This is a small township hospital belonging to the Huashi Pharmaceutical Group, tucked away in remote mountains. To call it a town is an overstatement; it’s smaller than most villages, boasting only a few dozen households.

I—Zhao Qian—am the assistant director of this renowned traditional Chinese medicine hospital, covering this side of the mountains. I also double as the medicinal herb purchaser, male nurse, cleaner, decoction maker, cook, accountant, and cashier…

Calling it a hospital is stretching the truth, as besides me, there is only Elder Director Wu. Director Wu is quite advanced in years; he was originally a physician at the county's traditional Chinese medicine hospital before being recruited to this small town upon retirement. Aside from his daytime duties of observing, inquiring, feeling the pulse, and taking the pulse, and occasionally vetting the quality of herbs brought by suppliers with my help, the old man pretty much ignores everything else.

Don't assume I’m a local; I’m actually from Beijing, twenty-three years old. After failing the college entrance exam five years ago, I enlisted immediately. Just as I was discharged this year, my mother pulled strings to get me into the flourishing Huashi Pharmaceutical Group.

Initially, I worked at a Chinese herbal processing factory under the group, but not long ago, I played the hero—to a beautiful degree—by thwarting Manager Suo of the factory from harassing a female employee. The old scoundrel, in a fit of rage, banished me to this godforsaken place to procure medicinal herbs, cloaking it as "grassroots training," with the promise of promoting me to leader of the twelfth production team in the eleventh production workshop upon my return.

I saw through his machinations immediately; it was a two-pronged strategy. Either I obey orders and suffer hardship in the countryside, or I pack my bags and go home. Either way, the goal was to get me out of his sight so I wouldn't interfere with his activities again.

At the time, I considered telling him to take his job and shoving it, but I couldn't resist my mother's incessant pleading, so I eventually compromised.

After all, Huashi Pharmaceutical Group isn't a company one simply walks into. It ranks fifth among the top five hundred national enterprises, managing vast pharmaceutical factories and medical equipment plants, while also operating thousands of affiliated Huashi hospitals across the country.

Though I never studied medicine, my mother insisted that not all employees in a pharmaceutical company are doctors, and working for such a massive corporation would definitely offer greater opportunities for advancement, which in turn would increase my chances of finding a wife.

It’s no wonder my parents feel this way; our family has been single-heir succession for three generations, and I am the sole remaining sprout. The grave responsibility of carrying on the Zhao family line falls squarely on my shoulders. I recall vividly vowing to my mother when I was young that I would find a heap of wives when I grew up just to bear children. But now, relegated to these mountains where the spring breeze dares not trespass, forget finding a heap of wives—it’s a victory just to see a female form on any given day.

I was perplexed as to why the company would establish a small traditional Chinese medicine hospital in such a desolate location. Even for herb procurement, the effort seemed excessive. After living here for a while, I pieced together part of the reason: among the various medicinal herbs grown in the local mountains, there is a wild herb called Zha Po Jiao (Stab Foot) that is unique to this region.

All I know is that this particular herb is specially designated for purchase by the head office and carries the code name "SB." Why they gave it such a foolish name, I have no idea, nor do I know what they do with the herbs after acquisition. These are all classified secrets of the head office; as a minor employee, I have no right to know.

When I first arrived, Director Wu and I ate and lived together, occasionally exchanging a few words when things were slow. But a month ago, the old man got involved with a widowed elderly woman in town. Soon, he stopped coming back for dinner, and two weeks ago, he didn't even return to sleep at night! He claimed the walk was unsafe—it’s barely a mile—just finding excuses for his romantic exploits.

Now look at the situation: I have eight large rooms to wander through in this hospital, and at night, I’m completely alone. Sometimes the power cuts out here, and when the wind howls and the rain lashes down, I’m so terrified I dare not move from under the covers. And of course, this year the rain seems particularly frequent.

Today, Director Wu left with the tractor transporting medicinal herbs to the county seat. He had a few old classmates he hadn't seen in decades; they had written recently, arranging a reunion, and since the transport is inconvenient, he won't be back tonight.

After dinner, I checked all the doors and windows and went to bed early, pulling a novel from under my mattress to read. These books were brought by the drivers who collect the herbs from the city, along with a few decent 'H' books. Thankfully, they exist, or I’d be bored to death.

I don't know how long I read, but then—Whoosh—a massive flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder, and the 15W lightbulb sputtered out. It always has to rain with wind and lightning; as soon as there’s thunder, the lights reliably go out. Isn't that just intentionally frightening? After five years of training my courage in the army, I'm still reduced to this pathetic state. It’s truly laughable.

Luckily, I was prepared. I reached over to the nearby table, grabbed a box of matches, and lit the kerosene lamp. The wind outside picked up, and since the doors and windows aren't perfectly sealed, the small flame danced violently, making me uneasy.

Boom—another clap of thunder, immediately followed by the sound of rain drumming down outside. A cold gust blew in and, with a whoosh, extinguished the kerosene lamp. Feeling a bit scared and too lazy to re-light it, I simply pulled the covers over my head and lay down, lost in thought.

Knock-knock-knock. Suddenly, there was a faint knocking sound. Though faint, against the noise of the wind and rain, it sounded jarringly loud. A chill ran down my spine. Director Wu is definitely in the county seat and can’t return. Who would be at the hospital in such a terrible storm? Who could be outside that door? Could it be…?

Before I could further speculate, there was a crash sound from outside, and then silence. Lying there under the covers wasn't an option. I lit the kerosene lamp, mustered my courage, got out of bed, and peered through the crack in the door, shouting, "Who is it!"

No answer came from outside. Bad sign. Could it be a ghost knocking in the middle of the night? But I haven't done anything wrong to warrant a haunting. To hell with it, sink or swim. Holding the lamp in one hand, I opened the door with the other.

A sudden gust of wind, thick with rain, immediately blew out the kerosene lamp again. The rain was falling heavily, and the darkness outside was absolute, nothing visible. The fact that the light was out and I saw nothing made me extremely nervous. I turned around, ready to shut the door and retreat to bed.

Suddenly, an icy cold hand clamped onto my ankle. Every hair on my body stood on end, and I nearly dropped the lamp. I tried to kick whatever ‘thing’ was grabbing me.

Then, a weak voice rose from the ground: "Doctor, please help! You must save my sister; she has a high fever."

I thought for sure I’d encountered a ghost blocking my path, as in the stories, but it turned out to be a female patient collapsed outside the door. I hadn't noticed the rain-slicked ground; the crash after the knock must have been her falling.

Although it wasn't terribly late, the weather was atrocious—windy and rainy—why choose now for a sick call? Besides, Director Wu is never away on business; these two managed to show up the exact day he left for the county.

The wind was too strong to light the kerosene lamp with the door open, but the patient was out there in the rain and needed tending to first. I set the lamp aside and reached out to help the woman who had fallen.

They must have been drenched long ago on their journey, as the rain had been falling for ages. In the pitch black, I couldn't see exactly where she was on the ground. My hand closed around something soft, yielding, and springy, with what felt like a small, hard nub.

Oh, mother of pearl! Though I’d never truly touched a woman’s nether regions, I’d certainly seen enough—I had managed to grab her most vital spot.

"Let go quickly, don't touch that there… My sister is still on the ground! Help her first," she gasped. Any fool could tell I had my hands on the wrong place, especially since the ‘equipment’ was clearly attached to her!

I didn't even bother apologizing. Stepping out into the rain, I fumbled on the ground near the doorway. Suddenly, a flash of lightning illuminated the world brightly. I saw two figures lying on the ground outside my door, one slightly ahead of the other. The lightning flash was too brief to make out their features, but their positions were clear. I scooped up the one behind—the sister—and rushed her inside, placing her on my bed before turning back to help the older sister.

It was clear the older sister had exerted every ounce of her strength to carry her sister to the hospital, which is why she collapsed from exhaustion right at the entrance. Once both were inside, I immediately shut the door tight, then groped for the matches and relit the kerosene lamp.

The light flickered. The older sister’s long hair was a mess around her face, the tips still dripping water. Her clothes, clinging tightly to her body, looked as though they’d just been hauled out of a water barrel. My first impression of this sight was: this girl is stunningly sexy; her petite figure is even better than that lecherous manager’s little secretary back at the factory.

"Why come to the hospital in this weather? Couldn't you wait until tomorrow? Besides, Director Wu went to the county today and won't be back tonight," I explained to the sister.

Whether from the cold or from realizing her curves were completely exposed in the dim lamplight, the sister clutched her arms tightly across her chest, hiding her exposed skin. Her voice trembled as she replied, "My sister suddenly developed a high fever around evening. Our village has no barefoot doctor, so I had to carry her here to town. What should we do if Director Wu isn’t here? My sister was soaked in the rain just now; could her condition worsen? Aren’t you a doctor too? Please check on her quickly! I beg you, please save my sister. We’ve relied on each other since childhood; I can’t lose her."

I, too, was drenched to the bone at the doorway. A small draft blew in, and I shivered uncontrollably. Save someone? I might catch a terrible illness myself.

I told the sister, "I am no doctor, just a handyman clerk and purchasing agent. I usually only handle the trivial matters around the hospital. I’m useless when it comes to treating illness. You two should find another way."

The sister suddenly dropped to her knees before me: "I beg you! This is the only hospital within thirty li around here; where else can I find help? My sister just has a cold and a fever. You've been around Director Wu for so long; you must know how to bring her fever down. Please, if you cure my sister, I’ll do anything for you—I’d willingly be your ox, your horse, or even your wife. Please, Doctor."

Her kneeling shattered my resolve. I despise scenes like this. I quickly helped her up: "I've only been here a short time, and we don’t have Western medicine here. I’m not confident whether Chinese medicine will work."

The sister glanced at her sister, who lay unconscious from the high fever: "If you cure her, we will be eternally grateful. If you cannot, that is our fate; we will blame no one."

If this were the county seat or my home in Beijing, simply giving her a few fever-reducing pills would probably solve the problem. But this mountainous region is the most remote and backward place I’ve ever seen. Besides our little hospital, the next clinic is in a larger town thirty li away.

Those thirty li are not city roads; the mountain paths are treacherous, and we have no reliable transportation. In this weather, getting to another hospital is impossible. Furthermore, judging by the color of the sister lying on the bed, the fever is severe. Delaying a transfer might even cause brain damage from the heat.

It seems I have to take on these patients tonight, whether I want to or not. Although I haven't studied medicine, the time I’ve spent running errands here hasn't been wasted. Isn't it just a high fever? Finding a way to reduce it should be achievable.

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