It was under Luomen's instructions that Maomao and the others began attending the commoners' clinic. That said, having all four of them stationed there the entire time would be wasteful. There were already personnel for nursing care, and it was more efficient to prepare medicine at the palace infirmary.
"How about taking turns in pairs? At the clinic, we'd handle records and patient care, and at the palace, we'd continue making medicine as usual."
The one who organized all this was Senior Naga. Having him around in times like these was a real lifesaver.
"Maomao and I will go first, then."
For the initial rotation, Maomao was paired with Senior Mija. The arrangement was to stick with senior-junior pairings, with occasional swaps from time to time.
"I'm counting on you."
"Likewise, please take care of me."
Senior Mija was less talkative compared to Senior Naga, but his competence was plain to see. He appeared to be in his early thirties, and likely had more knowledge than Senior Naga of the same generation. His method of preparing medicine was meticulous and without flaw. With his dexterous hands, he seemed like he'd be skilled at surgical procedures as well.
(He seems like he could perform surgery, too.)
Maomao wondered if the reason he was doing this pharmacist's work was, like her, because he loved medicine.
His features were plain and his stature small, which reminded Maomao of a certain scheming bespectacled man, but Senior Mija was a perfectly respectable adult.
"Well then, shall we head out?"
"Yes."
When traveling from the palace, a carriage was arranged for them since they had supplies to carry. It wasn't so far that they couldn't walk, but the route cut through the bustling streets, where pickpockets were a constant threat. Martial officials might be fine, but a well-dressed civil official walking through would quickly become a target.
As soon as Maomao and the others arrived at the clinic, they set about restocking the medicines they had brought.
"Shall we get started on patient care right away?"
Maomao had prepared ties to keep her sleeves out of the way. She bound them up, converting her robe into a practical apron-like garment for ease of movement.
"No, before that, let's go over the records first."
Senior Mija picked up the ledger containing the written records.
Maomao leaned in for a closer look. The records were kept on paper rather than wooden tablets, probably because there was a lot of content to document. But they didn't seem to be using particularly fine paper—she could see fuzziness along the edges.
(That quack doctor must have been buying them cheap) The patients' names were not recorded, but their ages, builds, occupations, and other details were written out with painstaking precision.
"There seem to have been quite a lot at first."
They had apparently started the drug trial about a month ago. The number of patients had been around thirty. Now only a third of them remained. Maomao had thought the number seemed low given the size of the clinic, and now she understood why.
"Some of them appear to have come here under false pretenses."
"So it would seem."
Free treatment with food and shelter guaranteed—that was enough to draw in all sorts, including those who came claiming to have the diseases being recruited for.
"Others have left because the medicine couldn't handle their condition."
"Yes."
As Maomao and the others examined the patients' conditions, they had roughly figured out what each one was suffering from. There were many varieties of abdominal pain, but the symptoms allowed for certain deductions.
"What illness do you think it is?"
"Appendicitis, I'd wager."
"That's what I think as well."
The notebook did not list any definitive diagnoses. They had simply gathered patients with similar tendencies, so there was no guarantee it was necessarily that particular illness.
"Appendicitis."
Maomao had prescribed medicine for it on several occasions. Much of what she had used then was the same as the medicine currently being administered to patients at this clinic.
(Appendicitis, huh...)
Maomao let out a groan.
As the name implied, it was inflammation of the part called the appendix. Medicine could alleviate the symptoms, but it was purely palliative treatment. With mild cases, some patients would recover on their own, but if it worsened, the inflamed area would fester and spread poison throughout the body, she had heard. That would lead to complications with other ailments, and the mortality rate was high. She had been told that once it reached that stage, more than half the patients would die.
Appendicitis.
Jinshi.
had brought it.
Hua Tuo.
She recalled the book he had carried in.
(Appendicitis?)
Jinshi suspected the emperor's illness might be hereditary, but Maomao did not think so.
Consanguineous marriages had been practiced only up until the time of the emperor two generations ago. The previous emperor's mother had been an empress from a low-ranking family with no blood relation to the imperial line. The current emperor's mother, Anshi, should not have been born into the imperial family either.
Rather than believing they had developed the same illness because of bloodlines stretching back to Hua Tuo's era, she considered it far more likely that they had simply happened to catch the same disease. Appendicitis was not such a rare condition.
(I wish the texts could be restored faster.)
It seemed to be taking quite some time.
Setting aside Hua Tuo's texts for now, she needed to focus on her current work.
"Whatever the illness may be, shall we proceed with our duties?"
"Yes."
Maomao followed Senior Tan's instructions.
First, a general overview. She made rounds, briefly examining each of the patients.
There were two rooms, with five patients in each. However, they were not divided by which group received the medication and which received the placebo.
(Things would obviously be suspicious if they were left exactly as they were.)
When administering medication, they had to ensure the wrong drugs were never given to the wrong patients.
Meals were served three times a day. Everything was easy to digest, such as congee. The ingredients in the soups were finely chopped and simmered until they dissolved into the broth. The portions might have looked insufficient, but nutrition had been carefully considered as well, with broth extracted slowly from meat and bones.
Even if it wasn't appendicitis, if the stomach and intestines were upset, easily digestible food was the foundation.
Maomao organized her information while reviewing the records.
To avoid being overheard by the patients, Maomao and the others moved toward the kitchen.
"As expected, the patients who received the medication seem more stable."
"Among those who didn't receive it, some have had their inflammation subside too, but those cases are few."
"They probably had greater physical stamina."
In experiments like these, the larger the sample size, the more accurate the results. Since they were testing on human bodies, there were inevitably individual differences, and having more numbers helped narrow the values closer to the mean.
( (If Luomen were here, he'd probably be the first to volunteer.)
That didn't mean she would call for him.
What she was doing now was just Maomao acting on her own suspicion that the Emperor's health might be poor. In reality, she had only been told it was a drug experiment—nothing else had been explained.
If the Emperor's health was indeed poor, that was a state secret. What Jinshi had told Maomao and Tenyu was about the matter of Hua Tuo's writings. Jinshi had never actually stated that the Emperor was unwell. He had simply neither confirmed nor denied Maomao's words.
Since Maomao couldn't ask anyone, Liu was the Imperial Physician she had been planning to sound out.
The Emperor's poor health alone could invite political instability.
"Imperial Physician."
"What is it?"
Maomao called out to Tan-senpai, who was writing something.
"In the case of appendicitis, if medicine doesn't cure it, what specific treatment is performed?"
Unfortunately, Maomao had not learned about that particular treatment.
"Surgery. You drain the pus that's accumulated in the abdomen."
"Does that provide a permanent solution?"
"I don't think it does."
Tan-senpai spoke as if it were someone else's problem.
"Have you ever performed that surgery?"
"Never. I probably couldn't do it."
Tan-senpai scratched the back of his neck awkwardly with the shaft of his brush.
"Why not? You seem like you'd be good at it."
His hands looked dexterous. She wasn't sure if that was relevant, but his handwriting was good too.
"...I can't do it."
"You can't?"
"Blood... I can't handle it..."
"I see."
Maomao found this completely understandable.