a piece of paper is an unexpected gain.

For an elderly man with some conservativeness, this may be one of the best news.

After photography, it transitioned to the press conference stage; lively due to many prominent figures gathering, likely the first historic convergence of so many countries.

Every reporter wanted to speak, for their valuable materials might become "history," and they might be "fragments of history," known to countless successors.

"The girl in the front row looks nice..." the President whispered lightly to Mr. Truman beside him.

Mr. Truman glanced at the young girl, similarly whispering, "She’s not one of ours."

The President seemed somewhat disappointed, pointed to the lady next to the blonde girl, a woman with brown hair appearing in her thirties.

"Thank you, Mr. President, for choosing me. I’m a reporter from... My question is..."

A conscientious reporter, offering questions essentially supplementing the prepared statement.

With such major political events, crucial media outlets receive press releases beforehand, knowing what to ask and what not to ask.

Only those who abide by the rules can coexist within the ecosystem.

Those breaking rules are excluded from the circle.

Subordinate to the President listened attentively to the female reporter’s inquiry and responded humorously, winning over all the reporters.

People applauded the President’s speech, marveling at his wisdom.

Many were well aware these were standard answers, predetermined before the questions.

Another foolish question...

Still, reporters diligently noted the President’s response, as these were to be published.

Subsequently, hands were raised again...