Chapter 188: Sending Warmth

The movies and fireworks had pushed the New Year's Eve celebrations to their peak. When the cinema began screening a Hong Kong comedy, Ma Qianzhu rose from his seat and slipped away. Firecrackers crackled in the distance, punctuating the night with staccato bursts, but he had no interest in watching another film. There were still things to be done.

Outside, Wu De stood waiting with seven or eight laborers, each manning a wheelbarrow loaded with goods. Soon Xiao Zishan and the others arrived, and several Executive Committee commissioners split off to begin their rounds of "delivering warmth."

As the transmigrator enterprise expanded, local employment had become increasingly vital, and keeping these workers loyal was now a matter of critical importance. The Executive Committee had divided responsibilities among its various commissioners, each assigned to visit different locations on condolence missions.

Wang Luobin had departed for Salt Field Village during the day, carrying New Year goods for Du Wen, who ran the Salt Field Peasant Training Institute and commanded the stationed detachment. He also brought military pay, condolence money, and letters for the Salt Field Village soldiers serving in the New Army. Meanwhile, Xiong Buyu and Yang Baogui had traveled to Damei Village with a cartload of salt and several barrels of fish. Since Damei Village was slated to become an important livestock base for the Agricultural Department, Yang Baogui used the opportunity to survey local conditions. Both groups would return by evening.

Ma Qianzhu's destination was the hospital, where over thirty battle-wounded from Bopu were being treated.

Bairren General Hospital blazed with light as he approached. Stepping inside, he found every doctor on duty—even Yang Baogui, the veterinarian, who must have come back early. Not a single physician had left to watch movies or wander about enjoying the festivities. The dedication moved him deeply. He rushed into the duty room and grasped Shi Niaoren's hand in both of his.

"You've worked hard, Doctor Shi!"

Shi Niaoren startled at the sudden entrance, then relaxed when he recognized his visitor. "Commissioner Ma works hard too! Coming to inspect the hospital so late at night?"

"I'm here to visit the wounded." Behind him, workers were already carrying in the condolence items.

"The Executive Committee is very thoughtful." Shi Niaoren had been meaning to remind the committee about the wounded, but clearly they had anticipated everything. "Your visit will do wonders to stabilize morale among the men."

"Why? Has there been unrest?"

"Didn't I send a report on the wounded situation?" Shi Niaoren's expression grew grave. "Ten are definitely disabled." He rang a small bell on his desk, and a demure woman entered wearing a light-blue nurse's uniform with a brimless round cap. On her chest hung a badge depicting a blue snake and olive branch—the Health Department had decided against using the red cross due to its religious connotations, adopting the WHO symbol instead. Blue had been chosen for the nurse uniforms with local customs in mind; full white signified mourning and might distress the wounded.

"Make tea for Commissioner Ma."

The woman acknowledged softly and departed, returning moments later with a cup of steaming tea.

Ma Qianzhu studied her as she set down the cup. "Who is this? She doesn't look like one of the nursing school students assigned to you." Something about her presence triggered his vigilance. The woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and women of that age were typically assigned to the commune labor departments.

"She's Wu Nanhai's woman," Shi Niaoren said casually. "She has a daughter too, still at the farm. When I asked for her, that fellow didn't want to give her up."

"What?" Ma Qianzhu's jaw nearly dropped. He knew Wu Nanhai well—chubby, kindly-faced, the very picture of an upstanding person. So he was two-timing a mother and daughter? Truly, appearances could deceive.

Shi Niaoren caught his shocked expression and realized the misunderstanding. "She came from Wu Nanhai's Agricultural Department," he hastily clarified. "She's the mother from the mother-daughter pair that Zhang Xingjiao brought back from Gou Manor a few months ago."

"Oh, them." The memory returned once he was reminded. He looked more carefully at the nurse. Though thin, she had delicate, refined features.

Shi Niaoren returned to the matter at hand. "In the inpatient ward, we currently have seventeen New Army wounded and eight worker wounded. Ten are confirmed disabled." His voice grew somber. "These men are in very low spirits. There's a young soldier who keeps crying, asking why they saved him, why they didn't just finish him off on the spot."

"Why? Is his disability that severe?"

"He's an artilleryman. Half his face was severely burned—the disfigurement is horrible." Shi Niaoren sighed heavily. "We have no one here who can do plastic surgery."

Ma Qianzhu nodded, understanding the weight of that reality.

"All the disabled feel this way," Shi Niaoren continued. "Those who've lost legs or arms say their futures are hopeless—that it would be better to have died cleanly."

"Disabled veterans will naturally be supported by us." Ma Qianzhu's expression hardened with resolve. "What is there even to discuss?"

"The problem is they don't know that." Shi Niaoren sipped his tea. "Director, why weren't such policies clearly explained to everyone beforehand? This uncertainty is devastating for morale."

A pang of shame struck Ma Qianzhu. "When you haven't faced something, you don't think to prepare for it."

"Good thing you've thought of it now." Some of the tension eased from Shi Niaoren's shoulders. "Since you're here, you might as well handle everything at once. Our medicine supply problem needs resolution, and soon."

"Tell me your requirements. We'll address everything at the post-holiday planning meeting."

"Truthfully, too few things can currently be produced locally. Medical standards will be difficult to maintain." Shi Niaoren laid out the situation plainly. So far, they could only supply distilled water, medical alcohol, cotton bandages, and absorbent cotton. Strictly speaking, the cotton bandages were mere substitutes, nothing comparable to proper gauze. The absorbent cotton had been produced as a byproduct when Li Di was manufacturing nitrocellulose.

"Having the Industrial Department produce these things simply doesn't work," Shi Niaoren explained. "They have no concept of medical-grade products. We need a pharmaceutical supply factory under Health Department management."

"Done!" Ma Qianzhu recognized the logic immediately and agreed without hesitation.

"There's also the glassware issue." Shi Niaoren pressed forward. "The pharmaceutical factory will need large quantities of glassware as production equipment. I hope the Executive Committee can prioritize the Health Department when the time comes. I know glass will be our money-making item, but if we can mass-produce modern antibiotics, the impact would far exceed anything we could achieve selling glass cups and mirrors."

"What did you say? Mass-produce antibiotics?" Excitement lit Ma Qianzhu's face. Having penicillin in this spacetime would be like possessing atomic bombs. With such an advantage, transmigrators would hold incomparable medical superiority, able to penetrate and transform every social stratum through modern medicine. When Western missionaries had evangelized undeveloped regions, their methods had been twofold: education and medicine. The results had been remarkable.

"Correct, antibiotics," Shi Niaoren confirmed. "The Health Department has many bacterial cultures, but current conditions don't allow for mass cultivation and production." Reading Ma Qianzhu's eager expression, he added, "Actually, it's not just antibiotics. Many medications aren't difficult to manufacture. Then we could launch a medicine-to-the-countryside campaign."

"Excellent!" Ma Qianzhu rose excitedly. "The masses lack both medicine and doctors—that's what they need most!" Then he suddenly remembered his original purpose. "Come, take me to visit the wounded."

Ma Qianzhu toured each ward with Shi Niaoren. Though they were stuck in the seventeenth century with simple conditions, the hospital's construction was anything but shoddy. The building formed a two-story ring around an open-air courtyard paved with green bricks and furnished with benches where patients could sunbathe and breathe fresh air. The inpatient ward occupied the rear building, its wooden floors scrubbed spotlessly clean, its walls whitewashed bright. Each patient room held four beds with electric lighting for convenient care and observation.

Ma Qianzhu began with the lightly wounded, distributing gifts as he went. The offerings were humble—they had neither canned goods nor health supplements, not even candy. Just salt and rice tickets tucked into red paper envelopes. Still, the wounded were delighted. Though injured, at least they'd survived with their limbs intact. Here they ate well, drank well, and received treatment from the chiefs' own doctors, attended to by attentive young nurses. They wouldn't trade this for working for any landlord.

The disabled ward, by contrast, was deathly silent. Ma Qianzhu handed out red envelopes but saw only gloomy, hollow faces staring back. Finally, one man spoke: "Thank the chiefs for your kindness—treating our wounds, having people look after us with good food and drink. Once we can move about, we'll leave right away."

"Leave?" Ma Qianzhu was startled, then immediately understood. These disabled soldiers thought his red envelopes were severance pay—a final kindness before being cast out. Mixed emotions welled up within him. Don't let heroes shed blood and then tears. These men might not be heroes in the traditional sense, but they had been wounded and disabled fighting for the transmigrator cause. He raised both hands and spoke loudly.

"Don't overthink things." His voice was earnest and firm. "You were wounded for the transmigrator collective. The collective will support you for life! Not just support—we'll make sure you live with dignity and honor!"

Several wounded men looked up. Their eyes brightened momentarily, then dimmed again with lingering doubt. The young soldier with half his face swathed in bandages spoke, his voice raw with despair: "My face is ruined. Who will ever want to marry me?"

"There will be someone. There definitely will." Ma Qianzhu spoke with absolute conviction. "If truly no one's willing, I'll buy you a virgin bride!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he felt rather beastly. If Little Du were here, she would definitely kick him in the groin.

"Really? You're not lying?"

"Have we transmigrators ever lied? When have we ever deceived anyone?" Ma Qianzhu declared boldly. "Not just you—all disabled brothers will get wives, houses, good lives. Our word is our bond." Seeing doubt still lingering in their eyes, he raised his hand and swore an oath. "If not, may Heaven strike me dead!"

"My hands still work," someone called out. "No need to support me—just find me a job I can do sitting down!"

"I've only got one arm, but I can still drive a cart."

One by one, the wounded chimed in, each expressing determination not to become freeloaders. The atmosphere in the ward transformed, growing lively with renewed purpose. Ma Qianzhu felt a surge of emotion: what fine comrades these were! Truly, working people possessed the most beautiful hearts. But arrangements for disabled veterans' employment hadn't been finalized yet—he couldn't make promises he wasn't certain he could keep. He raised his hands once more.

"We'll consider everyone's suggestions carefully. We'll definitely make sure you can all live in peace. Your only job right now is to focus on recovery. The transmigrators and the people will not forget you."

Wu De had taken several men to collect warmth-sending items from the Planning Committee earlier that evening. He had planned his route carefully. The commune had too many people to visit every household, but he knew exactly which ones needed his attention most: the bachelors and outsiders with no family, no property, no relatives. For such men, New Year was a particularly bleak time.

The bachelor dormitory was still awake when he arrived. They had maintained the tradition of staying up for New Year's Eve, keeping their oil lamps lit, drinking a little wine, occasionally listening to the distant crackle of firecrackers. Wu De's appearance surprised them all. No one had expected the commune's highest official to visit the dormitory on this night meant for family reunions. Even those who had been asleep were shaken awake.

Wu De spotted Lin Xing among them. The vice-director was also a bachelor without relatives to visit. He had changed into fresh clothes for the occasion, and a New Year's picture was pasted by his bed—at least somewhat festive. Wu De smiled. "Your corner actually has some New Year spirit."

"I've been working as a laborer since I was fourteen." Lin Xing returned the smile, a hint of hard-won wisdom in his eyes. "You learn to find joy in bitterness. No family, so I pretend I have one."

"Good. Well said. No family, but pretend you have one." Wu De surveyed the commune members and workers staring at him with surprised eyes. "Since everyone here is making a living at Bairren Commune, this place is your home now. Come, let's share a drink." He opened the wine jar he'd brought. "Fill up, everyone. Let's all drink a bowl together."

The wine was glutinous rice yellow wine from outside—sweet-tasting and low in alcohol. Nothing difficult for Wu De to handle. After drinking, the initially reserved workers gradually loosened up, their wariness melting away. Wu De seized the opportunity to distribute condolence items—nothing particularly fine: betel nut, dried fish, dried sweet potato strips, sunflower seeds, and similar fare. But even these humble gifts moved everyone deeply. Here it was, New Year's Eve, and the shorthair big chief had come to visit rough laborers like themselves! Never mind the gifts—just the show of respect was enough. When had they ever been treated so well working for landlords?

After leaving the group dormitory, Wu De visited families with elderly dependents and young children, giving each household a five-kilogram rice ticket and a one-bolt cloth ticket. By regulations, elderly family members and children of workers couldn't be assigned work and didn't qualify for cafeteria meals. Though workers could receive extra work-point compensation for dependents, life was still tighter for these families than for most.

"Lin Xing, do you think families with many young children get enough to eat?" Wu De asked as they walked back after visiting the last household.

"They eat enough. They just eat worse." Lin Xing was characteristically candid.

"Oh? One worker's daily work-points shouldn't buy enough grain for a whole family—"

"Certainly can't eat pure rice every meal. But each family has private plots for growing sweet potatoes and the like. Adding that in, it's enough."

"That's still too hard." Wu De frowned, feeling that the worker treatment was too harsh.

"Not hard at all." Lin Xing seemed genuinely puzzled by the concern. "Growing sweet potatoes doesn't take much labor. Three or four months yields plenty. In the past, everyone barely scraped by meal to meal. Sweet potato porridge was considered good food."

"The children are too thin," Wu De sighed, his gaze distant.

(End of Chapter)