Chen was lying on the cold bed in the operating room, his heart was 263 kilometers away from him.

Twenty-seven-year-old Chen, a patient who was admitted to the hospital a few days ago, was found to have a malignant tumor in his left atrium. Because the tumor hadn’t metastasized or spread, a heart transplant was Chen’s only chance of survival. But how could it happen that there was an unclaimed heart waiting to enter Chen’s chest? Of the 100 patients who need a heart transplant, not even one person will have the opportunity for this.

A jet passed through the clouds, and Chen’s brother who heard the news looked at the sky outside the window and asked Wong.

“He’s only twenty-seven years old. There must be some chances right, doctor?”

In exchange, there was a wry smile hiding in the corner of his mouth and a sigh against the wall after closing the door.

Until the evening of July 11, 2021, a 50-year-old patient with traumatic brain injury in Changzhou First People’s Hospital was confirmed to be brain-dead with the last ray of sunlight. The family is willing to donate his organs, including his heart. After review, Chen was fortunate enough to get this precious opportunity for the transplant. Maybe fifty-year-old heart rationing for twenty-something Chen sounds like a losing business, but without that opportunity, the end of his story will be doomed.

The family decided to hold on to the last chance. Replacing the heart.

The signed document was left on the table, and the lights in the operating room were turned on. Cardiac surgeon Dr. Wong went from Shanghai to Changzhou First People’s Hospital to harvest the heart. The heart was successfully removed at 7:49 pm. Wong did not dare to stop, immediately put it in the fresh-keeping box, and rushed back to Shanghai with it.

“The heart secretes a substance, which is the last door left by God to people. It must be for those who have reached a desperate situation. Push it open and you will live.”

Unable to push it away, there is only one result waiting for Chen. The heart is still one hundred and twenty kilometers away from him.

The marker swiped across Chen’s body, and the black cross remained in the center of Chen’s chest. Blood poured from the flesh along with the scalpel, dancing on the surface of the skin, soaking the white rubber gloves and pale blue sleeves.

“Don’t start bloodletting yet.”

“Where is Wong?”

“Wong said he’s coming soon before he hung up.”

“He needs to give me the time, either how many kilometers or how many minutes, go and ask him, we will start bloodletting in fifteen minutes.”

The heart is still forty kilometers away from Chen.

The doctors in the operating room were about to start removing Chen's tumor-covered heart. The body without the heart lay flat on the operating table, with no undulating pulse, and the blood vessels began to flatten. They put their hearts in airtight bags and stop beating. The tumor has corroded the original appearance of the heart, leaving behind the color that life should have.

The heart is the last hundred meters away from Chen. Wong’s hasty footsteps echoed in the hospital corridor, and the fresh-keeping box containing the heart swayed in the air with the pace. The box is the same as his mood, especially heavy. Chen’s family sat on the side of the aisle, leaning against the wall. Mother folded her hands and fingers, lowered her head, and whispered Chen’s name silently. Father’s left leg pressed over the knees of his right leg, looking at the ground without saying a word. Chen’s brother tried his best to lock the pain in his heart and looked into the distance with sour eyes. They were praying, expecting, fantasizing.

At one o’clock in the morning, the lights in the operating room were still on, and the heart was less than two meters away from Chen.

To prevent tumor metastasis and spread, the aorta and inferior vena cava connecting the donor’s heart was not reserved during the excision of the heart. Therefore, when Wong harvested the heart, he reserved more aorta and inferior vena cava for suture. But because the structure is more complex, the construction and stitching time is doubled. Sweat streaked across the frame, and Wong held his breath, for fear that the thick fog would cover the lenses and block his vision. His hands kept wandering on Chen’s chest. The neatly placed metal scissors next to the operating table decreased over time. The plastic tubes leading to Chen’s body and the red marks on his clothes were added.

The lights in the operating room went out.

With his heart still two millimeters away, the EKG was the smoke from the tail of the jet, and the pain followed the pilot into the distance of eternity.