Chapter One: For the Lives of Thirty-Six Children!

"Without question, this is one of the most severe medical accidents in the country," said the female anchor in a gray professional suit, addressing countless viewers before their screens. The backdrop of the broadcast was the golden plaque of the First Affiliated Hospital of Yanjing University of Traditional Medicine.

"In the neonatal intensive care unit, thirty-six infants have collectively been declared in critical condition. Thirty-six fragile lives, having just arrived in this world, hang by a thread."

"The symptoms were discovered this morning. All thirty-six newborns exhibited fever and vomiting. According to the medical records, each child is suffering from varying degrees of pulmonary infection. The hospital states that the cause of infection is still under investigation; it is suspected to be the invasion of a novel virus."

Worry clouded the anchor's beautiful face as she looked up at the towering hospital building. "The hospital has formed an emergency rescue team composed of several medical experts. We hope their skillful hands can work miracles and save these thirty-six delicate yet already tormented young lives."

"Dear viewers, let us all pray together for these thirty-six precious children!"

Click.

Lin Qingyuan, the director of the Affiliated Hospital, switched off the television and addressed the assembled group.

"You all know the gravity of our situation. If what we fear comes to pass, it will be a disgrace in the annals of medicine—a scandal of unprecedented magnitude. The hospital's reputation will be shattered, and the once-renowned Affiliated Hospital will lose the trust of its patients completely."

"Everyone here is an expert in this field. Some are from the Affiliated Hospital, others have been called in from elsewhere. You have been entrusted with the expectations of both government and the people. I won't waste words; let us discuss openly and see if anyone has a way to save these thirty-six children."

"We have no good solution until the bacterial culture results are out," said a bespectacled middle-aged doctor in a sharp tone. "How can we prescribe without a diagnosis? Without a diagnosis, how can we treat?"

Eight generations of bad luck, he thought, to be assigned to this cursed task.

If they succeeded, it would be a triumph—fame, accolades, newspaper coverage, perhaps even a commendation from the hospital.

But if they failed, his own future would be ruined.

Thirty-six children—just the thought of bearing responsibility for such a medical disaster sent chills down his spine.

"Judging by their pulse, it appears to be a lung infection. But we've used every antiviral drug available. There is still no improvement, which is highly questionable," an elderly physician of traditional medicine remarked.

After these two spoke, silence fell over the conference room.

The opinions of both Western and traditional medicine echoed the thoughts of everyone present.

Even if someone had suggestions, none dared voice them.

If they managed to save the children, praise and rewards would be plentiful.

But if their treatments failed and the children were lost, wouldn't they become the scapegoat?

Who would willingly shoulder that burden?

"Does anyone else have anything to say?" Lin Qingyuan's gaze swept over the doctors, urging them.

No one answered; those who met his eyes quickly looked away.

He sighed inwardly.

It seemed his career would end here.

"I have some thoughts." A voice suddenly broke the deathly silence of the room.

All eyes turned to the speaker, twenty-some doctors focusing on the figure seated in the far corner of the conference room—someone almost entirely overlooked until now.

Even if someone had glanced his way, they would have assumed he was the pupil or assistant of the elderly physician, perhaps his driver or secretary.

His hair was black and smooth, covering half his eyes. His features were delicate, his gaze clear and bright—a handsome young man, at least in appearance.

But his complexion was pale as paper, as if he were just recovering from a grave illness.

What was even stranger was his attire: a black long robe completely at odds with his youthful appearance—a scholarly, old-fashioned look, wholly unlike the young people of Yanjing, an international city.

He smiled as he surveyed the experts and professors present, his slender, almost feminine fingers tapping lightly on the table. The corners of his lips lifted subtly, pride contained and understated, like an officer reviewing his troops.

Some in the room felt uneasy; in his eyes, they seemed to become soldiers awaiting inspection.

Recalling the young man's family background, Lin Qingyuan's expression brightened, a glimmer of hope rising within him.

How could he have forgotten?

He looked at the young man and asked, "Qin Luo, do you have something to say?"

"I do," the young man replied.

"Go ahead then. Don't be afraid. Say whatever comes to mind—we're here to brainstorm," Lin Qingyuan managed a stiff, encouraging smile.

He feared the youth might be too timid to speak.

But Qin Luo knew no such thing as fear; he spoke confidently: "I believe this is cholera."

A thunderous uproar swept the room.

Had the situation not been so grave, many would have laughed aloud.

"Young man, if you don't understand, don't speak nonsense. How could it be cholera? These newborns have never left the NICU. Do you even know what NICU is? The neonatal intensive care unit is entirely isolated from outside air."

"Someone so young, do you understand what cholera implies? If we release this information, it would cause public panic."

"Enough. Let him leave. Let's continue our discussion."

"How did he get into the expert team?" someone questioned.

"He's the grandson of a close friend of mine, who has considerable achievements in traditional medicine," Lin Qingyuan explained.

He had originally hoped to invite Qin Luo's grandfather, but the old man claimed illness, saying his grandson would be in Yanjing and could handle matters in his stead.

Lin Qingyuan hadn't intended to include the young man in the expert group, but that afternoon Qin Luo had sought him out, eager and earnest.

Out of respect for his old friend, he couldn't turn him away.

"Even now, people are still using connections," muttered Deputy Director Ma Youcai, his voice low but audible to all. "Such a young fellow—even with a good family background, what could he possibly know?"

And with his sickly appearance, there was little reason to trust him.

Lin Qingyuan's expression grew darker. After glancing at the deputy director, he said, "Let's all quiet down and hear what Qin Luo has to say. Perhaps he really does have a good suggestion."

Qin Luo's face darkened. Anyone would feel uncomfortable being accused like this.

"How do you know it's not cholera?"

"Fine. Let's assume your hypothesis is correct. How is cholera transmitted? Why are others unaffected? Nurses enter the NICU as well—why haven't they shown symptoms?"

"I don't know how it was transmitted," Qin Luo replied.

"But thirty-six infants have severe pulmonary infections, coarse breath sounds, increased tracheal secretions, high fevers, and concurrent urinary tract infections. Their organs are at risk of failure. This closely resembles a variant of the cholera bacillus that was eradicated in this country many years ago."

"Qin Luo, are you certain?" Lin Qingyuan asked urgently.

"I'm certain," Qin Luo nodded earnestly. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "This is a mutated strain of the cholera bacillus. Two years ago, there was a small-scale outbreak in Malaysia."

"Is there a treatment?"

"Yes. Acupuncture, supplemented with traditional herbal therapy. But it must be done quickly. If organ failure sets in, nothing can be done."

"This is reckless," the deputy director said angrily. "Director, you can't gamble with the lives of dozens of children. What does he know?"

"Do you have a better solution?" Lin Qingyuan asked coldly. This man, backed by powerful connections, had always opposed him.

At this critical juncture, he couldn't help but persist in his opposition.

"If not, then we mustn't try so lightly. If the children worsen after taking herbal medicine, what then? You know their bodies can't withstand any more strain," the deputy director argued.

To him, letting Qin Luo treat the children was simply reckless experimentation.

Lin Qingyuan looked at Qin Luo, uncertain whether to trust him. But seeing Qin Luo's bright, resolute eyes, he felt a strong sense of confidence.

Could it be that he truly had something to rely on?

"Let him try," Lin Qingyuan finally decided. Of course, he had no better option.

"Try? Easy for you to say. If something goes wrong, who will take responsibility?"

"I will," Lin Qingyuan and Qin Luo said in unison.

They exchanged a glance, a mutual understanding of shared honor and disgrace quietly forming between them.

"Fine. You're the director; your word is law. But if anything happens, you must bear full responsibility," the deputy director said darkly, though inwardly he rejoiced.

If a fool was willing to take the blame, let him try as he pleased.

He cared not for the fate of the children, only for his own position.

"Rest assured. If anything happens, I'll resign," Lin Qingyuan said disdainfully, fully aware of the deputy director's motives.

If the children suffered, as director he would indeed shoulder the blame.

"You said it yourself. Everyone here can bear witness," Ma Youcai said, squinting with a sinister grin. His pockmarked, orange-peel face made some want to stomp on it.

"Please, I'm counting on you," Lin Qingyuan walked over and patted Qin Luo's shoulder heavily.

"Director, you can rest assured," Qin Luo replied solemnly.

Qin Luo stood and looked at the gray-haired elder before him, sighing inwardly.

In this era of waning faith, some matters require someone to step forward and shoulder responsibility.

Though he could have stayed uninvolved—

"For the sake of those thirty-six innocent children, I'll be a fool this time," Qin Luo said to himself.