Chapter 128: What Comes After?

Qinghe’s mother moved toward the surgical wing while Dr. Wen returned to the two patients remaining in Ward C.

The battery-powered tablet shook in her hand as she passed beds arranged along both sides of the corridor.

"Find the charge nurse," Qinghe instructed.

He compared the generator load with the equipment assigned to each patient, searching for a demand that hadn’t appeared in the transfer plan. "Ask whether anyone connected a new device after midnight."

His mother found the nurse beside the eastern station.

The woman checked the outlet records, then pointed toward an isolation room at the end of the corridor.

A portable cooling unit had been connected for a patient whose temperature continued rising despite treatment.

The machine consumed enough power to destabilize the entire surgical wing.

Qinghe opened the patient’s chart.

The 26-year-old woman had arrived from a failed cooling center with severe hyperthermia.

Her temperature remained above 40 degrees after fluids, misting and ice packs. Without more aggressive cooling, she could develop permanent organ damage.

The portable unit wasn’t unnecessary.

The generator simply couldn’t support it in addition to everything else.

"Shut down the eastern CT scanner," Qinghe decided after checking the active equipment again. "Keep the portable ultrasound and X-ray units. The cooling machine remains connected."

His mother relayed the order, but the hospital administrator objected from behind her. "We admitted three patients with head injuries tonight. If another arrives, we’ll have no way to evaluate them."

"If you leave the scanner powered, the generator will trip and you’ll have no way to treat anyone," Shichen replied. He displayed the load history across the tablet before the administrator could continue. "You have less than a minute before the automatic shutdown begins."

The administrator looked from the rising graph to the surgical wing.

He authorized the disconnection.

The generator load dropped to 94 percent as soon as the scanner powered down. The alarm continued for several seconds before falling silent, leaving only the ordinary noise of the hospital.

Qinghe watched the patient’s temperature begin decreasing beneath the portable cooling unit.

The decision had preserved her treatment, but the next person with a head injury would be evaluated through symptoms, examination and whatever experience the remaining physicians could provide.

Every solution narrowed what the hospital could do next.

His mother returned to Ward C after confirming that the generator had stabilized. The western side of the hospital had already become darker and hotter than the surgical wing. Emergency lights illuminated the beds, but the ventilation system no longer moved cooled air through the ward.

The two patients removed from powered support remained alive.

Dr. Wen sat beside the older man while a nurse adjusted his medication. Qinghe’s mother took the chair beside the unresponsive patient and checked his breathing manually.

Neither physician attempted to reverse the decision.

They remained with the people who would bear its cost.

"How long before Ward C becomes unsafe?" Qinghe asked.

His father checked the wall thermometer. The temperature had increased by two degrees since the generator stopped. "Less than an hour for the patients. Longer for healthy staff."

"Move everyone who can tolerate relocation into the eastern corridors. The west side should be closed after the final patient leaves," Qinghe replied.

"We already filled every corridor near surgery," his mother reminded him.

She turned the tablet toward the ward entrance, where staff were arranging the remaining patients for transfer. "There is nowhere else to put them."

"Then stop admitting patients."

The instruction silenced both of his parents.

Behind them, the hospital’s emergency entrance remained active.

Ambulances no longer arrived regularly because most had broken down or become trapped behind damaged roads, but private vehicles and people on foot continued bringing patients to the doors.

His mother looked toward the corridor leading to emergency. "We can’t close the entrance."

"You have one generator, no replacement fuel and an eastern wing operating at 94 percent capacity," Qinghe reminded her softly.

He kept his tone controlled because emotion wouldn’t create another bed. "Every patient you admit consumes water, medication, electricity and staff attention. If you continue accepting everyone, the hospital will fail around the people already inside it."

His father rose from the bedside. "And what do you suggest we do when someone collapses outside the door?"

"Triage them outside. Provide water, basic cooling and instructions when treatment won’t change the outcome. Admit only the patients who require care the hospital can still provide."

Dr. Wen’s expression hardened. "You’re asking physicians to turn sick people away."

"I’m asking you to preserve the hospital and those already in it."

But that distinction didn’t make the decision easier.

Qinghe had spent his career believing that every patient entering his care became his responsibility.

That belief worked in a world with pharmacies, functioning power grids and other hospitals capable of accepting transfers.

But it couldn’t survive unchanged inside a four-year disaster.

Hanchuan stood beside the communications wall without interrupting.

Qinghe had argued with him earlier when he refused to protect the people outside Jinhai. Now Qinghe was drawing a similar boundary around hospital doors.

The difference was that his boundary would allow some people to enter.

The similarity was that others would remain outside and die.

His mother studied his face through the screen. "How long do you believe this will continue?"

Qinghe looked toward Zhiyi.

She didn’t need to answer. He had listened when Shichen told his family the truth, and he knew his parents deserved the same.

"The extreme heat will last approximately four years," he said after a moment.

The hospital continued moving around them, but his parents became still.

Dr. Wen stared at his son as though waiting for him to correct the number. When Qinghe didn’t, he looked toward the patients filling the western ward. "Four years is impossible."

"According to reliable sources, the Heat is only the first disaster," continued Qinghe.

His mother gripped the tablet more tightly. "What comes after it?"

"Two years of flooding, followed by approximately four years of extreme cold."