In the fiery red era of the heavens, refrigerators are refreshed daily.

After having lunch at the teacher's house and sitting for a while longer, Yang Guangming said goodbye.

The afternoon sun shone warmly on my body, and the autumn breeze carried the refreshing scent of grass and trees unique to the harvest season.

His steps were light and steady, and his mood was as bright and open as the clear blue sky after the autumn sun, full of strength and hope.

Having solved the urgent need for medicine and formally joined the Party organization, everything was going according to plan, and his goals were clearer than ever before.

He walked slowly along the familiar alley towards the courtyard house he rented, intending to rest well in the afternoon, spend time with his parents, and enjoy this rare peaceful afternoon.

However, as soon as he stepped through the bright gate of the courtyard house, he involuntarily slowed his pace and frowned.

The courtyard was quiet, but amidst this quiet, faint, intermittent sobs could be heard coming from the front yard; the voices were hoarse and desperate.

Judging from the voice, it sounds like Aunt Jiao!

As Yang Guangming entered the front yard, he looked ahead and saw that the door to the back house where the Jiao family lived was not open for ventilation as usual, but rather ajar.

At that moment, a group of people were gathered there: the landlord, Mr. Shen; Mr. and Mrs. Liao; Manager Zhao from the backyard; and his mother, Chu Yuanjun, along with several neighbors who were at home. They were all gathered there, each with a deep look of worry on their faces.

People were whispering among themselves, and sighs could be heard from time to time.

Yang Guangming quickened his pace and walked over.

"Mother, what happened?" Yang Guangming walked to his mother's side, whose brows were furrowed and eyes were slightly red, and asked in a low voice.

When Chu Yuanjun saw her son return, it was as if a painful memory had been stirred up. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, sighed, and said in a low, heavy voice:

"It's Master Jiao... Master Jiao has had an accident... He's badly injured and has a high fever; his condition isn't good..."

Last night, he was guarding the warehouse at the factory when he encountered ruthless robbers. A gunfight broke out, and someone died…

Yang Guangming's heart sank.

The Jiao family, consisting of father and two sons, had an excellent reputation in the courtyard and were recognized as the most upright and principled family there.

Master Jiao's real name is Jiao Zhenshan. In his early years, he worked as a镖师 (bodyguard/escort) and roamed the martial arts world. He has solid skills and is known for his loyalty, generosity, and willingness to help others.

His two sons, Jiao Da and Jiao Er, inherited their father's character and physique. In their early twenties, they were broad-shouldered and strong, and were well-known far and wide as honest, law-abiding, and not to be trifled with.

Since Yang Guangming's family moved into this courtyard house, although they usually live their lives behind closed doors and don't have much contact, he can clearly feel that the courtyard has been able to maintain basic stability and has not been disturbed by any local thugs or petty scoundrels. This is largely due to the unassailable toughness of the Jiao family father and sons and the reputation they have built up in the surrounding streets.

The neighbors in the courtyard, whether openly or secretly, all felt a sense of gratitude and respect towards them.

Hearing that the pillar of this family has had an accident, and that it sounds so serious, everyone naturally feels as if a heavy stone is pressing on their hearts, and they are extremely worried.

Yang Guangming gently pushed through the crowd, squeezed to the entrance of the Jiao family's house, and peered inside.

Inside the room, on the earthen kang (heated brick bed), Master Jiao, Jiao Zhenshan, was lying upright with a wet towel covering his forehead.

His face was flushed an unhealthy red, like burning embers, while his lips were dry, cracked, and white, with layers of white skin. His eyes were tightly closed, his brows were furrowed in pain, and he occasionally let out unconscious groans, clearly in a semi-comatose or even comatose state due to a high fever.

His left leg was exposed, with his calf wrapped in thick gauze. The blood seeping from the white gauze had turned into a chilling dark red, and there were traces of yellowish pus around the edges, which looked particularly jarring.

Master Jiao's two sons, Jiao Da and Jiao Er, two strong young men who were usually cheerful and seemed to have inexhaustible strength, now stood by the kang (a heated brick bed) with their heads drooping, their eyes red and swollen, looking utterly lost. They would occasionally wipe away the tears that kept flowing with the back of their rough hands or their sleeves, letting out suppressed sobs.

Aunt Jiao slumped on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), her hands tightly gripping her husband's, as if he would leave if she let go.

She cried so hard she could barely breathe, her shoulders heaving violently, her gray hair plastered haphazardly to her sweat-dampened forehead, her hoarse sobs filled with despair and helplessness.
"Heavens above...you have no eyes...if the head of the household is gone, leaving us, a widow and orphans...how are we supposed to live...how are we supposed to survive..."

She sobbed and mumbled incoherently, her voice broken, and all who heard her felt heartbroken and shed tears.

Soon, from the whispers and sighs of the neighbors, as well as Aunt Jiao's intermittent and incoherent sobs, Yang Guangming gradually pieced together the general outline of the incident.

Master Jiao works as a security guard at a fairly large textile factory, mainly responsible for night patrols and warehouse security.

Last night, it was his turn to work the night shift. Unexpectedly, in the middle of the night, a group of ruthless bandits, whether premeditated or on a whim, attempted to forcibly break into the factory warehouse and rob the cloth and cotton yarn stored inside.

Although the factory's security personnel were few in number and their weapons were outdated, they still fought back fiercely under the leadership of Master Jiao and others, and engaged in a fierce gun battle with the bandits, taking advantage of the warehouse's terrain.

In the end, they managed to drive back the gang of thugs and save the supplies in the warehouse, but at a very heavy cost.

Two security guards were shot in vital areas and died instantly. The other four, including Master Jiao, also suffered gunshot wounds of varying degrees.

Compared to the two workers who died and another worker who was more seriously injured, Master Jiao's injuries did not seem fatal on the surface.

The bullet passed through the muscle of his left calf, and was reportedly lucky not to damage the major bones or arteries.

But in this time of scarce medical resources, any gunshot wound, especially an open and heavily contaminated one, could take the life of a strong man in a short period of time.

The injured were rushed to the hospital by the factory last night after the incident.

With limited supplies, the doctors and nurses in the hospital could only perform the necessary surgeries, the most basic wound cleaning, disinfection, application of some hemostatic and anti-inflammatory traditional Chinese medicine powder, and then tightly bandage with gauze. That was considered the completion of the treatment.

As for anti-inflammatory drugs like penicillin, which are more expensive than gold, hospitals have long been out of stock; they simply don't have any. There might be a small amount left in stock, but the price is too high for factories to afford, so they can only publicly declare that they have none.

Faced with the desperate pleas of Aunt Jiao and the others, the doctor could only shake his head helplessly and tell them the truth:
The wound has received initial treatment, but bullet wounds are highly susceptible to infection, especially in warm weather. Whether one can pull through and prevent the infection from worsening depends entirely on their physical constitution and… luck.

The doctor spoke tactfully, but everyone understood the meaning: leave it to fate.

The harsh reality soon confirmed the doctor's judgment.

This morning, the coworker who was injured along with Mr. Jiao, but whose injuries were the most severe, succumbed to a high fever and systemic poisoning caused by a serious infection in his wound, and passed away in the hospital. This news was like a bolt from the blue, completely shattering the mental defenses of Mr. Jiao and the other injured workers' families.

The remaining three, including Master Jiao, although their injuries did not appear to be as fatal as their coworker's, all developed high fevers, and their wounds became red, swollen, and painful, showing obvious signs of infection.

The hospital lacked effective treatment methods and had an extremely tight bed shortage. In order to make room for new patients who might still be treatable, around noon, they almost forcibly asked these wounded to go home to "recuperate".

The so-called recuperation, at present, is simply leaving it to fate.

Mr. Jiao's body temperature has been soaring ever since he was carried home at noon today. After arriving home, his body was burning hot, and he is now completely unconscious.

Sometimes, due to the intense pain from the wound or the torment of a high fever, it would unconsciously groan or convulse, its breathing would be rapid and shallow, and its condition would appear very critical.

The family had no other effective methods besides constantly applying towels soaked in cold water to his forehead in the hope of reducing the terrible high temperature.

Jiao Da even went to a nearby old doctor who was said to have a family-inherited medicine for wounds, but when the doctor heard that the high fever was caused by an infection from a gunshot wound, he waved his hands repeatedly, indicating that he was powerless to help.

As the pillar of the family grew weaker and weaker, and his complexion worsened, the whole family was frantic with worry and grief, yet helpless. They could only sit around the kang (a heated brick bed), watching his life slip away bit by bit, immersed in immense despair and sorrow.

Looking at Master Jiao, who was unconscious on the kang (a heated brick bed) and ravaged by pain and high fever, and then at the Jiao family mother and son who were grieving and devastated around the kang as if the sky had fallen, Yang Guangming felt a pang of sadness.

He had fever reducers and anti-inflammatory drugs in his refrigerator, but he certainly couldn't take them out in front of everyone.

In this era, highly effective anti-inflammatory drugs are strategic resources that are many times more precious than gold, and their sources are extremely sensitive.

How could a poor young man, who relied on translating manuscripts for teachers to supplement his family's income, possibly possess such a precious and effective drug that even major hospitals couldn't obtain?

If he were to produce it now, he would be unable to explain its origin, which would immediately lead to enormous trouble!
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the impulse and reluctance in his heart, and with a look of concern and contemplation on his face, he stepped forward and said to Jiao Da, who was suppressing her grief and at a loss, and Jiao Da's mother, who was almost crying herself unconscious:
“Brother Jiao, Aunt Jiao, please don’t panic. Crying won’t solve the problem. Master Jiao has a high fever right now. We need to find a way to bring his temperature down first. If he keeps burning up like this, he might not be able to take it.”

Aunt Jiao raised her cloudy, tear-filled eyes and looked at him blankly and helplessly, as if grasping at a futile straw:

“Mr. Yang...you are a learned man...do you...do you have any ideas?”

The hospital...the hospital kicked us out...they said we just need to go home and recover, and that the hospital didn't have any better solutions.

Her voice was hoarse and filled with despair.

Yang Guangming tried his best to keep his voice calm and credible:

"You can use a stronger liquor to wipe his body, especially areas rich in blood vessels such as his forehead, neck, armpits, palms, and soles of his feet."

The evaporation of alcohol can draw away heat from the body, which can help with physical cooling and reduce fever, making him more comfortable.

Additionally, try to give him more warm water. If you can find some ginger, boil some strong ginger soup and give it to him; this might help him sweat and lower his temperature.

The Jiao family clearly didn't know about physical cooling methods. Hearing Yang Guangming say there was another way they could try, Jiao Da immediately grasped at a last straw like a drowning man, a faint glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes, and repeatedly said:

"Strong liquor? We don't have any at home! I'll go out and buy some right now!"

Upon hearing this, Mr. Shen, the landlord standing nearby, immediately chimed in, his tone urgent: "I have some at home, I'll go get it right now! I also have half a bottle of strong liquor in my house, it's strong enough!"

After saying that, he turned around and ran quickly toward the main house where he lived, his steps hurried.

Soon, Mr. Shen brought over half a bottle of strong liquor.

Yang Guangming instructed Jiao Da to find a relatively clean soft cloth, dip it in white wine, and carefully wipe Jiao Da's burning body repeatedly, focusing on wiping the areas where large blood vessels passed through.

Perhaps the evaporation of alcohol did have a physical cooling effect, or perhaps this sudden action gave the Jiao family some psychological comfort and hope.

After a while, Master Jiao's rapid and painful breathing did become a little more stable. Although he was still unconscious, the flush on his face had obviously subsided and he was no longer so frightening.

Seeing this, the Jiao family felt as if they had finally seen a faint ray of light in the boundless darkness. They thanked Yang Guangming and Mr. Shen profusely. Aunt Jiao even tried to kneel down and kowtow, but Yang Guangming and Mr. Shen quickly stopped her.

"Mr. Yang, Mr. Shen, thank you so much! If it weren't for you, we would have... we would have been completely helpless... there would have been no way out..."

Aunt Jiao choked up as she spoke, her tears flowing even more fiercely, but in those tears, there seemed to be a touch of gratitude for being cared for, and less of the pure despair.

"Auntie, please don't be so polite. We're all neighbors living in the same courtyard. A close neighbor is worse than a distant relative, so it's only right that we help each other out."

Yang Guangming quickly waved his hand, but felt a bitter taste in his mouth. "However, this is only a temporary way to cool down the temperature; it doesn't address the root cause."

The key is whether the infection inside the wound can be controlled.

Continue to monitor the situation, avoid letting the child catch a cold, but don't bundle them up too tightly; ensure proper ventilation and air circulation.

Also, pay attention to keeping the area around the wound clean, and try to prevent the gauze from becoming soaked with pus and blood and sticking to the wound..."

He then carefully explained some precautions for caring for patients with high fever and infection, such as closely monitoring changes in body temperature, ensuring adequate hydration, and how to determine if the condition is worsening.

The Jiao family kept these words of advice from the "learned" Mr. Yang firmly in mind and were extremely grateful.

The patient needed absolute rest. The neighbors who were watching breathed a sigh of relief when they saw that Master Jiao's condition seemed to have stabilized a little after the traditional remedy was used, and he no longer looked like he was about to die.

Everyone stepped forward to comfort the Jiao family, saying comforting words like "Good people are always blessed" and "Brother Zhenshan is strong and healthy, he will definitely pull through." Then they sighed and dispersed, returning to their own houses. But the heaviness and worry still lingered over the entire courtyard.

Yang Guangming took one last look at Master Jiao, whose face was ashen and who was barely breathing, and then at the Jiao family mother and son who had sat down again, their faces still full of worry. His heart was heavy.

He knew that cooling down with alcohol was only a drop in the bucket, and without the use of effective antibiotics, Master Jiao's condition was probably... more likely to be dire.

He silently turned around, filled with helplessness and contemplation, and returned with his mother to their east courtyard. (End of Chapter)