〈Romance of An-ping: Miss
Jin’s Interethnic Love Story〉29

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Shayun Contracts Acute Pneumonia

141
Inside the office of the Helandeza City Governor’s Headquarters, the atmosphere was, as always, oppressive. Thick paintings hung on the surrounding walls; the frames had already begun to show signs of wear. The lighting was dim and yellowish, emitting a scent of old wood. Outside the window, the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze could be heard, yet these sounds were unable to soothe the tension inside the room. At the governor’s desk, Governor Putmans sat behind his large desk, which was piled high with documents, and a dim yellow lamp emitted a faint glow. Alpha stood beside him, whispering to Staff Officer Jones, conveying the intentions of Bishop Matthews and his accompanying personnel.

Alpha’s tone was low and quick; his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he gestured for Jones to pay attention: “Bishop, they seem to have some opinions about the Governor’s orders. Listen to what they have to say.”

Jones remained calm, his fingers lightly tapping the desk. After a moment of contemplation, he raised his eyes toward Bishop Matthews, his tone carrying a hint of provocation: “Bishop, it seems you have objections to the Governor’s orders? Speak your reasoning.”

Matthews stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze firm, his tone revealing deep concern over the matter: “This outbreak of smallpox is fierce. The Dominicans are striving to prevent the disease from spreading by concentrating patients from the villages into churches and affiliated schools. Therefore, I cannot accept the authorities’ plan to gather the patients on Sand Islet, leaving them to fend for themselves. Such a method is lacking in compassion and runs contrary to humanity.”

Shayun, standing beside Matthews, upon hearing this, immediately took over without hesitation. She clenched the documents in her hands, a determined expression on her face, her steps steady, her tone composed and strong: “Governor, according to medical literature, patients infected with smallpox, if properly treated, more than half can recover.”

Putmans’s eyebrows slightly raised, his gaze resting on Shayun’s face, showing a trace of doubt: “Lieutenant Alpha, who is this lady?”

Alpha quickly adjusted his posture, standing even straighter, and replied respectfully: “Report, Governor, this is Doctor Shayun, head of Junsheng Medical Hall, quite renowned locally.”

Putmans nodded, then turned to Matthews, his eyes revealing a degree of caution: “Bishop, judging from what you’ve just explained, it seems that your Dominican order is quite confident in preventing smallpox infections?”

Matthews’s gaze hardened, unwavering, his tone full of confidence: “Yes, Governor. We have mobilized medical staff and all clergy to assist in treatment, and we are confident we can quickly control the outbreak.”

Putmans’s eyes grew stern, his tone even more serious: “And if the outbreak still spirals out of control?”

Matthews slightly bowed, his expression solemn, his tone carrying a sense of assumed responsibility: “Then I will bear all responsibility.”

Putmans’s expression remained unchanged, and he continued in a calm tone: “Very well! Tell me what support you require.”

Matthews immediately took a letter from his bosom and handed it to Putmans, his tone firm: “I have written to Bishop Roges in Batavia City, requesting that he urgently send medical supplies and personnel.”

Putmans squinted his eyes, then spoke without haste: “I have a batch of reserve medicines in the city; take them for emergency use.”

Matthews bowed deeply, expressing gratitude: “Thank you, Governor, for your understanding.”

A cold smile appeared on Putmans’s face, his eyes sharp as knives. His tone slightly intensified: “Let me be clear: within three months, if you cannot eradicate smallpox, I will take necessary measures.”

As Putmans’s words fell, the air in the room froze for a moment. Everyone could sense the threat behind this statement. Matthews slightly lowered his head, already understanding that this battle concerned not only the patients’ lives but also the future of everyone involved.

Shayun glanced at Putmans, gently tightened her grip on the documents in her hands, her face showing no trace of fear, only more determination. Her gaze returned to Matthews, and the unspoken understanding between them reached its peak at this moment.

142
In the rear courtyard of Junsheng Medical Hall, the afterglow of the setting sun filtered through the dense branches of the old trees, casting mottled shadows on the ground. The surroundings were tranquil, with only the occasional whisper of wind brushing through leaves, producing a faint rustling sound. Though the flowers and plants in the courtyard still retained some vitality, the air seemed laden with a stifling silence. The serenity of this moment formed a sharp contrast with the approaching storm.

Ali sat alone on a corner bench, body slightly leaning forward, hands wrapped around his knees, his face covered by a thick white mask. His brows were tightly furrowed, eyes half-closed, appearing utterly exhausted. His figure, elongated by the setting sun, radiated a sense of helplessness.

Soon, Lalu entered the courtyard with her daughter, Jamei, speaking softly as they walked slowly. Instinctively, Jamei moved toward Ali, asking with concern: “Uncle Ali, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Ali, hearing the voice, slightly raised his head. A trace of weariness shone in his eyes as his low voice reverberated through the air: “Don’t come near me. I may have contracted smallpox.”

Lalu’s expression tensed immediately. She reached out and gently pulled Jamei back by the shoulder, her eyes showing unease: “Jamei, stay back for now. Go fetch Aunt Shayun.”

Jamei looked at Ali, her eyes filled with confusion and worry, but Lalu’s tone made her understand that distance was necessary at this moment. She turned and quickly walked into the house. Soon after, Shayun followed, her steps steady and decisive.

Seeing Ali seated there, Shayun slightly furrowed her brows, walked over, and gently placed her hand on Ali’s shoulder, her tone filled with concern: “Ali, let me check.” She examined the skin on the back of Ali’s hand and his face, her eyes narrowing into slits. She immediately noticed red rashes appearing, the spots resembling wounds dripping with fresh blood, gradually spreading.

Shayun spoke in a low voice: “Ali, you may have contracted smallpox. When did it start?”

Ali’s lips curved slightly into a bitter smile, though the smile carried helplessness and self-mockery: “Finally, I’ve been infected too. Last night I had a headache and fever, couldn’t sleep at all. This morning, the red rashes appeared, and my whole body started itching.”

Shayun crouched down, placing her hand lightly on Ali’s knee, her eyes filled with concern and reluctance: “Those rashes will quickly turn into small blisters. Don’t scratch them to avoid infection. I’ll prepare herbal medicine to clear your liver heat and replenish your strength.”

Ali, hearing this, shook his head with a wry smile, his tone slightly lightened: “Shayun, this gives me the chance to be your medicine guinea pig. Try all the formulas you want; before you find the cure, I’ll stay strong and survive.”

Shayun drew a deep breath, gently releasing Ali’s knee. A flash of tenderness and worry passed through her eyes as she whispered: “Ali, you must hang on…”

Lalu, standing nearby, eyes glistening with tears upon hearing Shayun’s words, slowly walked over to Ali, lightly patting his shoulder, her tone resolute and hopeful: “Ali, you will get through this. You absolutely will!”

Hearing this, although Ali was in pain, a trace of strength entered his heart. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and looked at the sky no longer calm, the corners of his mouth slightly curved upward, silently telling himself: “I will endure.”

Shayun watched Ali’s gaze, not leaving immediately. She bent her head to adjust her robe and then turned to prepare the medicinal herbs. Lalu continued to stand by, silently guarding her friend. In the air, a wordless power seemed to condense; everyone’s hearts were aligned in the same direction.

143
Late at night, the clinic was as quiet as water, the only source of light being the dim kerosene lamp, whose glow cast flickering shadows on the walls. In Shayan’s bedroom, the desk was piled with thick Western medicine and traditional Chinese medicine books, each book appearing old and heavy. She sat quietly at the wooden desk, her fingers gently turning the worn pages of one book after another, her gaze focused and profound. These books emitted an aura of age; the edges of the pages had yellowed, seeming to carry countless wisdoms and experiences.

A slight furrow appeared on Shayan’s face as her eyes, focused by the lamp’s light, scanned one solution after another. She paused her hands, clasped the book tightly, and concentrated on reading a particular page. It was an ancient book titled Elbow Emergency Formulas, its pages slightly torn in places, yet Shayan’s eyes showed no hesitation. Suddenly, her eyes brightened, her lips moved slightly, softly reading a passage aloud:

“Variolation, the method is to take the scabs from the skin of a patient infected with smallpox, grind them into powder, and place it on human mucous membranes—for example, inside the nose or on the eyelids—allowing a person to develop mild smallpox symptoms. Afterward, they will no longer contract smallpox.”

Shayan whispered to herself, her tone full of sudden realization: “Fight poison with poison… why didn’t I think of this method before?” Her voice carried a hint of self-reproach, yet her eyes were ignited with a glimmer of hope. She quickly flipped to another page, urgently searching for more clues, a long-lost smile appearing on her face.

At that moment, the door to the room was gently pushed open, and Lalu quietly stepped in. Her footsteps were soft, making almost no sound, yet Shayan sensed the gaze and slowly turned around. Still holding the thread-bound ancient medical book, Shayan’s face unconsciously bloomed with a smile, as if all the exhaustion and pressure had instantly dissipated.

Lalu saw Shayan’s smile but then noticed her appearance, her brows slightly furrowing, her expression filled with concern: “Shayan, it’s late at night. You haven’t rested yet?”

Shayan smiled faintly, a trace of fatigue flickering in her eyes, yet her tone remained firm: “I have found a traditional Chinese medicine method to treat smallpox; it is recorded in this ancient book.” Her voice was clear and confident, as if all her efforts had finally paid off in this moment.

Upon hearing this, Lalu immediately frowned, her gaze shifting to Shayan’s hair. She couldn’t help but knit her brows slightly, her eyes gentle yet worried, slowly approaching Shayan, fingers lightly touching the tips of her hair, surprised to find that the originally black strands now contained traces of gray and white. “Shayan, your hair… it’s turning gray! You need to rest more…”

Shayan lightly shook her head, smiling calmly, eyes carrying both determination and tenderness: “I’m fine, Lalu.” She patted Lalu’s hand, seemingly to soothe her worry, then returned her gaze to the pages in her hands. She spoke softly: “This moment, for me, is more important than anything. As long as I can cure smallpox, all this exhaustion and the change in my hair doesn’t matter.”

Lalu looked at Shayan, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and admiration. She let out a gentle sigh, smiling slightly, resigned: “You are always like this, carrying everything yourself, refusing to let go of anything.”

Shayan did not respond, only lightly caressing the cover of the book, which carried not only the hope of treatment but also all her dedication and promise. Lalu knew that this strong woman had long shouldered her mission, and all she could do was silently guard her side.

144
Inside the consultation room, the light was dim, and the air carried a faint scent of medicinal herbs. Various medical diagrams hung on the walls, wooden tables held all kinds of medicinal materials and bottles, and bookshelves were stacked with heavy medical texts. Shayan stood attentively at Ali’s bedside; on the table lay a plate of finely ground smallpox scab powder. The dim kerosene lamp reflected on strands of her hair at her forehead, as if mirroring the determination and anxiety in her eyes. She gently held a slender wheat tube and carefully blew the powder under Ali’s tongue.

Ali’s face showed slight pain, his brows furrowed, but there was still a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Shayan focused on him, her tone gentle yet full of confidence: “Ali, this is the method recorded in the ancient texts. I believe it should work.” Her voice was clear and steady; in this moment, all the tension and pressure were concentrated in her words.

Lalu stood at the bedside, her face showing worry, eyes fixed on Shayan’s movements. She could not help but whisper: “Ali, in order to find a cure for smallpox, Shayan has hardly rested these past days!” Her tone was filled with deep gratitude and concern, her hands tightly clutching her clothing, eyes filled with unspoken worry.

Kali stood on the other side, his brows slightly raised, his gaze unconsciously scanning Shayan’s hair, suddenly exclaiming in surprise: “Have you noticed? Shayan’s hair is turning gray!” His tone carried a mix of shock and pity, as he instinctively touched his own hairline, unable to comprehend the toil behind it all.

Bosmen stood at the door, his gaze deep and heart aching as he looked at Shayan’s back. He stepped closer, whispering softly: “Shayan, you’ve really overexerted yourself…” His tone was low and full of helplessness, words unspoken, only silently feeling all that Shayan had done for everyone.

Shayan lightly shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile appearing at the corners of her lips, carrying hidden strength. She lifted her head and said to everyone: “As long as Ali can recover, let my hair turn completely white!” Her tone was firm yet light, as if she had long been accustomed to the efforts she put forth.

Kali’s face changed upon hearing this, a spark of emotion in his eyes. He patted Ali’s shoulder, his tone serious yet encouraging: “Ali, now that Shayan has said this, you must recover quickly!” He emphasized the word “quickly,” his gaze blazing, as if hoping to ignite more courage and hope in Ali.

Ali felt warmth in his heart upon hearing this, a grateful light appearing in his eyes. He nodded slightly, his voice calm yet resolute: “Thank you, everyone, for your concern. Actually, these past two days I’ve been feeling a bit better; the blisters on my skin are gradually disappearing.” His voice carried a hint of recovering strength; in the midst of the suffering of these days, this moment’s words were the most precious strength shared among them.

Seeing Ali slightly relaxed, a weight lifted from Shayan’s heart, and a faint smile appeared on her face. She gently caressed the back of Ali’s hand, her tone warm and resolute: “Ali, you will get through this. We will all be here waiting for you to recover.” Her touch was gentle yet firm, like a source of warmth, conveying endless support and hope.

In the clinic bedroom, the dim kerosene lamp emitted a faint glow; the air was humid, as if every corner were permeated with the scent of herbs and steam. The window by the bedside was slightly open, and the night wind softly stirred the white curtain, bringing a hint of coolness. Shayan sat on the edge of the bed, her body slightly hunched, one hand tightly covering her mouth and nose, the other trembling slightly as she clutched a towel. Her complexion was unusually pale, her eyes faintly revealing fatigue and pain.

With an intermittent cough, Shayan released the towel, lowering her gaze to the pool of fresh blood on it. Her chest rose and fell slightly, seemingly trying to remain calm, yet in that moment, her weakness made her figure appear even more fragile.

Lalu pushed the door open and entered, her face turning pale at the sight, her heart tightening. She hurried to the bedside, panicked, shouting: “Shayan, you’ve coughed up blood!” Her voice was urgent and anxious, her eyes full of worry, her hands instinctively grasping Shayan’s shoulders, trying to offer some support.

Shayan looked up at Lalu, the pain in her eyes almost overflowing. She tried to smile, but the smile was so fragile it seemed ready to vanish with the wind: “Lalu, I’m fine, it’s just…” Her voice was weak, her tone carrying helplessness and self-mockery.

Lalu took a deep breath, forcing down the panic in her heart, gently lifting Shayan into her arms, letting her rest against her shoulder. She whispered: “Shayan, you can’t do this… we need help. We can’t let you just give up like this.” Her arms gently wrapped around Shayan, offering comfort and support.

At that moment, Kali, hearing Lalu’s shouting, hurriedly pushed the door open, his gaze instantly locking onto Shayan’s pale face, his expression becoming serious, stepping quickly to the bedside: “Shayan, you must pull through!” His tone was filled with anxiety; his hands instinctively grasped Shayan’s, the warmth from his palms seeming to try to draw her back from the icy pain.

Lalu turned to Kali, a flash of helplessness and anxiety in her eyes, urgently saying: “Brother, quickly go to the church and get Benjamin over here! Shayan is very ill!” Her tone was urgent, almost commanding, her hands repeatedly patting Shayan’s back to comfort her, yet her inner worry could not dissipate.

Kali immediately nodded, no hesitation in his eyes. He turned quickly, his tone urgent: “I’m going now!” He strode toward the door, but before leaving, his gaze lingered on Shayan again, as if wanting to give her more support. He whispered: “Shayan, wait for us. You must hang on.” Then he hurriedly disappeared outside the door, vanishing into the night.

Shayan, hearing Kali’s footsteps gradually fade, closed her eyes slightly, feeling Lalu’s embrace and warmth. Her lips moved, producing a faint, low whisper: “Lalu, I… am really… so tired…” Her voice was like a weak whisper in the wind, carrying helplessness and fatigue, as if searching for a trace of comfort for herself.

145
Outside the window, the night was as dark as ink, raindrops densely striking the roof tiles and window frames. The wind howled past, like a beast roaring in the darkness, and occasionally lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the dimly lit clinic in flashes. The damp air seeped inside, the lamp light flickering unsteadily, as if it could go out at any moment.

Shayan’s bedroom was crowded with people, the air thick with anxiety and the strong scent of medicine. Lalu half-kneeling by the bedside, carefully helped Shayan sit up, her palm pressed firmly against Shayan’s back, as if holding up a teetering mountain. Shayan’s eyes were half-closed, her breath rapid, her chest rising and falling slightly with each gasp; her complexion was as pale as paper, and fine cold sweat beaded her forehead.

Benjamin stood at the bedside, holding a stethoscope in one hand, his brows tightly furrowed. He placed the cold stethoscope against Shayan’s front chest and back. Shayan coughed lightly, letting out a hoarse moan. After finishing the examination, he slowly removed the stethoscope, his expression becoming unusually heavy.

Kali stood beside him, fists clenched, finally unable to restrain himself, and asked: “What kind of illness is it? How could she be vomiting blood? Wasn’t she just vaccinating everyone safely?”

Benjamin’s voice was low: “It’s acute pneumonia caused by smallpox. She has been holding back for several days before telling you. You… have all been too negligent of her.”

These words struck everyone like a heavy blow, and the air instantly grew even more oppressive.

Bosmen lowered his head, his tone filled with apology: “These past days, Ali’s condition improved, and Shayan told us to split up to vaccinate the villagers. She told us to go with peace of mind, and even said she was fine… We really thought she could handle it…”

Ali struggled to rise from the chair, his face filled with guilt and pain. He went to the bedside and knelt, grasping Shayan’s cold hand: “It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t fallen ill, she wouldn’t have pushed herself like this… I brought this upon her!”

Lalu turned to him, placing both hands on Ali’s shoulders, speaking softly yet firmly: “Ali, don’t think like that. You are the patient. She wanted to help you because she believes your life is worth saving too.”

Kali stepped forward, his voice trembling as he asked Benjamin: “Then… how serious is her condition?”

Benjamin closed his eyes, his voice so low it was as if he feared speaking it aloud: “Very serious. I’m worried… the existing medicines may not be able to save her…”

In that instant, the room fell into a deathlike silence. Only the sound of the rain outside, pouring like a waterfall, could be heard, as if even heaven itself were weeping for Shayan’s fate.

Kali suddenly spread his arms wide and looked up at the ceiling, shouting: “Ali-Zu—what kind of lousy joke are you playing on me?! We just started to have a little hope!”

Bosmen immediately stepped forward, pressing a hand on Kali’s shoulder to steady his trembling body: “Kali, calm down. We can’t lose our composure… Benjamin must still have a way, right?”

Benjamin did not respond, only clenching his teeth, his gaze turning to the darkness outside the window. A flash of lightning illuminated the worried side of his face.

Everyone present fell silent. The shadows on their faces were stretched by the lamplight, tightly surrounding Shayan’s faint breathing, like a silent prayer standing vigil before dawn.