Northeast China, mid-to-late October.
The temperature had already dropped very low. Pedestrians on the streets had put on thick padded jackets. It was even colder in the morning—breath turned to frost in the air, and everyone hunched their necks, terrified of losing even a wisp of warmth.
Suddenly, a huge roar boomed overhead. Squinting, people looked up.
"What kind of giant bird is that?"
"What bird? No common sense, that's a helicopter, you get it? A helicopter!"
"Whoa—"
Everyone turned to look at the speaker. He lifted his chin, clearly full of himself. In truth, he had only learned the name last time when he went to gawk at the spectacle. But that didn't stop him from showing off.
Finished, he added with lingering relish:
"This thing—it's precious. You won't find many in the whole country. That's why they say Miss Su has money. She's got several of these fine pieces, flying high and fast, delivering supplies to her people. I'm so jealous."
If only they had one too.
Word was, a lot of donated supplies and grain couldn't even get through.
"Only a few?"
Among the crowd, someone suddenly stared at the sky and said in a floating tone:
"But the ones that just flew past—wasn't that more than ten?"
The show-off froze.
Only then did he notice the roar hadn't stopped. He hurriedly looked up too and saw iron bird after iron bird streaking across the sky. Looking closely, their shapes were different too—some were clearly much larger.
"...Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Damn, this isn't just a few. Might be dozens. Wait—why are some different sizes?"
"Yeah, seems off. Maybe we guessed wrong? Maybe it's got nothing to do with Miss Su?"
The numbers didn't match. The shapes didn't match.
Maybe it was another faction.
The crowd debated heatedly. Some said it might be a flock of giant birds. Others, practically spitting with enthusiasm, asked what kind of bird makes that much noise.
"I know!"
A shout cut through.
"The small ones are helicopters, that's for sure. The big ones are airplanes. Haven't you heard? Miss Su has her own private plane."
"So all of these are hers too."
Hearing this, everyone sighed with amazement. Then, out of nowhere, someone said:
"All these helicopters and planes—can't be just for show, right... Wasn't there talk that Miss Su was going to donate grain and supplies to the Northeast?"
One remark woke everyone up.
The more they thought about it, the more it seemed true. Joy spread across their faces—even if those supplies probably wouldn't reach their hands.
But if the Northeast Army's pressure was relieved, the pressure on civilians would lighten too.
"Good, good, good—excellent."
"Even if the planes aren't full... loaded even halfway, that's a huge amount."
"We should thank Miss Su."
These words made the whole crowd fall silent.
The man who said it had no idea why. Someone shot him a sideways glance, saw his dazed look, and quickly explained the matter. He was shocked: "Ah—this—you mean food and supplies bought with human lives?"
Thanks to the relentless campaigning of those who wanted to get their hands on penicillin.
Rumors spread more and more wildly.
Everyone said: one shot of penicillin, and your odds of living or dying were fifty-fifty—depended on your luck.
"No choice," someone said with a long, bitter sigh that dimmed every face. "So the one you should thank isn't her. It's the soldiers who have to use this medicine."
After a quiet pause.
Someone said, "There's nothing we can do. Let's go home and pray to heaven—pray for them. Hope their luck holds and they survive."
"That's all we can do."
"Look on the bright side. Maybe penicillin will soon fix its flaws and get perfected."
"Easier said than done..."
...
"After the latest research, we can announce that the mortality rate of penicillin has been pushed to the absolute minimum—even to zero. This is no ordinary step forward. It is a breakthrough of epoch-making, unimaginable proportions. It will save countless thousands of lives, spare countless families from weeping..."
So many planes and helicopters made a commotion that couldn't be ignored.
More than one place saw them.
The Northeast Army naturally noticed too. They were shocked that Su Ning moved so swiftly. But before they could even be happy—
Along with the grain and fuel came another thing.
Medicine.
All kinds of medicine: Western and Chinese, plenty of it precious.
But everyone's eyes locked onto the penicillin, their feelings complicated. Even as they listened to Su Ning's subordinate speak with fiery passion and infectious conviction, they couldn't muster any joy. They just sat there coldly.
Mortality pushed to the minimum?
Who'd believe that?
If that were true, would Su Ning come to use their soldiers as test subjects? Did she really have a change of heart and turn over a new leaf, becoming some great philanthropist?
Ha. Now that's a good joke.
Lin Sen smiled, taking in all their expressions. He stepped forward to close the matter:
"Miss Su says that although she grew up abroad, she was taught from childhood that she has only one homeland—China. So in supporting the Northeast, she has done her best to offer the very finest things, including the newly perfected penicillin. However, I regret to say—though Miss Su wished to give more, the cost of penicillin is truly prohibitive. She has exhausted every effort to donate this single batch. There is no more."
Northeast soldiers thought: Who the hell wants more?!
"Yes, Miss Su is far too kind," they said, the dishonest words burning their mouths. Then: "But you've already given us so much—we're terribly embarrassed. Tell you what, let's skip the penicillin. Save Miss Su some losses."
Lin Sen's smile didn't waver. He replied crisply:
"No."
Disappointment spread, but not too much. It was worth a shot, as the saying goes.
With the matter settled, they moved on to bickering over how to divide the penicillin. The same men who would slam tables and throw chairs over supplies and weapons now suddenly became models of politeness and restraint.
"My side isn't doing too badly. I'll take less—give more to those in greater need."
"How can that be? Just yesterday I heard your casualties were severe and you were short on medicine. Don't be modest with your brother—I'll throw my share in with yours."
"How could I possibly accept that? No, let me give mine to you."
No wonder they acted this way.
Taking the penicillin back wasn't like tossing it in a corner or handing it out to the lower-ranked soldiers—
Su Ning's people would follow along.
Every single injection had to be administered by her own staff. Nothing left to anyone else's hands.
If they took too much...
Their own men would blame their commander for being incompetent. Bullets and blades are blind—infections aren't guaranteed, but if you get a dose of penicillin and your luck runs out, there's no knowing how to save you!
The politeness dragged on until they were arguing again. Even the Young Marshal couldn't settle it.
At last.
Those who lost the argument got less penicillin, and their smiles couldn't be wiped off their faces. Those who won got more, looking as gloomy as if they'd attended a funeral.
Lin Sen reported everything back to Su Ning. When she heard it, she laughed:
"If only we could have filmed that. It would be so fun to compare later."
