Chapter 82: Grandpa Sheng is in the Hospital
When the time comes to express their gratitude, Sheng Wanyan isn’t sure just how many gifts she’ll need to bring. She’s heard of the Sheng family before; they’re a respected household of workers, and the son is a battalion commander.
Liang Shandong’s wife felt a surge of private satisfaction. She hadn’t expected her husband to accidentally stumble into helping a family with such solid standing. From now on, the Sheng family would owe them a favor—a valuable currency they could use if they ever needed a hand themselves.
Before long, Father and Mother Sheng came rushing down the hall, with Grandma Sheng trailing closely behind, her face etched with worry.
“How is he? How is your grandfather?”
“Why did he suddenly faint? He was perfectly fine last night!”
The parents were out of breath, their faces flushed. Being in their forties, the frantic run to the hospital had clearly pushed them to their limit.
“He’s in surgery,” Wanyan explained. “The doctor said it’s acute appendicitis.”
“Appendicitis? Surgery?”
“Why would he need surgery so out of the blue?”
The word “surgery” sent a jolt of terror through Grandma Sheng, making her face turn ashen. To people of her generation, any form of surgery was synonymous with a life-threatening crisis.
“Grandma, please don’t get worked up. The doctor said it’s a minor procedure. He’ll be fine after resting for a while.”
“Truly? You aren’t just saying that to soothe me?” Grandma Sheng gripped Wanyan’s hand tightly, her eyes searching her granddaughter’s face for any hint of a lie.
“Truly. It’s not a big deal, I promise.”
Wanyan helped her into a seat. Father and Mother Sheng let out long sighs of relief at her words. As long as he could recover, they could handle the rest. Still, it pained them to think of the old man suffering, and they remained wary of any complications.
“Mom, Dad, it was Comrade Liang Shandong who brought Grandpa here,” Wanyan said, gesturing to the couple.
Hearing this, the parents immediately hurried forward to thank Liang Shandong and his wife.
“Master Sheng, please, don’t be so formal,” Liang Shandong insisted. “I was just doing what any neighbor would do.”
“Exactly,” his wife added. “We’ll definitely come by to visit the old gentleman once he’s feeling better.”
The parents took them aside to exchange further pleasantries. Hearing that the Shengs intended to pay a formal visit of thanks, Liang Shandong’s wife beamed so broadly her eyes narrowed into slits. The couple didn’t linger much longer, soon bidding their farewells. Wanyan watched them go, her head lowered as she drifted into thought.
A full hour passed before the surgeon finally emerged. He was instantly swarmed by the Sheng family, all clamoring for news.
“Doctor, how is my father?”
“The patient had a localized obstruction of the appendix,” the doctor explained. “Waste wasn’t being discharged properly, which led to the inflammation and eventual collapse from pain.”
He looked at them pointedly. “You must pay closer attention to the elderly’s digestive health. It’s best to provide a diet that is easy to digest. He’ll stay for a week of observation, and if there are no complications, he can be discharged.”
“Of course. Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much!”
The parents nearly collapsed with relief. As long as it wasn’t a major internal crisis, they could breathe again. Grandma Sheng finally relaxed her posture, leaning heavily against Wanyan, looking utterly exhausted. Wanyan supported her, gently patting her grandmother’s back to help her find her breath.
“It’s alright now, Grandma. It’s all over.”
“Wanyan, take your grandmother home so she can rest,” Father Sheng directed. “I’ll stay here tonight to keep watch.”
He turned to his wife. “You head back too. Please help me ask for a week’s leave at the mill. You’ll have to shoulder the heavy lifting at home for a while.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Mother Sheng chided gently. “What’s a little extra work for the sake of family?”
Wanyan looked at Grandma Sheng, who was pale and trembling in her arms, and nodded. There was no point in her staying at the hospital tonight; her priority now was looking after the grandmother. The two elders were now the focal points of the household’s care; with Grandpa in the hospital, they couldn’t afford to let Grandma fall ill as well.
Wanyan and her mother escorted Grandma Sheng back to the apartment. Once they arrived, Mother Sheng immediately headed for the kitchen. None of them had eaten yet, and she needed to prepare a meal to run back to the hospital so Father Sheng could endure the long night.
Wanyan poured a cup of spiritual spring water for Grandma Sheng. After drinking it, the old woman’s color returned, and she looked significantly more settled. Logically, given that Wanyan frequently added the spring water to the family’s food, Grandpa shouldn’t have fallen ill so suddenly.
“Grandma, did Grandpa eat something he shouldn’t have last night?”
“He was feeling a bit hungry late last night,” Grandma Sheng admitted. “He got up in the middle of the night and ate a raw sweet potato.”
Wanyan sighed. People of that generation weren’t fussy about food; as long as it filled the belly, they’d eat it. Eating raw sweet potatoes was common practice for them. They didn’t consider that raw starches were difficult to digest; in fact, they preferred food that “stuck to the ribs” and stayed in the stomach longer.
Though there were soft pastries in the house, Grandpa had wanted to save those for the rest of the family, choosing to suppress his hunger with a few raw bites instead. The midnight snack had caused a blockage, leading to the morning’s agonizing stomachache. He’d tried to tough it out, thinking the pain would pass, only to faint when it became unbearable.
“He won’t be doing that again,” Wanyan said, her voice a mix of frustration and pity. She had warned him several times about raw and cold foods, but he’d never taken it to heart. “From now on, no more raw food. His stomach just can’t handle it.”
“And if he’s hungry at night, he needs to cook something hot. Tell him not to worry about saving a bit of coal; it’s not worth his health.”
Grandma Sheng nodded fervently. She’d learned a frightening lesson today—she hadn’t realized that a simple digestive issue could end in surgery.
“And Grandma, hide his wine before he gets back,” Wanyan added. “Otherwise, the first thing he’ll do is look for a drink, and he needs to recuperate properly.”
“You’re right. I’ll hide it immediately, before he even has a chance to think about it.” Grandma Sheng scurried off to gather every bottle in the house, tucking them away in a secret spot known only to her.
The women had a quick bite to eat, and Mother Sheng prepared a hot bowl of egg noodle soup for Father Sheng. With the winter chill biting at the windows, he needed something substantial to keep him warm through the night.
“Mom, I’ll take the noodles to him,” Wanyan said. “I’ll bring him his military greatcoat and a canteen of water, too. You stay here and keep an eye on Grandma so she can get to bed early.”
Mother Sheng hurried to retrieve the heavy coat and canteen. Wanyan bundled up, taking the hot food and the water bottle, and headed back out into the night.
The moment she cleared the tube-shaped building, she tucked the noodles and the canteen into her spatial dimension. In this freezing weather, the soup would have been ice-cold by the time she reached the clinic if she’d carried it by hand.
The streets were deserted. Most families had already eaten and were burrowed under their quilts to save on fuel. The world was silent, and a fresh layer of snow was already beginning to pile up. Riding a bicycle on the unplowed roads was a nightmare, so after a few minutes of struggling, Wanyan tucked the bike into her space as well.
She retrieved a modern electric scooter from her inventory. Fortunately, she’d prepared a bit of everything for her “stockpile,” and it was times like these when her foresight paid off. Walking would have taken over half an hour, and the snow was only getting heavier.
The electric scooter was much faster and more powerful. She drove cautiously, keeping an eye on the distance; whenever she spotted a person in the gloom, she would instantly duck into her space with the scooter. To any casual observer, she would have appeared as nothing more than a trick of the light or a snowy hallucination.
When she neared the hospital, she put the scooter away. Her face was flushed bright red from the wind, and her nose was beginning to run. She was glad she hadn’t let her mother come out in this weather.
Before heading inside, she slipped into her space one last time. She pulled the bowl of noodles out of stasis—still steaming hot—and tucked two juicy chicken legs into the broth for her father. After all, he had a long, cold night ahead of him.
