As time slowly passed, the crimson sunset gradually flooded the streets. The gray brick alleys and dark-tiled roofs were dyed the color of amber. It was the hour people got off work, and with the clanging of bicycle bells, one black “28” bicycle after another shot down the roads.
The moment Jiang Li stepped out of the Grain Administration Bureau, her stomach growled twice. After walking a little farther, she spotted a state-owned restaurant and immediately heard the waiter’s thick Beijing accent greeting her.
“Comrade, what would you like to eat?”
In her previous life, Jiang Li had always wanted to visit the capital, but in the end, she never found the time. After finally surviving five years of university and three years of residency training, becoming a full-fledged doctor only left her with even less free time.
Back then, Jiang Li had never imagined her ending would be death from overwork.
She had studied medicine since childhood, and for generations her family had served as imperial physicians. Her parents died early, leaving only her grandfather to raise her. Everything passed down through the family line, her grandfather had tried every possible way to drill into her head.
Thinking of her grandfather, she sighed softly again.
Fortunately, he had peacefully passed away two years ago. Otherwise, she didn’t dare imagine whether he could have endured hearing the news of her sudden death.
“Comrade? Comrade!” The waiter handed over the menu and pointed at the dishes. “Take a look and see what you’d like.”
Jiang Li flipped through the menu and chose her grandfather’s lifelong favorite as the very first dish.
“Let’s start with hotpot lamb slices.”
Back in the 1970s, her grandfather had once traveled to the capital on business, and the state-owned restaurant’s hotpot lamb had become an unforgettable memory for decades afterward.
Growing up, Jiang Li had listened to him talk about it so much she practically craved it herself. She never got the chance to try it in modern times, yet somehow she’d found the opportunity now.
The waiter’s bent little finger instantly perked up at the order, and he proudly gave her a thumbs-up.
“Now that is a real order. This hotpot lamb is Dong Lai Shun’s signature dish. Usually we only serve it in winter. This year the lamb quality’s especially good, so we haven’t taken it off the menu yet, though I reckon there’s only a few days left. And I’m not bragging—once you try it, you’ll definitely want it again.”
“So that’s settled? I’ll notify the kitchen.”
As he turned to leave, Jiang Li quickly stopped him.
“Wait. Give me a roast duck too, and a bowl of douzhi.”
The waiter paused hesitantly.
“Comrade, are you sure you can finish all that by yourself?”
“It’s fine, just bring it out. If I can’t finish, I’ll take it home.”
Truthfully, Jiang Li simply wanted to try everything. Online discussions about douzhi had always sounded incredibly divided.
People who loved it claimed it was heavenly.
People who hated it said it tasted like fermented sock water.
She was curious.
When the dishes arrived, two waiters came together—one carrying the lamb and the other the copper hotpot. Inside the pot was a clear broth with only floating scallion segments. The paper-thin lamb slices were piled like snowy waves upon the plate, the marbling resembling cloudy streaks in marble.
Jiang Li had always eaten spicy hotpot before. This was her first time trying clear broth. She picked up a slice of lamb and swished it through the pot.
The red-and-white meat rolled gently in the soup. Once the slice curled into shape, she quickly pulled it out and dipped it into rich sesame paste sauce. The instant it entered her mouth, a sweet savory flavor exploded across her taste buds. The lamb was tender without being greasy, and there was almost no gamey smell at all.
Jiang Li was instantly stunned.
The roast duck was equally incredible—crispy, fragrant, and bursting with juice in every bite.
As for the douzhi…
Jiang Li stared at the bowl for a moment before scooping up a spoonful. The second it touched her tongue, her stomach churned violently. She wiped sweat from her forehead.
Sure enough, people who could drink douzhi were truly built different.
After the meal, Jiang Li finally felt full. Once she paid the bill, the waiter began packing up the leftover douzhi. Seeing the now-empty bowls on the table, Jiang Li hurriedly stopped him.
“Comrade, forget the douzhi. I really can’t handle that flavor.”
The waiter paused mid-packaging and laughed.
“That’s normal. Most people can’t stand douzhi. Only true native Beijingers grow up liking it.”
After leaving the restaurant, the temperature had already started dropping. Jiang Li buttoned her coat all the way up and touched the high collar of her sweater with relief.
Good thing she’d chosen a turtleneck. The night wind carried a biting chill that seemed determined to burrow through every layer.
She looked around, searching for the bus stop.
Suddenly, a crowd gathered ahead caught her attention. Standing on tiptoe to look over the people, she saw a middle-aged man in a Zhongshan suit collapsed on the ground.
Political Commissar Feng lay there with his eyes tightly shut, his face deathly pale. One hand clutched at his chest while his expression twisted in pain.
Only muffled gasping sounds escaped him, barely enough to count as breathing.
A young man was already kneeling beside him attempting acupuncture, but his hands trembled helplessly as he searched for acupoints with the needle. Just as panic overwhelmed him, a voice came from above.
“That’s wrong.”
The young man looked up to see a slender young woman squeezing through the crowd. Sweat drenched his forehead as he clutched the silver needle.
“Comrade, you don’t understand. This man’s condition came on too suddenly. If we don’t treat him immediately, he won’t even survive the trip to the hospital.”
The young man’s name was Tan Jiazhi, a student at Beicheng Medical College. He had been nearby when Commissar Feng collapsed. Though his medical knowledge was only half-baked, he couldn’t just stand there and watch someone die.
“I know.” Jiang Li’s professional instincts had already made her suspect acute myocardial infarction during her observation.
She quickly rolled up Commissar Feng’s sleeve and pressed three fingers to his wrist, her brows tightening slightly.
As expected.
She lowered his arm.
“Acute myocardial infarction. Your needle placement is wrong.”
Tan Jiazhi’s heart skipped violently. Seeing how calm and certain Jiang Li looked, he immediately realized he might truly have misdiagnosed the problem.
“Comrade, how can you be certain it’s myocardial infarction?”
Jiang Li replied calmly, “The patient’s pulse weakens or disappears during inhalation and recovers during exhalation. That’s a classic paradoxical pulse. Combined with the significant reduction in heart rate and insufficient peripheral circulation, it matches the symptoms of acute myocardial infarction.”
Tan Jiazhi hurriedly checked the pulse himself. After noticing the subtle differences, shock filled his face.
“It really is…”
How had he missed it earlier?
Tan Jiazhi didn’t dare think further. With his incorrect acupuncture treatment, not only might the patient have failed to recover—he could even have worsened the condition.
Possibly… even killed him.
Cold sweat instantly drenched his entire body, and he nearly collapsed onto the hard-packed ground.
“C-Comrade, what can we do to fix this?”
“Don’t panic. First, disperse the crowd. Too many people surrounding him is cutting off his oxygen.”
Jiang Li pulled out the misplaced needle Tan Jiazhi had inserted and swiftly loosened Commissar Feng’s clothing to expose his chest, reducing cardiac oxygen demand.
“Where are the rest of the needles?”
“Here!”
Tan Jiazhi hurriedly lifted an opened cloth bundle with both hands. Inside lay an entire row of silver needles in varying thicknesses.
Jiang Li selected one and inserted her first needle at the Neiguan acupoint.
The moment the needle went in, the tightly unconscious Commissar Feng suddenly sucked in a sharp breath.
A middle-aged woman among the dispersed crowd slapped her thigh excitedly.
“He can breathe now!”
“A miracle doctor! She’s a miracle doctor!”
Ordinary people didn’t understand medical skill. All they knew was that the man who moments ago could barely breathe had suddenly drawn a full breath again.
After several more needles, Commissar Feng’s pain visibly eased. His ragged breathing steadied, and color slowly returned to his previously pale face.
Jiang Li checked his pulse again. His heart rhythm was gradually stabilizing. Only after confirming he was no longer in danger did she finally relax.
A little while later, Commissar Feng slowly opened his eyes, his blurry vision gradually coming into focus.
When he had collapsed, he thought he’d already seen the old commanders and brothers who’d died on the battlefield. Just as he was preparing to reunite with them and talk about the prosperity of New China, a sharp sting from a needle had dragged him back.
“C-Comrade…” Commissar Feng’s chest still ached fiercely. Even speaking tugged painfully at his heart, making him gasp harshly. Realizing the young woman beside him had saved his life, he tightly grabbed onto the edge of her coat.
“Don’t talk. Save your strength.”
Only after confirming he was fully conscious did Jiang Li release his wrist.
“You’re fine now.”
Those simple words instantly calmed the panic and helplessness of everyone present.
Thank goodness he was alright. Otherwise they would have had to watch someone die right before their eyes.
Jiang Li stood and looked toward Tan Jiazhi, who still looked pale and guilt-ridden.
“Don’t be afraid. At least you were trying to save him.”
Whether the patient lived or died, a doctor’s duty was to try.
Only then did Tan Jiazhi finally relax. If he’d simply stood by and watched someone die without doing anything, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life.
As for the young woman before him—she looked even younger than he was, yet her diagnostic ability was astonishing. Unable to contain his excitement, he quickly extended both hands.
“Comrade, my name is Tan Jiazhi. I’m a student at Beicheng Medical College. Thankfully you were here, otherwise this comrade might not have survived.”
“Jiang Li.” Jiang Li shook his hand, her willow-shaped eyes curving slightly with a smile. “I still have things to do. I’ll leave this comrade in your care to get him to the hospital.”
“Don’t worry.” Tan Jiazhi thumped his chest confidently. “Someone already went to get a cart. We’ll send him over soon.”
They should have transported him to the hospital immediately, but his earlier condition had been too unstable. Moving him at that point might have guaranteed his death.
Naturally, Jiang Li understood this too. After politely saying goodbye, she turned and left.
As Commissar Feng was lifted onto a handcart by several locals, he still struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to clearly see Jiang Li’s face. He had just moved his lips to ask her name when another wrenching pain struck his chest.
Left with no choice, he lay back down on the cart and decided he would find another opportunity later.
After all, Beicheng wasn’t that big.