Chapter 37: Shihan Sings "The Penicillin Song"

Su Yao sat in the audience, her palms sweaty. Seeing her daughter relax and sway to the melody, she quietly said to Lu Zhanye, “At home, she doesn’t sing this well, but on stage, she’s not shy at all.”

Lu Zhanye smiled and nodded, his eyes never leaving the stage. “That’s good. Stay calm when facing anything.”

Lu Xingchen and Lu Yuxuan had long forgotten about “supporting” her; they clapped along with the rhythm, and little Yuxuan even softly sang along, unaware he was off-key, which made the nearby soldiers chuckle.

When the song ended, Shihan bowed to leave the stage, but suddenly someone from the audience shouted, “Little girl, sing it again! We haven’t had enough!”

It was an older soldier in the back row, banging on an enamel mug, making a loud clanging sound. Other soldiers joined the chant, “Sing it again!”

Shihan stood in the middle of the stage, a bit puzzled, instinctively looking to Su Yao. Su Yao smiled and nodded, signaling “go ahead,” so she turned around and said, “Then I’ll sing it again. Everyone, clap with me, okay?”

“Okay!” the soldiers responded in unison.

The melody played for the second time, and the soldiers clapped along earnestly, some even softly singing. Old Zhou’s accordion added a flourish, playing a segment of the “Liberation Army March” during the interlude, which drew cheers from the crowd. Shihan sang with increasing passion, and when she finished the last line, “Return safely to our homeland,” the applause was even louder than before. Several soldiers stood, waving their military hats.

When the performance ended and Shihan stepped off the stage, the soldiers surrounded her. Some handed her fruit candies, others patted her head, and one soldier presented a small trinket made from a bullet casing. “Little girl, this is for you. Thank you for your song—it touched our hearts.”

Shihan accepted the trinket, clutching it to her chest, her eyes squinting in a joyful smile. As Su Yao was about to step forward, a man in a gray Zhongshan suit pushed through. His hair was neatly combed, he wore black-rimmed glasses, and clutched a notebook filled with lyrics, some circled.

“Comrade, hello!” the man extended his hand, his tone excited. “I’m Li Jianguo from the county record factory, in charge of music editing. Your daughter’s song ‘Penicillin Song’ is wonderful—meaningful and catchy. We want to record it onto a record so more people can hear it. What do you think?”

Su Yao was momentarily stunned. She knew the county had only one record factory, which usually recorded model operas and revolutionary songs. She hadn’t expected them to take an interest in her daughter’s song. She looked at Shihan, who was playing with the bullet casing trinket and immediately looked up at the mention of “recording.” “Mom, if we record it, does that mean my song will be on the radio?”

“Yes.” Li Jianguo quickly added, “Once recorded, not only can it be broadcast on the radio, but also made into records to sell, so everyone will know your song.”

Su Yao hesitated, fearing the factory might alter the lyrics—she had heard some records exaggerated claims for sales. But seeing her daughter’s hopeful eyes, she nodded, “Alright, but the lyrics can’t be changed arbitrarily; they must be accurate.”

“Don’t worry!” Li Jianguo patted his chest. “We will respect the original. We may adjust the melody slightly to make it smoother, though. I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow to discuss details at the factory.”

Early the next morning, a green jeep stopped at the entrance of the pharmaceutical factory, and Li Jianguo personally came to pick them up. Shihan wore her best outfit—a pink dacron jacket that Su Yao bought with the military family allowance—and asked non-stop all the way, “What’s the recording studio like? Is the microphone bigger than the auditorium one?” She was too excited to sit still.

The record factory was on the east side of the county town, a two-story red brick building. The recording studio was on the second floor, with several speakers taller than a person. The walls were covered with soundproof cotton. In the center stood a black microphone connected to a silver machine, which the recording engineer said was a “disk-based recorder,” one of only two in the county.

Curious, Shihan circled the microphone twice and reached out to touch it. “Uncle, if I sing into this, will my voice be stored inside?”

The engineer chuckled, “Yes, it’s like putting your voice into a little box. When you want to hear it, you just play it back.”

During the trial recording, Shihan was a bit nervous and mispronounced two words on her first try. Li Jianguo didn’t rush her and poured a cup of sugary water. “Take your time. No hurry. Try as many times as you want.”

After drinking the sweet water, Shihan relaxed and nailed it perfectly on the second take. The engineer rewound and played it back; Shihan’s voice was clear and bright, accompanied by the accordion, sounding even better than live. Li Jianguo’s eyes crinkled with joy. “Wonderful! This will definitely sell like hotcakes!”

Soon, Li Jianguo approached Su Yao with the lyrics, looking somewhat troubled. “Comrade Su, can I discuss something with you? The line ‘treat inflammation, save the wounded,’ can it be changed to ‘cures all diseases’? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not to deceive, but ordinary folks like to hear ‘miracle’ claims. Sales will go up, and you’ll benefit more financially.”

Su Yao frowned as she took the lyrics. “Editor Li, that won’t do. Penicillin is an antibiotic that only treats bacterial infections. Colds and fevers are caused by viruses, so penicillin doesn’t work on them. If people believe it ‘cures all diseases,’ they might stop taking proper cold medicine and rely on penicillin, which won’t help and can cause drug resistance, making it useless when truly needed.”

“I know, I know,” Li Jianguo quickly explained. “It’s just a promotional gimmick. No one really believes it. Look at the medicines on the market—they all claim ‘cures all diseases’ or ‘works instantly.’ People are used to it.”

“Being used to it doesn’t make it right,” Su Yao said firmly. “Our pharmaceutical factory’s purpose is to heal, and Shihan’s song is meant to educate about penicillin. Exaggerating the drug’s effects for sales is no different from lying. The song can’t be changed or recorded with false lyrics.”

Just then, Shihan came out of the studio and overheard the conversation. She ran over and tugged on Li Jianguo’s sleeve. “Uncle, I don’t want to change the lyrics. Mom says you can’t say lies, and you can’t sing lies either.”

Looking at Su Yao’s determined gaze and Shihan’s earnest face, Li Jianguo sighed. “Alright, no changes to the lyrics. But how about we add a spoken message? After the song, one of you can say a few words to remind everyone about the correct use of penicillin. That way, it won’t exaggerate but will show your sincerity. How’s that?”

Su Yao thought for a moment and agreed. “I’ll say it: ‘Friends, penicillin is a good medicine that treats inflammation and saves the wounded, but it’s not a cure-all. It doesn’t work on colds or fevers. If you’re sick, see a doctor first, follow medical advice, and exercise regularly and wash your hands often to stay healthy.’”

“Great! That’s settled,” Li Jianguo said, promptly asking the engineer to prepare.

Su Yao stepped before the microphone, took a deep breath, and spoke slowly. Her voice was gentle yet convincing. The engineer combined the spoken message with the song. When played back, Shihan’s bright singing was followed by Su Yao’s warm reminder—both pleasant and heartfelt.

When the records were printed, Li Jianguo gave Su Yao ten sample copies. The cover featured a photo of Shihan singing in the studio, smiling happily at the microphone, with the title “Penicillin Song—Produced by County Record Factory,” and a small line below: “Use medicine scientifically, live healthily.”

Su Yao distributed the samples to villagers. That same day, Widow Li took one to the commune broadcasting room, and the announcer played it once. To their surprise, by afternoon, people were already asking at the supply and marketing cooperative if they had copies of the “Penicillin Song” record.

On the official release day, long lines formed outside the record factory. Some bought it for their children, some for fellow soldiers, and doctors from the health clinic purchased copies to play for patients, teaching them proper medication use. In just three days, 3,000 copies sold; in less than a week, 5,000 were gone. Li Jianguo urgently pressed for another 2,000 copies.

Once, while Su Yao was running errands in town, she overheard two aunties talking at the cooperative. “Did you buy that record? It’s the little girl singing the ‘Penicillin Song.’ It’s so beautiful! My grandson sings it every day now and even knows not to take penicillin for colds—he knows more than me!”

“I bought it!” the other auntie said. “My old man used to insist penicillin ‘cured everything’ when he had a cold. I argued with him for ages to no avail. But after hearing Comrade Su’s words on the record, he finally believed and now obediently drinks ginger tea when sick.”

Su Yao felt a surge of comfort, knowing her insistence wasn’t in vain. The song was more than music—it had become a tool for education, helping people understand proper medication.

A month later, the record’s proceeds amounted to over 280 yuan, more than Su Yao had expected. When Li Jianguo brought the money, he said, “Comrade Su, I should have listened to you from the start. Even without the exaggerated claims, sales were great. We’ll collaborate again if you have more good songs!”

Su Yao pondered how to use the money. When Shihan came home from school and saw the cash, she suddenly said, “Mom, let’s use this money to buy books for the village school. Last time I went, some kids didn’t have a ‘Xinhua Dictionary’ and had to borrow from others, which was really inconvenient during class.”

Su Yao was taken aback, not expecting her daughter to say that. She remembered her own impoverished childhood, barely attending school, a lifelong regret. Now, having the means to help children fulfill their dreams of education was truly meaningful.

That weekend, Su Yao took the four children to the county’s Xinhua Bookstore. The counters were piled high with books; Shihan and Xingchen’s eyes were wide with wonder. Su Yao bought 100 copies of the Xinhua Dictionary, 50 volumes of “Selected Elementary School Essays,” 100 notebooks, and 50 pencils, filling two large boxes, which they loaded into the jeep and took back to the village.

The village school principal, upon hearing the news, specially set up a platform in the playground and had the children line up to receive the books. Shihan personally handed a dictionary to a little girl wearing patched clothes. The girl hugged it tightly and said, “Thank you, big sister. I finally have my own dictionary.”

Shihan smiled, “You’re welcome. Let’s learn to read together. I’ll teach you to sing the ‘Penicillin Song,’ and you teach me how to write new words, okay?”

The little girl nodded, her eyes shining with excitement.

On the way home, Shihan skipped ahead, singing the “Penicillin Song.” The sunlight bathed her like a golden veil. Su Yao looked at her daughter’s back, then at Lu Zhanye and the other three children beside her, her heart full of happiness.

Lu Zhanye gently squeezed her hand and whispered, “That money was well spent.”

“Mm,” Su Yao nodded. “Worth more than making any amount of money. Whether it’s making medicine or anything else, we must always keep our original intention—no exaggeration, no lies, just genuinely helping people.”

That evening, the family sat in the courtyard with the radio playing the “Penicillin Song.” Shihan taught Qingmiao and Suisui to clap. The two little ones couldn’t speak yet but waved their tiny hands to the rhythm, occasionally babbling along as if singing. Xingchen held the bullet casing trinket, while Yuxuan wrote in his ledger, “Record proceeds: 280 yuan, bought books: 280 yuan,” and drew a smiley face beside it.

Leaning on Lu Zhanye’s shoulder, Su Yao watched everything before her, feeling deeply at peace. She knew this “Penicillin Song” was not only her daughter’s pride but also a testament to her family’s steadfast commitment. As long as they continued doing what was right and helped those who needed it, life would remain as clear, warm, and hopeful as this song.