Chapter 3: Medical Support Team

Page 1/3

Xu Chen gazed out at the torrential rain that had been falling for two days straight, feeling deeply troubled.

“Xiao Song, what do you think about buying a Geiger counter?” he asked.

“No point. Do you think I haven’t thought of that? The usable ones start at around 600; the cheap ones are useless,” Song Tian replied, still playing his game. “Why bother? Once the typhoon passes, the alert will be lifted. It’s just a couple more days stuck inside.”

Xu Chen shook his head and stared at the rain pouring down relentlessly. The water spread wildly, as if there was no place on earth the rain couldn’t reach.

“If this keeps up, and we get a flood, we’re done for. We’ll definitely be exposed to radiation.”

Song Tian took off his headset and tilted his head, looking at Xu Chen. “You’re surprisingly concerned about the country’s fate. But honestly, it’s not really our problem yet.”

Suddenly, Xu Chen’s phone vibrated. Song Tian noticed and put his headset back on, resuming his game.

Xu Chen pulled out his phone. The call was from his Grandpa Yang, a top figure at the Medical School of their academy and vice president of the provincial hospital. Grandpa Yang was a sworn brother to Xu Chen’s actual grandfather, and it was through him that Xu Chen had managed the transfer here.

Xu Chen wondered why Grandpa Yang was calling this time.

He answered the call.

“Hello? Xiao Xu, are you doing alright at the Medical School lately?”

“Grandpa Yang, I’m fine.”

“Good. I’m going to be away from the academy soon. Your grandfather entrusted you to me, and having you here means I’m not just going to abandon you. Here’s a number—one of my graduate students. If anything happens at the school, call him.”

“Okay, I’ll remember it.”

Xu Chen grabbed a notebook and wrote down a string of numbers, followed by a name: Ouyang Xing.

The name sounded familiar, but Xu Chen couldn’t recall where he’d heard it.

“Also, if any infectious diseases break out, he’ll call you and tell you what to do. Make sure your phone stays on.”

“Got it.”

After hanging up, Xu Chen read the number twice but decided to ask directly.

“Xiao Song, have you heard of Ouyang Xing?”

Song Tian looked puzzled. “Ouyang Xing? Isn’t he the genius male idol from your department?”

“Genius male idol?”

“Yeah, he was the top scorer in the province’s college entrance exam.”

“I didn’t know that…”

“He’s from a wealthy family, and he’s ridiculously handsome—kind of like the male lead in a romance novel. What, you thinking about chasing after him?”

“Forget it. If anyone’s chasing him, it’s you. You’d be doubling down on the gay vibes.”

Page 2/3

Song Tian laughed and resumed his game. Their usual banter never interfered with anything serious.

Xu Chen clutched his notebook, pondering. He really had nothing pressing. But Grandpa Yang—how could he leave during such a disaster? This rainstorm, which had turned a human-caused problem into a natural catastrophe, made it impossible to go anywhere.

Could it have something to do with the infectious disease Grandpa Yang mentioned?

Xu Chen casually searched on his phone. All the news was about the torrential rain; there was no mention of any infectious disease.

Probably just his imagination running wild.

“Xiao Song, are you almost done with this round?”

“Almost. Why?”

“After you finish, let me join. I’m logging on now.”

Because of the heavy rain these past few days, all classes were canceled. Everyone in the dorm was bored and kept calling friends in the class group chats to team up for games, even organizing class-versus-class tournaments. They were having a blast.

Xu Chen was no exception and eagerly joined in.

“Alright, I’m in the team. You start, Xiao Song.”

“Test your mic first. The veterans said they couldn’t hear clearly.”

“Will do. Ready to start.”

The game’s loading screen appeared on the monitor. Moments later, the players would enter the virtual battleground.

But Xu Chen glanced outside at the black clouds overhead. Even though it was daytime, it looked like night.

Far away at the provincial hospital, Director Yang frequently checked his phone before sighing and slipping his old-fashioned button phone into his pocket.

He had already given all necessary instructions; nothing was left undone.

He glanced at the large screen in the conference room displaying images of several patients lying in beds.

“Everyone, I assume you’ve all reviewed the materials distributed. I’ve confirmed through acquaintances that this is real—a disease we’ve never encountered before. We don’t understand its pathology or even have a clue. The conditions for infection require human proximity.”

“So we’re assembling an all-hands medical team, covering every department, to see which field can detect the problem.”

“This battle is extremely dangerous. Several of my old friends have already fallen victim. It’s clear that more sacrifices are inevitable, possibly meaningless ones. Our mission may end in total failure.”

“We urgently need personnel on site. I won’t sugarcoat it to persuade you, but I’ve already submitted an application to higher authorities. I will personally go see what’s happening.”

“In a little while, a special plane will be arranged. The medical support team application forms are on the table. Those unwilling to go can stay here and consult remotely.”

“That’s all.”

Director Yang looked at the clock on the wall, then neatly stacked the application forms on the table’s center.

“There’s half an hour. Those who take the forms can board.”

After he finished speaking, the conference room fell silent for a moment before whispers began. One by one, the application forms were taken.

Director Yang stared absently at the dwindling stack, his mind filled with concerns about the aftermath he had prepared, the safety of these doctors, and the mysterious disease’s origin and mechanism.

Page 3/3

When he first learned of this disease, he thought it was a joke. Only after official endorsement from the central hospital, video evidence, and repeated verification with contacts did he realize it was true.

This illness, dubbed “Taihao,” shows no suspicious microorganisms in infected patients, and their vital signs appear normal. Yet their behavior is bizarre, and they only utter the two syllables “Taihao.”

Its terrifying infectiousness lies not in how fast it spreads but in how it spreads. The transmission route is completely unknown. Even wearing Class A airtight protective suits with self-contained air, theoretically blocking all pathogens, one can still become infected.

It’s as if just looking at someone the wrong way could infect you.

Faced with such a horrifying and strange disease, Director Yang didn’t outright say the medical establishment was collapsing, but it was close.

He had no confidence in this new infectious disease. Their primary goal was to observe and collect data on this bizarre illness; saving lives was secondary.

For this reason, he hadn’t even brought along his prized student, Ouyang Xing. This meeting was attended only by veteran professors and doctors of his generation.

He had considered a possibility that required resolute action, even at great cost.

Seeing the application forms all taken, Director Yang looked at the group again.

“Think carefully. Once you board the plane, there’s no coming back.”

“Old Yang, don’t underestimate us. Just because you’re going doesn’t mean we can’t,” one doctor retorted.

“No, that’s not it,” Director Yang hesitated, then displayed an expression no one understood. “You could say we’re being sent to die. I’ve submitted a report: if our medical support team is wiped out, then no more medical personnel will be sent. We’ll stop wasting resources, abandon all treatment plans, and focus on isolation and monitoring.”

A doctor quickly argued, “Director Yang, you want to abandon the living? That’s extreme. We might make it through.”

“Extreme? There’s worse. My report also proposes that if isolation fails and transmission continues, then all patients…”

Director Yang’s sharp gaze swept over the doctors around the table—all high-ranking and respected, many chief physicians and professors educated in advanced modern medicine.

“No treatment. Immediate destruction.”

The room fell silent, stunned by Director Yang’s words.

If this plan were truly enacted, it would spark a humanitarian crisis and be branded a historical disgrace. But if he included himself and his team equally, it meant he genuinely believed the situation was so dire that such measures were necessary.

His tone softened. “I know you’re doctors, sworn to save lives and heal the wounded. But this Taihao disease is too strange. You see patients with stable vitals and delirium, no immediate danger. But I see total bodily failure and bizarre transmission, 100% fatal, with no cures or spontaneous recovery.”

“There’s never been a more terrifying infectious disease in history. If it breaks out, it will be humanity’s greatest public health catastrophe—a disease seemingly targeted at civilization itself.”

“And we are at the source, with fewer than a hundred patients. This is a loss we can bear, the minimal cost our civilization can pay.”

“Think it over once more.”

Director Yang looked around at the other doctors. Not a single one showed signs of giving up. Their eyes shone with unwavering resolve.

No one spoke of surrender.