Sent to the countryside, I turned the health center into a top-tier hospital.

Chen Ping glanced at him, didn't reply, and turned to look at the boy on the bed.

The boy's breathing became steady, his brows stopped furrowing, and his hands stopped clenching. He lay quietly, as if he were asleep.

"I don't need a salary, just prepare a dormitory for me."

Chen Ping carefully collected the needles one by one, wiped them clean, and put them back in the needle case. "I'll write the prescription later and have the pharmacy prepare it overnight. We'll start drinking it tomorrow morning."

Dean Ma nodded again, turned around and went out to make the arrangements.

The doctors in white coats in the corridor exchanged glances. No one spoke, but their eyes all conveyed the same thing.

It wasn't admiration, but curiosity—curiosity about what skills this young man from the township health center possessed.

Zhao Guosheng walked over, patted Chen Ping on the shoulder, his hand still trembling, "Dr. Chen, thank you for your hard work."

Chen Ping smiled but didn't say anything.

The middle-aged man in the dark jacket walked over and stood in front of Chen Ping.

He was half a head shorter than Chen Ping, but he had a commanding presence. He stood there with his back straight, as if he was used to giving orders to people.

He looked at Chen Ping for two seconds, then reached out his hand.

"Dr. Chen, thank you." His voice wasn't loud, but it was deep, like the bass strings of a cello.

Chen Ping grasped his hand and shook it. "It's my duty."

The middle-aged man didn't say anything more. He turned around, walked back to the door of the ward, stood there, and looked at the boy on the bed.

He stood there for a long time, motionless, like a tree planted there.

The woman next to him walked over and tugged at his sleeve, but he didn't move.

Dean Ma personally led Chen Ping to his dormitory.

The dormitory is on the fifth floor of the administration building behind the inpatient department, at the end of the corridor.

The door opened, revealing a small but clean interior.

A single bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe, a lamp on the bedside table, and a potted green ivy on the windowsill with wilted leaves, indicating it hasn't been watered in a long time.

The bathroom is separate, the water heater is new, the air conditioner is new, and there are several bottles of mineral water and two buckets of instant noodles in the refrigerator.

"Dr. Chen, the conditions are simple, please make do with it for now." Dean Ma's tone was different from when he was in the ward earlier; it was more sincere and less polite.

"fine."

Chen Ping put the canvas bag on the table, took out his phone, and sent a message to Cui Ying: "I've arrived. It's okay. I'll be staying for a few days. You should get some sleep."

Less than ten seconds after the message was sent, Cui Ying replied: "Okay, take care and get some rest, don't stay up late."

"Dr. Chen, please rest first. If you need anything, just let me know." After saying this, Dean Ma turned and left.

Chen Ping placed his phone on the bedside table and lay down on the bed.

The mattress was a bit firm, but much more comfortable than the hardboard bed at the health center.

He closed his eyes and went through the boy's illness in his mind. Those thread-like things were not bacteria or viruses, but an abnormal reaction of the immune system.

Like tiny needles, they pierce the blood vessels and nerves, causing persistent high fever and convulsions.

He had seen similar cases in medical school, in textbooks, but those were just words, not real cases.

Today he "saw" it with his hands, and saw it clearly, even more clearly than the illustrations in the textbook.

I glanced out the window; the sky was already turning white, and it would be dawn soon.

Chen Ping yawned and quickly fell asleep!

The next morning, Chen Ping was woken up by a knock on the door.

He opened his eyes. The ceiling light was still on, having been lit all night, and it hurt his eyes.

He reached for his phone and glanced at it; it was 7:30, meaning he had slept for less than two hours.

"Dr. Chen, Dean Ma requests your presence in the ward." A young nurse's voice came from outside the door, carrying a cautious politeness.

Chen Ping responded, sat up, and rubbed his face.

My mind wasn't fully awake, but my body was already moving.

He washed his face, and the cold water made him feel much more refreshed.

I changed into a clean shirt, put it on, and went out.

The ward was on the third floor, and there were already quite a few people standing in the corridor.

When Chen Ping walked over, he saw Dean Ma standing at the door of the ward, surrounded by seven or eight doctors in white coats, some old and some young. Some were flipping through medical records, while others were discussing in hushed tones.

At the end of the corridor, there were a few men in suits; it was obvious they were from the county.

When they saw Chen Ping walking over, their eyes all fell on him, as if they were looking at an exhibit that they were unsure whether it was worth seeing.

Dean Ma came forward, took Chen Ping's hand, and shook it. "Dr. Chen, have you rested well?"

"It's fine." Chen Ping didn't stand on ceremony and went straight into the ward.

The boy was still asleep, but his complexion was much better than last night.

Her lips were no longer purple, but had a faint tinge of color. Her breathing was steady, and her brows were relaxed, as if she were dreaming.

The numbers on the ECG monitor were jumping: blood oxygen saturation 97, body temperature 37.8 degrees Celsius, down from 39.6 degrees Celsius last night, a significant improvement.

There was a bowl of dark Chinese medicine on the bedside table. Half of it had been drunk, and there were still dregs at the bottom of the bowl.

Dean Ma stood next to Chen Ping and said in a low voice, "The medicine was given at six o'clock this morning. The child didn't vomit and drank it all. The fever subsided by more than one degree during the night, and he didn't have any more seizures in the latter half of the night."

Chen Ping nodded, sat down on the edge of the bed, and placed his fingers on the boy's pulse.

I used three fingers to press lightly and heavily, exploring the area several times.

He closed his eyes, and those thoughts surged up in his mind again. Those thread-like things were still there, but they were thinner and fewer than last night, as if they had been dispersed by something and were not as dense.

There was less adhesion on the blood vessel walls, and the blood flow was much smoother than last night.

He released his grip, stood up, and looked at Dean Ma. "The situation is improving, but we can't rush it. This disease wasn't contracted in a day, nor can it be cured in a day."

Two more acupuncture sessions today, and continue taking the medication. The temperature should drop below 37 degrees Celsius by tomorrow.

Dean Ma nodded repeatedly, turned around and looked at the doctors behind him, his face showing an expression that said, "You should learn from this."

He cleared his throat and raised his voice slightly: "Dr. Chen, could you tell us about this? We've been investigating this illness for several days—blood cultures, lumbar punctures, MRIs—we've done everything we can, but we still can't find the cause. You've given us a clear direction right away, and we're all eager to learn from you."

Chen Ping glanced at him, then looked at the doctors.

Some of them were even older than Dean Ma, with gray hair, standing at the back, holding medical record folders in their hands, with serious expressions.

Some of the young people stood in front, their eyes filled with curiosity, defiance, and a sense of "I'd like to hear what you have to say."

Chen Ping thought about it and didn't refuse.

"This disease is neither a bacterial nor a viral infection."

Chen Ping spoke, his voice not loud, but everyone in the ward could hear him clearly: "It's an abnormal reaction of the immune system. There's an abnormal immune complex in the child's blood."

Like extremely fine threads, it wraps around the walls of blood vessels and nerve endings, causing a persistent inflammatory response. High fever and seizures are both caused by this.

The ward fell silent for a moment.

Some people scribbled a few notes in their medical records, some exchanged glances, and some frowned, clearly not understanding.