Thomson walked to the nurse's station, asked the nurse, searched for Professor Fengzhiyu's therapist all the way, and knocked on the door and walked into his office.

Dr. Russell sat on a white chair with gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. He was holding a photo of his chest. He looked at it carefully and kept saying something in his mouth. Seeing the door pushing

Thomson, who entered, raised his head and asked, "Hello! Is there anything I can help you?"

"Hello, Dr. Russell! I am Thomson, a friend of Mr. Wind Word. I want to know what Mr. Wind Word is now." Thomson said, sitting on the chair in front of Dr. Russell.

"Mr. Fengzhiyu has no problem for the time being, and he needs to be hospitalized for several days." Dr. Russell replied.

"From the situation at the venue, Mr. Feng Zhiyu is quite serious. Have you found the reason?"

"According to my analysis, this should be an acute myocardial infarction caused by a rare allergen. Fortunately, it is sent to the hospital in time, otherwise the consequences will be very serious..." At this time, Dr. Russell's cell phone rang.

I picked up my phone and opened the door and walked out. I guess it was called from the meeting.

Thomson stood up and walked to Dr. Russell's chair. He saw a medical report on the table - it was Feng Zhiyu. He quickly opened the report, picked up his mobile phone, adjusted to the camera function, and adjusted the report content.

All the photos were taken, and then slowly sat back on his chair, looking aimlessly out the window.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Dr. Russell walked in.

Thomson and Dr. Russell, after saying a few polite words, made an excuse for something else, and then said goodbye to Russell, pushed the door and walked out, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

On the morning of December 3, a 100-storey office building on Fifth Avenue, New York.

When the elevator opened on the eighteenth floor, Thomson stepped out of the elevator and walked along the corridor covered with various medical advertisements to the end of the corridor. This was an ordinary writing room with black glass doors, closed tightly.

It's like a confinement room.

He rang the doorbell, then stood outside the door and waited quietly, put his hands in his pockets of his coat, and looked at the other side of the corridor.

With a "wa" sound, the doorbell microphone was turned on, "Who is it?" asked through the microphone, a sharp voice.

"Thomson."

There was a panic sound from the microphone, as if it was a panic of standing up from the chair and knocking over the cup on the table.

"Hi, Mr. Thomson, I'm here right away."

For a minute, through the glass door, Thomson heard footsteps coming from a distance.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man was inside the door. He was wearing a white coat, medium figure, and his earthy hair was combed to the side, his face was as pale as paper, his eyes were turned left and right, and his nose was covered with black-framed glasses.

A stethoscope was hanging around his neck, and his teeth were like moldy corn kernels. He stood there, his hands shaking a little, looking at a panic.

"Tang, Soup, Mr. Thomson, welcome you here."

"My dearest Dr. George, how are you lately? May God bless you!" Thomson walked in, stretching out his pale hand and showing a hypocritical smile.

The man, known as George, hurriedly stretched out his hands, held Thomson's right hand, and said, "Everything is carried out according to the instructions of Mr., and the research on the respiratory virus-like gene reset model has made great progress."

Thomson patted his shoulder without saying anything.

Walk through a living room with sofas and coffee tables, and walk into the innermost small office, which is Dr. George's office.

Thomson was like walking into his office, walking straight to the back of his desk, sitting in a black leather chair, resting his head against his back, his right leg on the knee of his left leg, and his right finger tapped his right hand

Desktop, eyes looking at the oil paintings on the wall.

Dr. George stood in front of the table, bowed his waist slightly, his hands hanging on both sides, his eyes timidly looking at Thomson without moving.

Thomson looked up at Dr. George at a forty-five degrees angle and breathed a sigh of relief, saying, "Okay, good! Dr. George. We need your research results. Respiratory virus research, haha, find immunity

We will be invincible at the limit of the battle!”

"Yes, sir, will succeed."

"Don't you, Doctor!"

"I am honored."

Thomson waved to him and signaled to get closer. Thomson took out a stack of paper from his bag and placed it on the table. "Professor Wind Yu suddenly fell ill at the World Climate Change Conference. The reason is unknown. This is his diagnosis and treatment report.

.This person is very important to us, you have to figure out the cause of his illness.”

"Yes, sir, I will do my best!"

"No, PhD, it's not about doing your best. You have to figure it out, at all costs."

"Well, by the way," Thomson continued, "may have something to do with this thing-----I guess." Thomson pulled the side zipper of the bag, took out something wrapped in cloth from it, and put it in.

Next to the diagnosis and treatment report, the cloth was uncovered layer by layer, and it turned out to be Feng Zhiyu's tea bag.

“This requires a lot of testing…”
Chapter completed!