Chapter 24: Hemostatic Powder Saves Frontline Soldiers

The autumn rain fell for three continuous days, leaving water stains on the windowsill of the commune office. Su Yao stared blankly at the radio, which was broadcasting news about the border conflict. The announcer’s voice was heavy, as if filled with lead.

“…our positions were attacked; the frontline urgently needs medical supplies, especially hemostatic medicine…”

Ink bled onto her notebook from the tip of her pen. She recalled the medicinal herbs piled up in the pharmaceutical factory’s barracks—the purifying cattail and diyu collected yesterday were still drying, filling the air with a faint bitter medicinal scent.

“Director Su, it’s time to go to the pharmaceutical factory,” Xiao Zhang entered carrying a file folder, his trouser cuffs stained with mud. “The new herbs need to be inspected right away.”

Su Yao responded with a soft “Mm,” lowering the radio’s volume. She paused at the doorway and glanced back. The news mentioned fierce fighting at a certain highland, with casualties unknown. Clenching the keys in her pocket, the metal edges pressed painfully into her palm.

Inside the factory barracks, villagers were sorting and bagging dried herbs. Widow Li wore a straw hat and pounded madder root with a wooden mallet; its purplish-red juice stained her fingernails.

“Director Su is here?” She stood up and wiped her sweat. “The madder is perfectly dried; its medicinal properties are potent.”

Su Yao crouched down and pinched a handful of powder, bringing it close to her nose. Bitter with a hint of sweetness, it was top-grade hemostatic herb. Suddenly, she recalled the battlefield first aid manual the system had provided. The last pages contained a remedy—five herbs combined to stop bleeding quickly.

“Aunt Li, help me find these herbs,” she wrote on a sheet: cattail, diyu, madder, white cogongrass root, and crane herb. “The best quality, as much as possible.”

Widow Li stared at the list in surprise. “Director Su, all these herbs stop bleeding. Why so much?”

“They’re useful,” Su Yao said without elaboration and turned to find the old herb grinder in the pharmacy. It was a rusty but still functional machine, brought from the military hospital through Lu Zhanye’s connections.

By evening, half the room was piled with the five herbs. Su Yao sent the workers home and stayed behind to grind the herbs herself. The grinder hummed steadily, powder pouring from its outlet, her shadow flickering on the wall.

When Lu Zhanye came in, she was sifting the powder through a sieve, her face dusted white. He reached out to wipe her cheek, fingers fragrant with herb scent. “Still working so late?”

“Look at this.” Su Yao handed him the battlefield first aid manual, opened to the remedy page. “The frontline is short on hemostatic medicine. I want to try this formula.”

His eyes lingered on the words “fast bleeding control.” He had seen too many soldiers bleed out—some had their arteries grazed by stray bullets; without medicine, they couldn’t be saved.

“I’ll help you.” Rolling up his sleeves, Lu Zhanye picked up the hammer to crush the coarse herb chunks. “Just say what you need.”

They worked until past midnight, sifting the powder three times until it was as fine as flour. Su Yao mixed the five powders in the right proportions and sealed them in clean glass jars. The kerosene lamp illuminated the brownish powder inside—ordinary in appearance but holding the hope of saving lives.

“We have to see if it works,” Su Yao said, staring at the jar.

Suddenly, Lu Zhanye took scissors and cut a small slit on his arm. Bright red blood welled up instantly.

“What are you doing!” Su Yao rushed to snatch the scissors, her eyes reddening.

“Have to test it to know.” He pressed the wound and sprinkled some powder on it from the jar. After a while, the bleeding truly stopped, and a thin scab formed.

Su Yao’s hands trembled as she quickly wrapped the wound with gauze. “Are you crazy? What if it doesn’t work?”

“The medicine you made will work,” Lu Zhanye smiled. The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the warmth in his heart. “Tomorrow I’ll have someone deliver it to the frontline; there are comrades from my old unit there.”

Early the next morning, Lu Zhanye carried a wooden box to the county town. Inside were twenty jars of hemostatic powder, each labeled with usage instructions. Su Yao stood at the village entrance, watching his figure disappear into the misty rain, her heart heavy as if bearing a stone.

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In the following days, she went to the commune every day, anxiously awaiting news from the frontline. But the radio only reported on the battle situation, never mentioning the medicine. Secretary Li, seeing her distracted, reassured her, “Don’t worry, Comrade Lu is reliable; the medicine has definitely been delivered.”

Su Yao replied but her mind was restless—worried the medicine might not work, worried about delaying rescue, most of all worried about Lu Zhanye’s comrades.

Half a month later, one afternoon, a postman burst into the commune courtyard, his bike’s rear canvas bag bulging. Holding up an envelope, he called out, “Letter for Comrade Su Yao! From the frontline!”

Su Yao was guiding workers making ointments at the factory when she heard the call; the spoon in her hand slipped. She ran over to receive the envelope. Her fingers touched the rough paper, stained with dark red marks like dried blood.

The handwriting on the envelope was crooked and heavily blurred by water. Su Yao opened it to find three sheets of paper and a pressed wildflower.

The first letter was from Lu Zhanye’s comrade Wang Qiang. His handwriting was forceful, some parts blurred by water:

“Old Lu’s wife, by the time you get this letter, I might have rotated out. The hemostatic powder you sent is amazing! A couple of days ago, I was hit by a stray bullet in the arm at the frontline, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The medic said I was lost. I remembered your medicine and had them apply some. Hey, the bleeding stopped for real! Now I can move my arm, and I’ll be back with the unit soon.

Honestly, this medicine works better than the army hospital’s tourniquet. Yesterday’s final assault, we charged at the front, and the ten jars of medicine saved eight brothers. One rookie had his intestines exposed, and thanks to the powder, he made it to the rear hospital.

Old Lu always said you were capable. I didn’t believe it before, but now I’m convinced. When I come back, I’ll invite you and Old Lu for a drink! By the way, this wildflower is from the frontline, for the kids to play with.”

There was a dark red stain on the corner of the paper, its edges blackened. As Su Yao’s fingers brushed over it, she suddenly thought of Wang Qiang’s wound and tears fell onto the letter.

The second letter was a thank-you note from the military medical team, full of gratitude: “…This hemostatic powder has been proven effective in combat, significantly reducing casualties. We extend our sincere thanks to Comrade Su Yao and earnestly request continued supply…”

The third letter was from Lu Zhanye himself, just a few lines: “The medicine is very effective, don’t worry. I’m fine. Waiting to come back.”

Su Yao pressed the letters to her chest, unable to hold back her tears. She thought of the soldiers saved by the powder, imagining them too had parents, spouses, and children waiting for them. Suddenly, she understood—the powders she had ground were not just combinations of herbs, but hands that held onto life.

“Director Su, are you alright?” Xiao Zhang came in with the ledger and, seeing her cry, quickly offered a handkerchief. “Is there bad news from the frontline?”

Su Yao shook her head and showed him the letters. Xiao Zhang’s eyes reddened as well. “This is wonderful! Our medicine really saves lives!”

The news quickly spread throughout the commune. Villagers flocked to the factory to help; some brought herbs from home, others volunteered to work overtime grinding medicine. Er Zhuzi carried the herb grinder inside, shouting loudly, “Director Su, whatever you say, we’ll do it! Even if we don’t sleep, we must make sure our brothers at the frontline have medicine to save their lives!”

Watching the bustling courtyard, Su Yao felt both warm and bittersweet. She pinned Wang Qiang’s letter on the wall, letting everyone see it. That blood-stained letter became the most powerful call to action.

The factory’s output tripled. They not only made hemostatic powder but also followed the battlefield first aid manual to produce wound ointments and anti-inflammatory medicine. Widow Li led the village women in packing the jars; their fingers stained by the medicinal juice, but no one complained.

“If my husband were still alive, he’d be at the frontline too,” Widow Li said as she labeled jars. “Making medicine to help them gives me peace of mind.”

Lu Zhanye sent two more batches of medicine to the frontline. Each time, Su Yao slipped in some fruit candies collected by the children. Lu Shihan drew a picture of a big hero in uniform holding a gun to defeat villains; Lu Xingchen drew a lush vegetable garden, saying the soldiers would have fresh vegetables when they returned; Lu Yuxuan drew a tank with “Victory is certain” written on it.

One evening, Su Yao was calculating herb quantities by lamplight when Lu Xingchen came in holding his homework. “Mom, the teacher asked us to write an essay titled ‘My Dream.’ I want to be a doctor when I grow up, like you, making medicine to save people.”

Su Yao stroked his head, tears nearly falling. “Good, our Xingchen will be the best doctor.”

After he left, she opened the battlefield first aid manual again. Inside was a pressed flower, just like the one Wang Qiang had sent. She thought of the frontline, of the lives struggling amid shellfire, and suddenly felt the weight of her responsibilities.

Before, she had focused on ecological planting to feed everyone; building the pharmaceutical factory had been so villagers could afford treatment. But now she understood—it was not just about living well but about protecting those defending the homeland at the frontline and those waiting for their loved ones at home.

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The rain stopped, and a sliver of light appeared on the horizon. Su Yao rose and stepped into the courtyard, gazing at the mountains of herbs. She suddenly wanted to write a letter to Lu Zhanye.

She spread out the paper but didn’t know what to say. To tell him the family was well, the powder was effective, the children missed him… Words choked in her throat, so she simply wrote: “Take care, waiting for your return.”

Outside, the rooster crowed as dawn broke in the east. Su Yao folded the letter and placed it in the medicine box bound for the frontline. Besides the hemostatic powder, she added a bag of fruit candies collected by Lu Shihan to sweeten the soldiers’ mouths.

Villagers gradually arrived for work, and the courtyard grew lively again. The grinder hummed, mallets pounded herbs, and laughter and chatter mingled into a joyful harmony.

Standing on the steps, Su Yao watched it all, her heart filled with determination. She knew as long as the medicine was still being made, as long as people kept working hard for the frontline, victory would surely come.

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Half a month later, triumphant news arrived from the frontline. The commune’s loudspeakers broadcast victory messages. Villagers marched down the streets waving red flags, drums and gongs shaking windows.

Su Yao squeezed through the crowd, clutching Wang Qiang’s second letter. It said they had recaptured lost territory and praised Lu Zhanye for his heroic actions in battle, awarding him a second-class merit.

“After this war, I’ll come back with Old Lu to visit you,” the letter ended. “Then we’ll have Old Lu’s wife show off her skills and let us taste your craft.”

Su Yao smiled through her tears, looking up at the clear blue sky, like a pane of transparent glass. The sun shone warmly on everyone’s faces. She knew the soldiers saved by the hemostatic powder would soon return to their families; those working hard at the rear had finally awaited the longed-for peace.

That night, Su Yao prepared a proper meal. The children gathered around the table, chattering about writing letters to their father, telling him about the victory. Watching them, she suddenly felt all the exhaustion was worthwhile.

She recalled her confusion when first sent to the countryside, the hardships of doing research, the difficulties of building the pharmaceutical factory. Those seemingly insurmountable obstacles now seemed like marks of growing strength.

“Mom, when will Dad come home?” Lu Shihan asked, nibbling corn, his face dotted with kernels.

“Soon,” Su Yao helped remove the kernels. “When Dad comes back, we’ll have a welcome home party.”

Lu Xingchen suddenly said, “Mom, let’s teach more people the recipe for the hemostatic powder. So whenever there are wounded, they can use it.”

Su Yao was momentarily stunned, then smiled. “Good idea, that’s a great plan.”

She knew peaceful days also needed hemostatic powder and medicine that could save lives. Her path in scientific research had only just begun.

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Late at night, after the children had fallen asleep, Su Yao sat under the lamp, flipping through the battlefield first aid manual again. She resolved to organize all the recipes inside—to give them to the county hospital, the military medical teams, and anyone who might use them.

Moonlight streamed through the window, falling on the letters—especially the blood-stained one. Su Yao gently touched the bloodstain, as if she could still feel its warmth.

Scientific research was not about how many honors one earned, but about what one could bring to the world: food to fill hungry stomachs, medicine to cure illness, hope to save lives.

She would walk this path, no matter where it led.