Damascus Army Hospital.
In that tightly guarded special ward area.
Time seemed to have frozen, yet also seemed to be passing at double speed.
Outside the window, the night in the Syrian capital was still intermittently echoing with sporadic gunfire and cannon blasts, while inside was suffocating anticipation.
Song Heping was like a meditating monk, spending most of his time quietly watching the news online or standing by the window, staring at the distant dark skyline.
In stark contrast to him was President Hafez.
The nation's top leader, at this moment, was like a lion trapped in a cage, pacing anxiously in the ward.
One after another, bad news arrived through encrypted channels, each like a whip lashing at his nerves.
"Idlib... lost..."
When a trusted aide responsible for security brought this news, Hafez's hand holding the phone trembled slightly.
"Held for less than forty-eight hours... The scum of the Freedom Army and HTS terrorists are moving south along the highway, with Hama in their sights! Our troops are in retreat! Without effective command, they are just a loose sandpile!"
He abruptly turned to Song Heping, his eyes bloodshot: "Song! We can't wait any longer! Every minute we wait, more of my country's land slips away! My soldiers and people shed more blood! I must go out immediately to stabilize the morale of the troops!"
Song Heping closed his phone, turning to President Hafez.
His expression was calm to the point of being cold: "Mr. President, if you go out now, all previous efforts may go to waste. Moscow's decision-making needs time and more importantly, a 'sufficient' reason. Your 'critical illness' situation is the final force pushing them to make a decision. If you appear now, it would be like telling the whole world, including doubters within Moscow, that this is a play. Then, the Kremlin's just-initiated war machine might come to an emergency halt, or even reversal."
"But that's my country!"
Hafez growled lowly, veins bulging on his forehead, "You want me to just watch as it slides into the abyss? You're gambling with Syria's fate!"
Song Heping stood up, walked to Hafez, stared into his eyes for a few seconds before speaking: "Mr. President, from the moment we decided to lure the snake out, forcing the Russian side to intervene, this became a gamble. We are gambling on Moscow's strategic resolve, on whether we can exchange for an opportunity to completely reverse the war situation. A small loss for a big win, a temporary retreat is for a fiercer attack. If you go out now, you will truly lose everything."
He pointed towards the door of the ward, his tone firm and decisive.
"If you do not trust my judgment, you are free to go out now. But I can assure you, the moment you appear in public view is the key moment we lose Russia's large-scale direct military support. By then, you will not only be facing the enemy from the north, but also potential disappointment and even abandonment from the Kremlin."
Hafez stared at Song Heping, his chest heaving violently.
He understood the weight and cold logic in Song Heping's words.
As a president, how could he not understand the cruelty of politics and strategy?
Yet, the heart-wrenching pain of his homeland's downfall made it difficult for him to maintain absolute composure.
In the end, as if drained of energy, he slumped back into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
Beside him, the chef patted his shoulder, speaking in an uncharacteristically comforting tone: "Mr. President, you must trust Song's judgment. We've been mixed up in battles for so many years; sometimes, patience requires more courage than a charge. Since intelligence indicates my homeland has already moved, we need to give it time to fully rage."
At this moment, a commotion was heard outside the ward.
The stern voice of Hafez's guard captain rang out: "Sorry, gentlemen ministers! The President is undergoing emergency treatment, and the doctors strictly forbid any disturbance!"
A slightly elderly but excited voice responded: "Treatment? What treatment requires complete isolation? We are the nation's ministers and have the right to know the President's true condition! The front line is in a critical situation; the country cannot be without a decision-maker! We must see the President with our own eyes!"
"Yes! Let us in! Otherwise, we cannot believe the President is still safe!" another voice chimed in.
Evidently, several high-ranking Syrian government officials who rushed over after hearing the news were trying to force their way in for a visit.
The tense atmosphere seeped through the thick door.
Hafez instinctively wanted to stand up, but was sternly stopped by Song Heping's gaze.
Outside the door, the guard captain stood his ground, raising his voice by eight degrees: "Repeat! The President needs absolute rest! This is the final decision of the medical team! No one is allowed inside! If you continue to force your way, I will take necessary measures! Guards!"
The crisp sound of guns being cocked resounded, and the argument outside quieted down, turning into indignant murmurs and gradually retreating footsteps.
Inside the ward, Hafez's face looked even more grim.
The taste of having his cabinet members blocked outside by his own subordinates was unpleasant, but it also confirmed the success of the "poisoning" act.
Song Heping said blandly: "Do you see? Even panic and distrust have emerged among your core team, proving our act is very effective. Now everyone believes Syria is doomed. If you reveal yourself now, all the previous 'severity' would collapse instantly. Endure a little longer, Mr. President. It's always the calmest before the storm."
The next two days, for Hafez, could be described as the longest ordeal of his life.
The war reports from the north are getting worse. The Freedom Army and HTS coalition are unstoppable, capturing multiple strategic points in succession, pushing their offensive directly toward Hama Province.
Even more concerning, the 1515 Armed Group, which had previously been suppressed, has started stirring in the eastern desert region, seemingly sensing an opportunity.
Hafez has developed several cold sores at the corners of his mouth, making eating and sleeping extremely difficult.
Several times, he almost rushed out of the ward regardless of everything, only to be forcibly stopped by Song Heping and the "Chef."
Song Heping even had the Guard Captain reinforce security in the ward, nearly placing Hafez under house arrest to ensure his "safety."
Until the next evening, close to midnight local time, the stillness of the ward area was broken by a series of hurried yet restrained knocks at the door.
Hafez's Guard Captain entered with barely contained excitement on his face: "Mr. President! Mr. Song! The Kremlin is holding an emergency news conference! It's being broadcast live globally!"
The three in the ward almost simultaneously jumped from their seats.
Hafez grabbed the remote control and turned on the satellite television on the wall.
The screen quickly lit up and switched to an international news channel.
The familiar press conference room of the Kremlin appeared on the screen, where the spokesperson, dressed in a dark suit, stood behind the podium with a serious expression.
"... The Russian Federation has consistently been closely monitoring the developments in Syria and its surrounding regions. We have observed that recently, terrorist forces within Syria have become rampant again, posing a serious threat to regional peace and stability as well as to our country's legitimate interests in the area..."