Chapter 156: The Joint Clinic

Liu San immediately followed up with his plan for deeper cooperation.

“Brother Yang, this is just the first step,” he said enthusiastically, revealing the transmigrators’ plan to open clinics in all the market towns in the county, besides the county seat itself.

“This is a great act of charity,” Yang Shixiang said, deeply convinced. “I must also lend a hand in such a good cause.” He then offered to donate medicine.

Seeing his opening, Liu San quickly presented his idea for “joint clinics.” The plan was to establish outpatient clinics in all eight market towns of the county, jointly run by the Australians’ “medical bureau” and the “Runshi Tang.” The doctors would be provided by the medical bureau, and the medicine would be supplied by both parties.

“Most of the medicine supplied by the clinics will be free or sold at cost. All medicinal herbs supplied by the Runshi Tang will be paid for by the medical bureau at market price.”

Yang Shixiang shook his head. “Worthy brother, this is a great good deed for the benefit of our hometown! How can we sell the medicine at market price?” He thought for a moment. “How about this: the medicinal slices used by the medical bureau will be supplied at a thirty percent discount, and the patent medicines at a forty percent discount.”

The profit margin on traditional Chinese medicine was large, and even with these discounts, the Runshi Tang would still make a good profit. Opening clinics would not only be a charitable act but also a profitable one—a truly wonderful thing. Seduced by the prospect of future profits and prestige, Yang Shixiang proactively offered to cover half the construction costs of the clinics, on the condition that his shop’s name would be displayed. He also offered to pay the salaries of the clerks who would manage and dispense the medicine. Since he was so forthcoming, Liu San graciously accepted.

When the clinic plan was reported to the Executive Committee, it was decided after some discussion to make a few small adjustments. The clinic in the county seat was removed from the list of eight, as there was no need for another one with the Runshi Tang already there. Additionally, at Mu Min’s suggestion, a clinic would be established in Nanabao village in the Li area.

“I fully support the clinic in the Li area, but will anyone be willing to work there?”

The clerks from the Runshi Tang were out of the question; they viewed the Li people as man-eating tigers. But with a high enough reward, someone would surely be willing to go. Ironically, it was the “philanthropic” transmigrators who were unwilling to be stationed in a place without running water or electricity, where they would have to relieve themselves in the open.

“That’s why I said we should set up a Li ethnic class,” Mu Min said. “When we were designing the education system, I proposed setting up a special class for Li and Miao children to attend as boarders.”

“But they have to be willing to entrust their children to us,” Bai Yu said. “Right now, we only have a trade relationship with them. Why would they willingly give us their children?”

Taking in orphans was also not feasible in the Li area. The Li people still retained vestiges of a primitive communal society, and there was always someone to care for orphans. They didn’t need outsiders to engage in charity.

“In my opinion, simply trying to bring them out of the Li area won’t work,” Wen Desi said. “The Li area needs a basic literacy school. Once they feel the need to leave the mountains, they will be willing to come out and learn.”

This brought them back to the fundamental problem: who was willing to go to the Li area? Mu Min volunteered, but she was a woman, and a long-term solo posting would be inconvenient. Besides, she had an almost forgotten husband. It wasn’t right to separate them.

Someone wanted to suggest sending her husband with her, but the words seemed too cruel and were left unsaid.

“I think this is where the church can play a role,” Wen Desi said. “How about sending Álvaro Semedo? He knows some basic medicine…”

“If he goes, his main focus will be on proselytizing,” Ma Qianzhu said, feeling that Christianity was developing a bit too quickly in Lin’gao.

“That’s a good thing,” Wen Desi said. “Spreading Christianity in the minority areas is beneficial for society in the long run…”

Ma Qianzhu thought about it and saw the merit in the idea. Besides, the man had already achieved some initial success in the Thirteen Villages area and was in high spirits. It would be better to send him to the Li area to work on stability and unity than to let him continue to expand his influence in the Thirteen Villages. If he caught some infectious disease and was “called by the Lord,” it would be even more perfect—of course, he couldn’t reveal this thought to the right-wingers.

And so, the matter of the Li area clinic was settled, with the Religious Affairs Office handling the specifics. He Ying suggested that a clinic should also be established in the Thirteen Villages area, specifically in Daolu Village, which had now become the central village of the region. The number of personnel in the work team stationed there had been expanded to over twenty. This would also be a good opportunity for Bai Duolu to take over the local church authority.

“He’ll have to learn the Li language to preach there. It will take him at least half a year to be able to communicate,” He Ying said. “We can take this opportunity to take over the mission in Daolu Village, the church in Bairen, and the monastery, and thoroughly vet the converts to see if the old foreigner has been instilling any other inappropriate ideas.”

“We’ll also need to have someone monitor him…”

“The Religious Affairs Office will handle that,” He Ying said. “We have already trained several native staff members who have been successfully baptized. Álvaro Semedo trusts them very much. We can choose the most loyal one to go with him to the Li area.”

“Can they be trusted?”

“Completely,” He Ying nodded. “We saved his child’s life with our medicine. The man is extremely devoted to us.”

The next step was to prepare the medical personnel for these clinics. The Runshi Tang would provide the traditional Chinese medicine staff. All pharmacy clerks could recite the “Song of Medical Formulas” and the “Eighteen Incompatibilities,” making them half-doctors. They had recruited many more from Foshan, enough to assign two to each location. Liu San also planned to personally train them in skills like acupuncture and cupping, and to impart some modern medical knowledge.

The main force would be the “barefoot doctors” trained by the Ministry of Health. The ministry was taking a two-pronged approach, recruiting and training people from among the nurses and the transmigrators. After three months of training, this group would be roughly able to handle the job.

After the meeting, Liu San went to the hospital in high spirits. It was almost noon, and the hospital was empty. There was no war at the moment, and apart from some industrial accidents, heatstroke, and diarrhea cases from the construction sites, there were no critical patients, which was a good opportunity for the newly recruited “Mongolian doctors” to practice their skills.

But when he found even the director’s office empty, Liu San was puzzled. He stopped a passing nurse and asked.

“The director and the others have all gone to Cuigang for a funeral.”

“A funeral? For whom?” Liu San was surprised. Who here was so important that Shi Niaoren and the others would all attend their funeral?

“I don’t know. It was a director.”

So, a transmigrator had died! Liu San was even more shocked. Since D-Day, apart from one unlucky fellow who had been seriously injured in a fall during the attack on the Gou family village and had died of his injuries and been secretly buried, no transmigrator had died.

The mournful sound of the flute faded into the air, and the smell of gunpowder from the rifle salute gradually dissipated. The mourners threw the first handful of dirt onto the urn.

“The yellow earth buries us all,” Shi Niaoren said, throwing another handful of dirt.

“Sob…”

“A young life, gone just like that,” Doctor Lan said, still sentimental.

“Yes, at least we’re still alive,” He Ping felt a chill. The medical conditions here really made one feel that life was precarious.

“Rest in peace, brother. Don’t blame us! You’ll be a revolutionary martyr now. Every year, primary and middle school students will come to sweep your grave with flags…” Shi Niaoren stamped the earth firm and said to the grieving crowd behind him, “Alright, everyone, disperse. Back to work!”

A stir went through the group of “Mongolian doctors,” and they quickly slipped away. A death on their hands, no matter how you looked at it, was something to be ashamed of.

This was the first officially registered death of a transmigrator. It was a truly unfortunate case. The young man had gotten a large gash on his arm from a piece of equipment at work and had come to the hospital yesterday for stitches.

It should have been a simple procedure, but the only doctor on duty that day, He Ma, was performing a fracture fixation surgery, so he assigned the task to the intern doctors. The “Mongolian doctors” were cautious, and they disinfected and debrided the wound with a semblance of competence. Then, the first tragedy occurred: the patient, frightened by the sight of the thick suture needle and the clumsy technique, demanded anesthesia before the stitches. Then came the second tragedy: the “Mongolian doctors” didn’t know that anesthetics were very dangerous. And the third tragedy was that because of the surgery that day, the usually strictly controlled anesthetics were readily available. The final tragedy was that the “Mongolian doctors” were all bold and reckless transmigrators. If they had been selected from among the native nurses, they would not have been so daring.

So, someone injected the anesthetic without consulting anyone. The result was, of course, tragic. The intern doctor didn’t know the proper dosage or the onset time. When the first vial had no effect, he administered a second. By the time He Ma was alerted and rushed over, the young man was barely alive. He Ma immediately ventilated him, administered antihistamines and vasopressors, gave him a cardiac stimulant, used a defibrillator, slapped his face… He tried everything, but he couldn’t save him. The man had been a diver before, and after D-Day, he was just one of the nameless crowd. Still, seeing a living person reduced to a jar of yellow earth and a stone tablet standing alone, everyone felt a sense of sorrow for their own kind.

“In the original timeline, this would have been a first-class medical malpractice case,” He Ma had said at the time, still shaken. In any case, he hadn’t supervised the interns properly and had to bear the main responsibility.

“Forget it. Record it as a post-operative infection and failed resuscitation,” Shi Niaoren had instructed. “The interns need to be properly educated. They dared to administer anesthesia without even having a class on it! And how are the anesthetics managed? How did they get their hands on them so easily?”