TYSUF – Chapter 36 An Old Friend Returns This Year (1)

Volume 2

Early Spring, 1918.

A heavy morning fog hung over the docks in the French Concession. A crowd of barefoot dockworkers huddled together, waiting for dawn.

Shen Xi stood at the Shiliupu Bund Pier with a group of medical personnel: four Chinese male doctors, three male nurses, and three female nurses. All of them wore white coats, masks, and caps, waiting quietly.

This was the only pier in Shanghai operated by a company that ran international routes. They were waiting for a cruise ship scheduled to dock that morning.

Years ago, she and Fu Tongwen had returned to China and disembarked right here.

“Dr. Shen,” one of the male doctors leaned toward her and asked, “you’re a woman. If someone starts making inappropriate comments, or worse, tries to get physical, make sure you hide behind us.”

“We’re neither stealing nor robbing anyone—why would it come to that?” Shen Xi gave a dry chuckle. “You lot better protect the three nurses instead. It wasn’t easy for me to recruit female nurses—don’t go scaring them away.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

“Dr. Shen, we’re not scared!” one of the female nurses declared with determination.

Shen Xi smiled too, though the expression was hidden behind her white mask.

“I’m worried we won’t be able to handle that many passengers.” A cruise ship crossing the ocean to reach Shanghai would have seen passengers disembark at various stops, but even so, hundreds would still remain on board.

And they were only eleven people.

“We have to try. Besides, we’re not detaining anyone—we’re just checking if there are any influenza patients on board,” Shen Xi said. “Most importantly, we’re looking for any deaths from illness. Watch everyone’s face—if someone looks especially haggard, do your best to persuade them to let us take their temperature. Just one case is enough. Of course, I’d prefer it if everyone on that ship is healthy.”

She had repeated these instructions dozens of times, so the team had them memorized: “Remember—nosebleeds, coughing up blood, bleeding from the ears, and skin discoloration are late-stage symptoms. If anyone has seen these signs of death on board, report it to me immediately.”

And after they reported it—then what?

“But even if there is a case, we don’t have the authority to detain the patient,” a male nurse pointed out.

Shen Xi thought for a moment and said, “That’s okay. Use Deputy Director Duan’s name to hold them back. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go smash the mayor’s office.” She was giving them a morale boost.

She looked full of confidence, but inside, she was filled with worry.

At the end of last year in the U.S., and the beginning of this year in Spain, an influenza outbreak had begun. The symptoms in fatal cases were horrifying—blood streaming down the face, skin turning strange colors.

The World War was at a critical stage. Governments across the globe had ordered the media not to use words like influenza or plague in their reports, for fear of disrupting the war effort or causing mass panic. But doctors from different countries were secretly in contact with one another, and many predicted the epidemic would sweep across Europe and deep into the U.S. heartland…

Since Shen Xi had reconnected with Chen Linguan, he had been sending her the latest medical information—including early warnings about this sudden outbreak. He first sent a telegram, followed by a thick letter.

“Autopsies of the deceased show marked cerebral congestion, with pathological changes in all major organs. The lungs are filled with fluid… Shen Xi, everyone is desperately searching for a cure, but nothing works. We are all in despair. Even my professor said, ‘Doctors today know no more about this flu than the physicians of 14th-century Florence knew about the Black Death.’”

—Chen Linguan’s letter

He was a rational person. Except for that one time he lost control when he saw Fu Tongwen, he never exaggerated or spoke in alarmist tones. Which meant Shen Xi was sure this epidemic was even worse than he described. After all, he was in Paris, which wasn’t even the hardest-hit area yet.

Shen Xi had submitted numerous requests to the city government, asking for disease control measures at China’s largest ports—Shanghai and Guangzhou. The bureaucrats completely ignored her. Which wasn’t surprising—this was an era where even the national prime minister could be replaced several times a year. No one cared about such things.

But how could politicians possibly understand the devastation a major epidemic could cause?

She could only do her best. Thankfully, transoceanic cruises were few and far between…

“They’re here!” The youngest nurse could barely contain her excitement, eyes bright with patriotic fervor.

Immediately, the team split up according to their prearranged plan, each taking a position at different points along the pier.

The dockworkers preparing to load and unload cargo watched the doctors in puzzlement. Shiliupu was known to be under Green Gang control—any major activity would be closely monitored. These medical personnel had arrived without warning, dressed immaculately, their eyes behind the white masks serious and somber. The dockhands guessed that perhaps some important political figure with a serious illness was aboard, and dared not interfere.

Soon, the cruise ship began disembarking its passengers.

Shen Xi took the lead, approaching well-dressed gentlemen with fluent English, asking if there had been a large outbreak of flu onboard, or if anyone was in critical condition due to fever or influenza. To gain their trust, she took off her mask and smiled as warmly as she could. Seeing that she was a lady, most of the men politely paused to answer her questions.

As she asked, she urged the nearest male doctor: “Hurry, board the ship and speak with the ship’s physician.”

In the bustle, her white cap fell to the ground. She didn’t have time to pick it up. In the end, a Chinese gentleman stooped to retrieve it for her.

“Miss, your hat.”

“Thank you,” Shen Xi said as she took it back. “Sir, do you have any flu symptoms? Or do you know of any fellow passengers in your section or cabin who have had fevers or flu-like symptoms, or infected those around them?”

The gentleman smiled and asked, “I came from Ohio in the United States. Are you referring to the sudden outbreak of that illness?”

“Yes, yes, exactly.”

This man clearly knew about the epidemic that had been suppressed in the media. “As far as I know, there are no such patients on board.”

“Thank you, sir. If that’s truly the case, then we are all very fortunate.”

Shen Xi smiled gratefully and went to stop another person.

The gentleman carrying a leather suitcase took off his hat with a smile and gave a slight nod to Shen Xi’s back—a gesture of thanks for her compassion. He then put his hat back on and noticed someone holding a white sign with a surname and “Ohio” written on it.

He nodded to the person holding the sign and smiled, “Hello, I’m the one you’re looking for.” He pointed at the paper.

Shen Xi had just intercepted a British man when she heard someone behind her say, “Third Master has been waiting a long time. Sir, please come this way.”

Her heart suddenly clenched, and she quickly turned around.

The travelers surged out of the pier like a rising tide, their faces under their hat brims were all unfamiliar. What “Third Master”? What servant? This was the Bund Wharf in the French Concession of Shanghai—not the Qianmen Railway Station in Beijing…

It wasn’t until the British man in front of her lost patience and walked away that Shen Xi snapped back to reality.

She quickly covered half her face again with her mask, concealing her momentary loss of composure under the curious gazes of her colleagues.

Once the crowd at the dock had dispersed, Shen Xi spent another ten minutes talking in detail with the ship’s doctor. Only after confirming that there was no outbreak on the cruise ship did she finally feel at ease.

Her colleagues had to return to the hospital for work, but since she had been on the night shift, she had the day off. While they went for breakfast, she hailed a rickshaw to go home.

When she got home, she found a bowl of scallion oil noodles left on the table.

Unfortunately, the person who cooked the noodles didn’t know she hadn’t gone straight home from the hospital but had gone to the dock instead, making her three hours later than usual. The soy-sauce-colored noodles had clumped together into a sticky lump and couldn’t even be pierced with chopsticks. Defeated, she slumped into the armchair and began flipping through the thick stack of Ta Kung Pao and New Youth magazines on the round table.

She stabbed the noodle lump with her chopsticks, took a bite, and flipped a page.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

Shen Xi set down her bowl and chopsticks, walked over to the desk, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

She took a breath, felt for her teacup, and gulped down a mouthful of overnight tea. “Deputy Director Duan, I was just about to contact you.”

“First of all, this isn’t the hospital—you don’t need to call me that,” Duan Menghe’s voice came through, sometimes clear, sometimes choppy. The line was poor. “Second, I saw the message you left me. Is it urgent?”

“Yes. I’ve made several calls to the Shanghai Municipal Government this week. I’ve been trying to get them to issue a public notice about the severe flu outbreak that’s spreading across the U.S. and Europe. This flu is going to be very serious—my classmates have all written back about it. But I’m just a small doctor. No one is taking me seriously. They just brush me off. If this continues, I’ll have to go protest in front of City Hall. They have to take the international situation seriously—”

Duan Menghe interrupted her. “But I’m just a deputy director at the hospital. Besides, you’re not a small doctor.”

“No, and you’re not just a deputy director either,” Shen Xi set the receiver on the desk, ran over to find a newspaper from two days ago, then came back and read aloud: “March 22—Duan Qirui reinstated as Premier. Duan Menghe, your relative is the Premier again. Just make a phone call—they won’t ignore you.”

She added under her breath, “Besides, your family’s elder, Premier or not, isn’t he still pulling the strings behind the scenes?”

“But this elder of mine despises people who abuse personal connections,” he replied with a laugh.

“This is about serving the people. I’m not asking you to break the law,” she said righteously.

“Just call me Deputy Director, then,” Duan Menghe sighed. “At least then I won’t feel like you’re threatening me.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m being serious. I happened to be free today and went to check the incoming passengers. What if I didn’t have time? What if a ship arrived?”

“Don’t worry. Ships from Europe are rare—this was the only one in three months.”

“That’s exactly why we have time to prepare. If ships came frequently, we’d already be on the frontlines of an outbreak.”

“…Alright, Dr. Shen, I’ll make the call,” Duan Menghe finally relented. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“No need to thank me. This isn’t your personal issue—or mine.”

Shen Xi responded with a soft “Mm,” then suddenly asked, “Weren’t you supposed to return on Monday? You came back three days early?”

There was a pause on the other end. “You remembered my schedule?”

“I always remember your schedule,” Shen Xi admitted. “Because… I’ve been waiting for you to come back so we could discuss the surgery plan.”

The phone line fell silent again.

“Come have lunch with me. I bet your house doesn’t have anything decent to eat.”

Shen Xi glanced at the sticky clump of soy noodles. “It’s not great, but I don’t feel like going out.”

“Don’t be so quick to turn me down. It’s for official business. I need you at the hospital to see a special patient.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Special? Special in what way—status or condition?”

“Both.”

If the patient had a special status, they likely had some background. If it was the condition, then it was probably a tumor case.

Shen Xi had observed several tumor removal surgeries during her studies in the U.S. Later, while compiling data at Renji Hospital, she’d studied past cases thoroughly. In the last two years at the new hospital with Duan Menghe in surgery, she had been deliberately trained in that direction, becoming a specialist in this field. At the hospital, when such patients came in, only she or Duan Menghe could take them. Since Duan Menghe was the deputy director, he couldn’t see patients all the time, so they were mostly assigned to her.

When it came to patients, Shen Xi became much more composed: “…Alright then. I accept your lunch invitation. But I’ll treat—after all, I threatened you with a newspaper. I’ll get changed and head out now.”

But she was too worried about the patient’s condition, so in the end, she bought noodle takeout and brought it to Duan Menghe’s office.

That was her so-called “treating him to lunch.”

Duan Menghe was speechless. He brewed some tea in the office, and the two of them made do with the meal. “The money you spent on this lunch probably isn’t even worth the price of my tea leaves.”

Shen Xi hadn’t eaten anything besides that one bite of noodle lump in over ten hours. Starving, she didn’t want to talk—just buried her head in her food.

She had been on night shifts often over the past two years. Day shifts were also busy, plus she still had to help out in the gynecology department. Her complexion had worsened noticeably, showing an unhealthy pallor. Seeing her like that, Duan Menghe pushed the teacup toward her. “The patient isn’t going anywhere. Eat slowly.”

“Almost forgot—congratulations,” she said after finishing and putting down her chopsticks.

Duan Menghe paused, then chuckled and shook his head. “You said it yourself—my family elder goes up and down so often, there’s no point in congratulating. He might resign again any day now.”

In these turbulent times, even a premier might resign one day and be reinstated the next. What could possibly be stable or lasting? Shen Xi sighed, “Let’s go see the patient then.” At least with patients, things were clearer—one life saved was one life gained.

“I’ll go with you.”

That was unusual. Ever since Duan Menghe had become deputy director, he’d never had so much free time—why was he coming along to consult?

“Just who is this patient? Is it beyond my ability, or do you need to go for appearances?”

Duan Menghe hesitated, then told her: “It’s Fu Tongwen’s father.”

The 1918 Spanish Flu was a global pandemic. Conservative estimates put the death toll at 21 million, but modern scholars estimate the actual number of deaths to be around 40 million—or even as high as 100 million.