Chapter 147 Cowpox

What Chu Ningshuang referred to as “consulting books” were the few recently purchased thick Chinese medicine volumes, each almost as dense as a dictionary.

Titles included: “Comprehensive Medical Guide for the Chinese Medicine Practitioner Qualification Exam”, “Comprehensive Medical Guide for the Integrated Chinese and Western Medicine Practitioner Qualification Exam”, “Fundamentals of Chinese Medicine”, and “Exercises on the Fundamentals of Chinese Medicine”…

Miao Yunyou glanced at them and immediately felt dizzy: “What era is this? You actually need to flip through books? Why not just search online?”

Thanks to the modern internet, the accumulated experience of five thousand years of Chinese history could now be accessed with a few keystrokes.

Chu Ningshuang and Chu Fuling had expected to spend several long nights painstakingly researching, but with Miao Yunyou’s help, in less than half an hour, they had already found all the solutions.

Chu Ningshuang and Chu Fuling were speechless: Wasn’t this efficiency just a bit too high?

Miao Yunyou clasped his hands together: “All thanks to the wisdom of those who came before us.”

Combining the information with the current reality, they made a few adjustments and finally settled on the solution.

The solution was divided into two aspects: first, treatment; second, prevention.

Treatment was relatively simple. A prescription was written, and following it—preparing the medicine, decocting it, and taking it orally—it could clear heat, detoxify, strengthen the body, and expel pathogens, stabilizing the condition of smallpox patients and helping them survive the most dangerous phase of the illness.

Prevention was a bit more complicated. After all, no matter how much they drew on the wisdom of the ancients, they currently had no way to obtain a direct injectable vaccine.

At present, the smallpox vaccine was a special controlled biological product, not sold commercially. Only national institutions such as the CDC had strategic reserves for extreme situations.

Even with money, it simply couldn’t be bought.

So they chose a more traditional approach.

There were historically two ways to prevent smallpox: humanpox and cowpox.

Humanpox used a “fight poison with poison” approach: the scabs of recovered smallpox patients were ground into powder, or pus was introduced into the nose to induce infection. While this could produce immunity, because it used live smallpox virus, the risk was extremely high. Vaccinees could develop severe disease or even die, and during the inoculation period, they could become sources of infection.

Cowpox, on the other hand, used the cowpox virus infecting cows, introduced via shallow scratches on the skin of the arm. This virus had cross-immunity with human smallpox virus but was essentially harmless to humans, causing only local reactions and mild fever.

Comparing the two: humanpox, while pioneering in human immunology, had fatal drawbacks, including potential viral resurgence, transmission of smallpox, and a mortality rate of about 2%. Cowpox, however, was completely harmless to humans, provided long-lasting immunity, and could block human-to-human transmission. Because of cowpox’s absolute advantages in safety and controllability, it eventually replaced humanpox and became humanity’s ultimate weapon to eradicate smallpox.

By the next day, both the treatment and prevention plans had been delivered to Lord Lu.

In his study, candlelight flickering, Lu Cheng’an held the thin sheet of paper, scanning the words with disbelief: “After cleaning the person’s arm, make several shallow scratches on the skin with a knife or needle—just enough to see a thread of blood, without actual bleeding. Then, drop the cow’s pustule fluid onto the wound so it penetrates the skin. After three to four days, the arm will itch and develop a small papule, gradually turning into a blister and pus-filled lesion, finally scabbing over and falling off, leaving a permanent circular scar. Mild fever or discomfort usually accompanies this. After about fifteen days, the person will no longer be susceptible to smallpox.”

Beside him, Lu Yunxiao tiptoed over, squinting at the paper. When he saw the contents, he immediately jumped up, wide-eyed and amazed:

“Wow! This is incredible… I’ve never heard of anything like it!

Dad, should we send these two prescriptions to the capital now?”

Lu Cheng’an, however, slowly withdrew his gaze, fingertips brushing the edge of the paper. He thought for a long moment, then gently shook his head, speaking in a measured tone:

“I’ve heard that a court physician in the capital has some experience treating smallpox and has already stabilized the situation. Unless there’s something unusual, there’s no need to send this prescription out. Of course, we still need to cultivate cowpox, but only on a small scale, quietly and privately.”

At the very least, they couldn’t risk the smallpox from this area spreading to the Miao Sect.

Lu Yunxiao frowned, pouting in disagreement: “But how could a court physician’s prescription be better than Doctor Chu’s?”

Lu Cheng’an couldn’t help but smile wryly, his eyes reflecting the insight and helplessness of navigating officialdom: “Of course his prescription isn’t better than Doctor Chu’s. But the problem is… where would I even get such a perfect prescription? After all, from the outside, our county doesn’t have any renowned doctors to show off. I can’t exactly claim that I suddenly discovered a medical talent at my age, can I?”

Lu Yunxiao blinked: “I guess that makes sense…”

If his father recklessly sent such a peerless prescription to the court, it wouldn’t earn easy trust; instead, it could draw suspicion and jealousy from the powerful. At best, they’d question the source; at worst, he could be accused of some baseless crime and bring trouble upon himself.

“So we can only hope that court physician is competent enough to quickly stop the epidemic in the capital. That way, Miao Sect won’t have to worry either.” Lu Yunxiao’s excitement deflated, and he pouted.

Lu Cheng’an patted his son’s head. Just as he was about to speak, he remembered something and shifted the topic: “Oh, earlier I asked you to count the rabbits in the backyard. Did you do it?”

“I did.” Lu Yunxiao looked a little uncomfortable. “I just noticed another one died. There are only 77 left. Didn’t they say rabbits reproduce quickly? When will they have babies?”

A gentle smile appeared in Lu Cheng’an’s eyes:

“The rabbits Miao Sect gave us are only two months old. That was my idea. If it were a bunch of small rabbits, people could believe we found them or caught them. But if they were all fully grown, who would trust that? Over time, suspicions would arise. Small rabbits are fine—they just need four months before they can reproduce. By next month, the first batch will have reached four months old…”

Lu Yunxiao looked at the careful, restrained consideration in his father’s eyes, and a sudden pang of emotion welled up in his small heart.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He threw himself into his father’s arms, burying his face in his clothes, voice muffled:

“You don’t have any selfish motives. You just want to help the people… and yet you keep everything hidden like this…”

Lu Cheng’an’s body stiffened, then he gently stroked his son’s head. His laughter carried warmth, along with a sincere promise:

“Who said I don’t have selfish motives? When winter comes, the first thing I’ll do is make each of you—a warm hat for you and for Mancang—out of rabbit fur. How’s that?”

He slowly lifted his gaze toward the window.

The large tree in the courtyard had long shed its leaves, bare branches stretching toward the gray sky. Autumn winds swept dry leaves across the windowsill, carrying a hint of the approaching deep winter.

Lu Cheng’an murmured softly, as if speaking to his son, yet also to himself:

“And… then I’ll make some winter clothes for the people…”

All he hoped was that this winter, everyone could live through it safely…