Chapter 369 - The Joint Clinic
Liu San immediately followed up with his deeper cooperation plan.
"Elder Brother Yang, this is only the first step." Liu San enthusiastically outlined how the transmigrator collective planned to open clinics at every market throughout the county, excepting only the county town itself.
"This is truly a great charitable work," Yang Shixiang nodded approvingly. "I must contribute my part." He immediately offered to donate medicines.
Liu San saw his opening and quickly proposed his plan: establishing "Joint Clinics." At all eight markets throughout the county, the Australian "Medical Bureau" and "Runshitang" would jointly establish outpatient facilities. Doctors would be provided by the Medical Bureau; medicines would be jointly supplied by both sides.
"Medicines supplied by the clinic would mostly be free, or simply cover costs. Whatever Runshitang provides, the Medical Bureau will pay at market price."
Yang Shixiang shook his head emphatically: "Brother, this is a wonderful charitable deed! How could I charge market prices?" He pondered briefly. "How about this: processed herbs at seventy percent of market price; patent medicines at sixty percent."
Chinese medicine's profit margins were substantial. At these discounts, Runshitang still made money. Opening clinics not only accumulated merit but also generated profit—what a wonderful arrangement! Dazzled by visions of future earnings and reputation, Yang Shixiang volunteered: he would cover half the clinic construction costs; in exchange, his company's signboard would hang there. As for staffing and medicine handling—he would pay the clerks himself.
Liu San thought: since you're so enthusiastic, I won't be modest. He readily agreed.
When this clinic proposal reached the Executive Committee for discussion and approval, they made small adjustments. The County Gate Market was removed—being inside the county town where Runshitang already existed, it was redundant. But per Mu Min's suggestion, a clinic would be added at Nancun Village in the Li territories.
"I fully support the Li Territory clinic. But would anyone be willing to work there?"
Runshitang's clerks were already out of the question—they viewed Li people as man-eating tigers. Heavy rewards might produce brave souls. But even the "compassionate" transmigrators, imagining a place with no water, no power, where people squatted to defecate in the open—none volunteered.
"So I say we should add a Li Class," Mu Min said. "I proposed during the education system setup that we should have ethnic classes—specifically recruiting Li and Miao children for boarding school."
"That requires their willingness to entrust children to us," Bai Yu said. "Currently we only have trade relations with them. Why would they willingly hand over their children?"
Taking in orphans wouldn't work in Li territories either. Li people retained vestiges of primitive communalism—orphans always found care among relatives. There was no need for outsider charity.
"In my view, simply trying to bring them out of the mountains won't work," Wen Desi said. "The Li territories still need a basic literacy school. Only when they feel the need to leave the mountains will they want to come study."
This still boiled down to the fundamental problem: who would go to the Li territories? Mu Min was willing to volunteer, but as a woman, extended solo deployment was inconvenient—besides, she had a nearly-forgotten husband. Separating them long-term wasn't right.
Someone thought of suggesting her husband go along, but that seemed too cruel to mention.
"I think this is where the Church can play a role," Wen Desi said. "How about sending Lu Ruohua? He knows some basic medicine too..."
"If he goes, won't preaching become his main activity?" Ma Qianzhu thought this inappropriate—Christianity was spreading too fast in Lingao as it was.
"That's a good thing," Wen Desi replied. "Spreading Christianity in minority areas is beneficial for society long-term..."
Ma Qianzhu considered and found merit in this. Besides, this fellow had recently scored initial victories in the Thirteen Villages region and was riding high. Rather than let him expand influence there, better to dispatch him to the Li territories for unity work. If he caught some infectious disease and "was called to the Lord"—that would be perfect. Of course, such thoughts couldn't be shared with the right-wing faction.
So the Li Territory clinic was approved, with Religious Affairs handling specifics. He Ying stated: ideally they'd establish a clinic at Daolu Village in the Thirteen Villages region too—that area had become the regional center, with an expanded resident work team of over twenty. This would conveniently transfer local religious authority to Bai Duolu.
"He'll need to learn the Li language there. It'll be at least half a year before he can communicate," He Ying said. "We can use this time to take over the Daolu Village preaching point, the Bairren church and monastery—give the believers a thorough screening to check if that foreigner indoctrinated any improper ideas."
"We still need someone at his side for monitoring..."
"Religious Affairs will handle that," He Ying said. "We've trained several indigenous operatives who've been properly baptized. Lu Ruohua trusts them completely. We'll select the most loyal to accompany him to the Li territories."
"Can they be trusted?"
"Absolutely." He Ying nodded. "We cured his child with our medicine. He's utterly devoted to us."
Next came staffing these clinics. Chinese medicine personnel were Runshitang's responsibility—pharmacy clerks knew the Decoction Songs and "Eighteen Incompatibilities" by heart, serving as half-trained TCM practitioners. The Foshan recruits provided enough for two per clinic. Liu San planned personal training in acupuncture, cupping, and other skills, supplemented by modern medical knowledge.
The main force would come from the Health Department's barefoot doctor training program. Dual-track recruiting from nurses and transmigrators for specialized training. After three months, they'd barely qualify for the work.
After the meeting, Liu San hurried excitedly to the hospital. It was nearly noon, and the hospital was quiet. With no current warfare, aside from occasional construction injuries, heatstroke, and diarrhea cases, there were no critical patients—perfect conditions for trainee doctors to practice.
But the director's office was empty too. Liu San found this strange and stopped a passing young nurse to ask.
"The directors all went to Jade Ridge for a burial."
"A burial? Who died?" Liu San was surprised. Since D-Day, apart from one unlucky soul who fell badly during the Gou Family Village attack and died from injuries—quietly buried—no transmigrators had died.
"I don't know. Some leader."
So a transmigrator had died! Liu San was even more startled.
The mournful flute notes faded into the air; the firing squad's gun smoke gradually dispersed. Mourners threw the first handfuls of earth onto the urn.
"Every patch of earth buries someone!" Shi Niaoren threw another handful of dirt.
"Wuuu..."
"Just like that, a life ended," Lan Daifu murmured, somewhat sentimental.
"Indeed—at least we're still alive." He Ping felt a chill. These medical conditions felt rather precarious.
"Brother, go well. Don't blame us! From now on you're a revolutionary martyr. Every year primary and secondary students will march here with flags to sweep your grave..." Shi Niaoren patted the earth down, then addressed the grieving crowd. "Everyone disperse. Back to work!"
Several barefoot doctors stirred and quickly slipped away. Having caused a death—however you looked at it—felt shameful.
This was the first officially registered transmigrator death. The circumstances were truly unfortunate. The fellow had cut his arm badly on equipment at work. Yesterday he'd come to the hospital for stitches.
A simple minor surgery. But the only doctor on duty—He Ma—was busy with a bone-setting operation, so a trainee handled it. The barefoot doctors had actually been cautious—sterilizing, debriding, performing competently. Then came the first tragedy: the patient, seeing thick suture needles and clumsy technique, panicked and demanded anesthesia before stitching. Second tragedy: the barefoot doctors didn't know anesthetics were dangerous. Third tragedy: that day's surgery had made normally strict anesthetics easily accessible. Final tragedy: barefoot doctors were bold transmigrators—indigenous nurses wouldn't have dared.
So without consulting anyone, someone injected anesthetic. The result was predictably tragic—the trainee didn't know proper dosage or onset timing. The first dose had no effect; a second dose followed immediately. By the time He Ma arrived, less than half a life remained. Despite everything—ventilation, antihistamines, vasodilators, cardiac stimulants, defibrillation, even slaps—nothing could save him. Originally just a lurker-transmigrator, without rank after D-Day. Still, seeing a living person reduced to a handful of yellow earth and a stone marker standing lonely—everyone felt the chill of fate.
"In the old world, this would be a first-class medical accident," He Ma said, lingering dread in his voice. Regardless of circumstances, failing to supervise trainees meant he bore primary responsibility.
"Let's record it as post-surgical infection, unsuccessful resuscitation," Shi Niaoren instructed. "And give those trainee doctors a serious talking-to. Anesthesia class hadn't even started and they dared administer it! Also—how is anesthesia being managed? How did they get hold of it so easily?"
(End of Chapter)