Chapter 83: Grandpa Sheng is in the Hospital 1
She also filled the military canteen with hot water, subtly adding two drops of spiritual spring water to the mix.
Securing the rations, Sheng Wanyan marched into the hospital and navigated the corridors until she located her grandfather’s ward. Peering inside, she found her father sitting rigidly on a small wooden stool, his eyes anchored to the sleeping old man.
There were only three patients assigned to this particular room. Father Sheng had deliberately paid a premium out of his own pocket to upgrade the old man’s ward placement. In the standard wards, the facility crammed five separate beds into a single room; when you factored in the accompanying relatives, the environment became a deafening, chaotic chatter box.
Father Sheng had been terrified that the constant noise would prevent Grandpa Sheng from securing proper medical rest, so he hadn’t hesitated to spend the extra cash for a lower-occupancy space. He sweated and toiled at the mill to earn a solid wage precisely so his family could enjoy a better standard of living; there was absolutely no reason to force his elderly father to suffer unnecessary discomfort during a medical crisis.
In this era, private medical suites were nonexistent. Unless an individual held a highly distinguished rank within a premier state enterprise, they simply lacked the political credentials to demand a private room. Beyond that, the average laborer would never dream of squandering their savings on an upgrade; to them, a hospital stay was just a temporary necessity, so why waste a single extra yuan?
The moment Father Sheng looked up and saw his daughter standing in the doorway all by herself at this hour, his heart leaped straight into his throat from sheer fright.
“Why on earth did you venture out alone so late?” he hissed, jumping to his feet and pulling her to the side. “The roads are incredibly treacherous after dark!”
Father Sheng had always believed his daughter was exceptionally striking, leaving him in a perpetual state of anxiety that some street thug would target her if she navigated the district alone at night. Consequently, if Wanyan ever delayed her commute past dusk, he would drop everything to personally intercept her.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I pedaled my bicycle remarkably fast,” she reassured him softly.
“How is your mother holding up?”
“Grandma is completely stable now. Mom is at her side keeping her company.” Wanyan unslung her basket. “This is the hot dinner Mom prepared for you, and this…”
Leaning in close, Wanyan discreetly slipped a crisp fifty-yuan stack into his hand. Father Sheng’s eyes widened slightly, and he deftly shoved the currency deep into the inner pocket of his heavy uniform coat. The ward housed other patients, and fifty yuan was a staggering fortune in this era; they had to guard it with absolute caution.
“Alright, turn right back around and head home immediately,” her father urged, his voice tight with anxiety. “It’s pitch-black outside, and the snow is completely obscuring the path.” He was terrified that a prolonged delay would invite danger, so he continuously nudged her toward the exit.
“Okay, I’m leaving right now,” Wanyan nodded. “Make sure you wrap yourself in that military greatcoat to stay warm through the night. I’ll report here first thing tomorrow morning to relieve you so you can rest.”
She intended to formally request a stretch of leave from the mill, allowing her and her father to rotate shifts to look after the patriarch.
“Understood. Just keep your guard up on the road,” Father Sheng called out, his face tight with concern.
While it was true that the vast majority of citizens were honest, hard-working laborers in this era, his daughter was simply too beautiful. If a predator targeted her in the dark, the consequences would be catastrophic. In moments like these, the lack of an extra adult male inside the household felt like a glaring vulnerability. The women were forced to shoulder the entire domestic burden, which was precisely why Mother Sheng constantly prayed for Sheng Wanze to be permanently stationed back home.
The clock had already ticked past nine in the evening by the time Wanyan’s boots touched the apartment landing. Inside, her mother was pacing the floor frantically. Earlier, she had merely suffered a momentary lapse in judgment, letting her daughter sprint out to the clinic without a second thought. But now that the night had turned completely dark, her maternal panic had taken over. What if a tragedy had occurred on the road?
Mother Sheng continued to stride back and forth across the small living room. The literal second she heard the key rattle in the lock, she lunged forward to throw the door open. Seeing her daughter cross the threshold safe and completely unharmed, she let out a massive, trembling sigh of relief.
“Thank heaven you’re back. Next time, I’ll be the one to deliver the rations.”
“Mom, I’m planning to head down to the Propaganda wing first thing tomorrow to secure a week of emergency leave,” Wanyan announced, hanging her coat up. “That way, Dad and I can flawlessly rotate shifts at the clinic.”
“Good. I’ll clear some leave with my supervisor as well so I can stay back to cook and manage the apartment.” It was out of the question to leave Grandma Sheng marooned alone in the apartment; the old woman was already thoroughly shaken by the medical scare, and it was unconscionable to expect her to cook three hot meals a day by herself.
“If only your older brother were stationed back here in the district… our family wouldn’t have to run ourselves ragged through the snow in the middle of the night,” Mother Sheng sighed, sinking onto a wooden stool, her face tight with sudden emotion. Why on earth hadn’t she been blessed with one more child?
“Mom, my brother is out there doing incredible work,” Wanyan countered gently, stepping over to rub her shoulders. “Besides, a medical emergency like this only happens once in a rare while. We can handle it. Just think about it: your son is actively defending the borders of our nation. As a proud military mother, you shouldn’t let yourself harbor these discouraging thoughts.”
Mother Sheng offered another heavy sigh. While her daughter’s words were sweet and comfortingly simple, the reality of their long-term survival was far more complex. Wanyan would inevitably marry and leave the nest sooner or later. Gu Tingxiao was an active-duty officer, which meant Wanyan would undoubtedly pack her bags to follow the regiment the moment their courtship formalized. There was absolutely no world in which her daughter would remain pinned to her parents’ side forever; her future in-laws would fiercely object to such an arrangement.
When that day arrived, the apartment would be left housing four aging elders. If another internal medical crisis struck, how could she and Father Sheng possibly manage the physical and financial logistics alone? She and her husband were already deep in their forties; how many more years of hard industrial labor did they honestly have left in their bones?
Right now, they could rely on their daughter to run through the city streets to manage emergencies, but if the oldest generation collapsed, she and Father Sheng would be entirely stranded without a single soul to call for help. Was their future reality any different from a houseful of abandoned, empty-nest elders?
The more Mother Sheng muddled over the trajectory, the more an intense wave of grief weighed down her chest. Her son was her ultimate crowning pride, yet due to his deployment, he was physically incapable of shouldering the fundamental filial duties expected of an only son.
“Mom, stop overthinking things and head to bed,” Wanyan urged softly, cutting off her spiraling thoughts.
Mother Sheng nodded tiredly. What was the point of torturing her mind with future anxieties? The family was locked into this current framework, and they could only take it one single step at a time. “Make sure you catch some rest early as well, child.”
“I will, Mom.” Wanyan nodded.
She was thoroughly exhausted; she had spent the entire evening managing a crisis, leaving her cognitive reserves completely drained.
The following morning, Sheng Wanyan reported to the cotton mill solely to secure her emergency leave. The moment Director Li heard that her grandfather had been rushed into surgery, he authorized the manifest without a single bureaucratic delay.
After downing a quick breakfast, Wanyan headed straight back toward the clinic, balancing a fresh tin of hot morning rations for her father. The second she stepped into the ward, her eyes fell upon Father Sheng. He was slumped precariously over the small stool by the bedside, his chin covered in thick, coarse stubble as he dozed off from sheer exhaustion.
“Dad, wake up. Go home and catch some sleep,” she whispered, gently shaking his arm.
Father Sheng jolted awake, a profound look of relief washing across his tired face the moment he recognized her. He had spent the entire night locked in a state of hyper-vigilance, terrified that his daughter might have encountered predators on her midnight commute home.
“Wanyan… how is everything back at the apartment?”
“Everything is completely locked down, Dad. Mom is securing some leave to look after Grandma, so you can head straight home to rest. Just report back here this evening to take over the night shift.”
“Alright. You keep an eye on your grandfather for the morning, and I’ll walk back to relieve you by mid-afternoon.”
Father Sheng’s eyes were severely bloodshot; he had barely managed two hours of fractured sleep on that wooden stool all night. Wanyan nodded, and seeing his profound fatigue, she urged him to quickly finish his hot breakfast and head out.
Father Sheng gathered the empty lunch tins and departed. The literal second his boots cleared the apartment threshold, he thoroughly scrubbed his face and collapsed onto his mattress to catch up on his sleep. Mother Sheng guarded his rest fiercely, ensuring not a single sound disturbed the bedroom. She quietly finalized a light lunch, shared a few bites with Grandma Sheng, and then packed a fresh tin of rations to carry down to Wanyan at the hospital.
Back in the ward, Wanyan sat closely by the bedside. Ensuring the room was clear, she subtly reached beneath the heavy quilt to take Grandpa Sheng’s pulse.
The surgical intervention had been an absolute success; so long as the old man rested meticulously, his baseline vitality would fully restore. Her primary medical focus now was monitoring the incision site to ensure the primitive ward conditions didn’t trigger a dangerous bacterial infection.
Grandpa Sheng’s bed was positioned at the absolute innermost corner of the room. The remaining two beds were occupied by a frail, elderly matron and a gaunt, middle-aged man.
“My goodness, little girl, what exactly is plaguing your grandfather?” the elderly woman in the adjacent bed suddenly piped up, her eyes scanning Wanyan’s uniform like she was appraising merchandise at a market stall. “How is it that a young granddaughter like you has been left to handle his physical care alone?”
Out of standard baseline politeness, Sheng Wanyan offered a curt, entirely noncommittal response. “Just a minor ailment.”
The elderly matron next door clearly didn’t buy the deflective answer for a single second; she had distinctly heard the nurses confirming that the patient in the corner bed had undergone major abdominal surgery that morning. How on earth could a surgical operation be classified as a minor ailment? This little girl was remarkably bold to boast such an obvious lie!
“Where on earth is his actual grandson?” the old woman pressed, leaning over her mattress. “Why hasn’t a young man reported to look after his elders? It’s profoundly inappropriate and inconvenient for an unmarried girl to be managing an old man’s bodily functions!”
Sheng Wanyan completely turned a deaf ear to the prodding, staring straight ahead. The old woman was rattling off invasive inquiries like she was a state official auditing a household registry. They weren’t relatives, and they certainly weren’t friends; why should she surrender her private family logistics to a gossiping stranger?
Sensing the freezing, absolute wall of indifference radiating from Wanyan’s profile, the elderly neighbor eventually realized she was being thoroughly ignored. She scowled, letting out a series of resentful, low mutterings under her breath before turning away.
Grandpa Sheng remained deeply unconscious under the anesthesia. Wanyan leaned her head back against the white wall, the pervasive, acrid stench of the 1970s hospital infrastructure hitting her senses until a wave of genuine nausea washed over her.
