Chapter 28: Post-Apocalyptic Love Story (Part One)

Lu Dongnuan’s fingers hovered for a moment above the old man’s swollen calf.

She didn’t answer right away.

Her gaze shifted from the festering wound to the old man’s cyanotic face, swept past Aunt Zhang’s anxious and hopeful eyes, then glanced at the gaunt man’s tense jaw. 

Finally, her eyes briefly met the calm yet sharp gaze of Miss Li standing at the door.

There was no urging in that look, only a cold and detached patience.

Lu Dongnuan understood. 

This wasn’t just a consultation; it was a test—of her ability, perhaps, or of her compliance.

Miss Li needed to know if she was truly useful, but even more so, whether she “knew how to read the situation.”

She glanced at Aunt Zhang, then at the old man. 

She hesitated; these two must be husband and wife.

After considering for a while, she slowly straightened up, picked up a piece of rag someone had left on the lab bench, and carefully wiped her hands.

Her movements were slow, buying herself time to choose her words, letting the stifling silence spread through the room.

“The infection is extremely severe,” she began, her voice still steady. 

“From the symptoms, the bacteria have likely entered the bloodstream, causing sepsis. High fever, rapid breathing, cyanosis, and lethargy—all fit. Locally, the area of necrosis on the calf is extensive, and the nature of the pus suggests it’s a mixed infection. Gas Gangrene or Necrotizing Fasciitis can’t be ruled out.”

Aunt Zhang didn’t understand the technical terms, and Lu Dongnuan herself didn’t know what she was muttering, but words like “sepsis” and “necrosis” made both women shudder. 

The gaunt man’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“This requires immediate, high-dose intravenous infusion of strong antibiotics—ideally chosen according to pus culture and drug sensitivity test results, but that’s not possible here,” Lu Dongnuan continued, her tone cold to the point of cruelty. 

“Emergency surgical debridement is also needed, removing all necrotic and nonviable tissue until healthy, bleeding surfaces are exposed. This requires anesthesia, a sterile operating environment, sufficient surgical instruments, hemostatic materials, and a large supply of dressings for ongoing wound care.”

With each item she listed, Aunt Zhang’s face turned a shade grayer, and the wariness in the gaunt man’s eyes was gradually replaced by a bleak sense of “just as expected.”

“After surgery, the patient needs continued antibiotic therapy, nutritional support, and possibly blood transfusions or plasma substitutes to maintain circulation and resistance. The patient is elderly and in poor general condition,” Lu Dongnuan looked at the old man’s swollen hand resting outside the blanket, “with very low tolerance. Even if all the above conditions were ideal, the chances of successfully controlling and eliminating the infection would not exceed thirty percent—he’d most likely die of infectious shock or multiple organ failure.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the crude sickbed and tattered blanket, finally returning to Miss Li’s face.

“And here, I haven’t seen a single thing that meets the requirements for any of those treatments. The antibiotics you gave before—either the dose was insufficient, the drug wasn’t right, or it’s already expired and ineffective.”

Only the old man’s bellows-like breathing and the faint crackling of a lamp wick were left in the lab.

Miss Li’s arms remained folded, her face flickering slightly with the firelight as she asked, “So, what’s your conclusion?”

Lu Dongnuan met her gaze and said clearly, “Given the current conditions, I’m incapable of treating this. Any intervention attempted is almost certainly futile, would only prolong the patient’s suffering, and would waste our already extremely limited resources—such as whatever antibiotics are left, clean dressings, and manpower.”

Yes, Lu Dongnuan knew it too: under such circumstances, even a forced attempt would only deplete medicine, clean water, energy, and manpower, not to mention the risk of further infection from surgery itself. 

For the camp, the cost would be unbearable, and the result would most likely be lost resources with no way to save the person.

She said exactly what Miss Li wanted to hear. 

She didn’t perform pity, nor did she try to shirk responsibility—she just stated a cold, hard fact.

Aunt Zhang’s sobs turned to low whimpers, her shoulders slumping, uncertain whether from despair or relief.

Miss Li looked at Lu Dongnuan for a few seconds, then gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Understood.” Her voice was utterly calm, as if what she’d just heard was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Aunt Zhang, you’ll stay here tonight to take care of him. Lao Wang,” she addressed the gaunt man, “go get half of the charcoal allocated to Zone Three and bring it here. It’s too cold—light the stove. At least… let him go a little easier.”

“All right, Sister Li.” The gaunt man replied quietly, then left quickly.

Aunt Zhang, tears streaming down her face, reached out with trembling hands to touch the old man’s forehead, then gently tucked the blanket around him.

Miss Li no longer looked at the man on the bed.

She nodded slightly at Lu Dongnuan: “You, come back with me.”

Lu Dongnuan cast one last glance at the old man suffering in pain, then turned and followed Miss Li out of the laboratory thick with the stench of decay.

The iron door closed behind her, shutting out the scene and the sounds inside, as if severing some kind of weight.

The corridor remained dark; only the lamp in Miss Li’s hand illuminated a small patch of ground ahead, their footsteps echoing.

After a few steps, Miss Li spoke up, her voice low but clear: “You did the right thing. You weren’t swayed by useless emotion.”

Lu Dongnuan followed half a step behind her, watching the flickering shadows on the ground. 

“Anger is useless. So are sadness and blind hope, especially in a place like this.”

“It’s good that you understand that.” Miss Li didn’t look back, “Resources are limited. Only those who survive have value. Medicine should also be used on those who can make it—or at least those who’re useful to everyone.”

“I understand.” Lu Dongnuan answered simply.

They returned to that storeroom-like temporary cell. 

Miss Li didn’t leave immediately, but set the kerosene lamp on the small wooden table, its light illuminating Lu Dongnuan’s calm, unruffled face.

“Starting tomorrow, you’ll be in charge of caring for people in the observation zone with Aunt Zhang,” she thought for a moment, then continued, “Minor injuries, frostbite, colds and fevers—all for you to handle. Anything basic that’s needed, you can report to Aunt Zhang and she’ll bring it to me. But remember,” she fixed her gaze on Lu Dongnuan, “every pill, every roll of bandage, must be used where it counts. I’ll be watching.”

“Understood.” Lu Dongnuan nodded. 

This counted as her having obtained initial freedom of action and a tiny bit of trust, though she remained under strict surveillance.

Miss Li seemed quite satisfied with her straightforwardness, said nothing more, picked up the lamp, turned, and left. 

The lock clicked shut once more.

The room fell into darkness again, with only the faint snowy glow seeping in through the cracks.

Lu Dongnuan sat by the camp bed, slowly took off her coat, and let out a ragged breath.

She lifted her head, gazing at the small window bathed in moonlight. 

The cold radiance outlined the rough window frame, beyond which stretched endless, heavy night and snow.

Moonlight could not warm the chill within this room, nor dispel the confusion of the road ahead. 

It simply existed, cold and silent, like a silent witness.