Chance and Necessity

After successfully cultivating the staphylococcus, Wei Lan and Liu Mingyi inoculated different strains of penicillium mold into the petri dishes. Their goal was to find a strain of penicillium that could kill staphylococcus, forming a white inhibitory zone. Ninety petri dishes were inoculated with various strains of penicillium, but the results were disappointing:

All the staphylococci grew normally, without any white zones.

“The first batch of penicillium samples is ineffective,” Wei Lan closed her notebook with a sigh, “as expected. Let’s continue collecting new strains and try again.”

Liu Mingyi stared at the pile of discarded ceramic jars, frowning, “What’s the chance of finding an effective strain? One in ten thousand?”

“No one can predict,” Wei Lan said, picking up a piece of mold with a pair of tweezers. “Just like Fleming’s discovery of penicillin—he forgot to clean the petri dish, and by chance, the right temperature was there, and a strain of penicillium drifted in. But even if he hadn’t stumbled upon it, someone would have discovered it eventually. Penicillin was already out there in the world, just waiting to be found.”

“So you’re saying this discovery was both accidental and inevitable?” Liu Mingyi asked.

“Yes. The accident lies in the timing, the inevitability lies in the essence of the matter,” Wei Lan placed the mold into a new petri dish and continued.

Liu Mingyi picked up a piece of moldy dried tangerine peel and shook his head. “But we don’t even know what penicillium looks like.”

“That’s why we need to use the most primitive method—test every strain of penicillium,” Wei Lan opened her experimental notebook and pointed to the data on it. “Look at these results. Last month, the cultivation temperature was too high, and the survival rate of the bacteria was only thirty percent. After adjustments this week, it’s reached sixty percent. Every failure helps eliminate incorrect options—this is the process of moving toward certainty.”

“Do we have to keep trying until we die?” Liu Mingyi asked helplessly.

“Think of it as a daily task,” Wei Lan said firmly, “just like eating and sleeping. Failure is just a part of life.”

“Bacteria are the real rulers,” Wei Lan pointed at the colonies in the petri dish. “Wounds become infected, women suffer from high fevers, and children get sick—all because of them. Penicillin is the weapon to fight them, we can’t face them empty-handed.”

Liu Mingyi nodded, “This enemy is powerful.”

Wei Lan smiled, “Yes.”

Each experiment was meticulously recorded by Wei Lan in her notebook. As the conditions of the experiments were gradually refined, the development of penicillin became a regular task. Failure was normal, but success depended on luck. Gradually, everyone stopped expecting results as eagerly as they did the first time—because without expectations, there was no disappointment.

One day, Liu Mingyi was staring at a moldy orange, and Wei Lan noticed. She walked over and said, “Don’t lose heart, Mingyi. This is just the beginning. We’ll figure it out and see if it’s really the one in ten thousand you mentioned.”

Liu Mingyi sighed deeply, pulling out a letter from his pocket. He shook his head. “It’s not about the experiment. My father has had a headache ever since the flood, and it’s been getting worse. Recently, my sister has been taking care of him, but I want to go back and check on him.”

Wei Lan quickly took off her mask and said, “I’ll go with you.”

“You’re willing to leave the lab?” Liu Mingyi asked, surprised.

Wei Lan packed her things as she replied, “The students are keeping an eye on the experiments, they’re already familiar with the process. Developing penicillin isn’t something that can be done in a few days. A few days won’t make a difference. Besides, I want to see how Uncle Liu is doing; maybe I can help.”

They immediately set out. In the carriage, Wei Lan flipped through a medical book, searching for cases related to headaches. Liu Mingyi looked at her focused profile, and a smile involuntarily appeared on his face.

When they arrived at Baiyan Village, they could already hear the clear sound of children reading from Liu’s courtyard. Liu Mingyi’s father was sitting at the head of the bed, energetically testing a few village students.

He slowly read, “The bright moonlight before my bed, I suspect it’s frost on the ground.”

A seven or eight-year-old boy immediately recited, “I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon, and lower it to think of my hometown.”

Liu Mingyi’s father smiled and nodded, then continued, “In spring, we sleep unaware of the dawn, everywhere we hear the calls of birds.”

A girl immediately recited, “At night, the sound of wind and rain, who knows how many flowers have fallen.”

The children recited fluently, and Liu Mingyi’s father listened with joy, filling the whole courtyard with a joyful atmosphere.

The sound of horse hooves came closer and stopped at the entrance of the courtyard. Liu Yao, wearing an apron, ran out. She saw her brother and Wei Lan unloading things from the carriage, with two large wooden boxes stacked with cloth and medicine packets. She hurried over to help Wei Lan lift a box.

The children, hearing the noise, gathered around curiously to watch. Liu Mingyi took out a box of eight-treasure cakes from the package and smiled as he handed them out to the children. These cakes, made from ingredients like poria and Chinese yam, were the best-selling product from their herbal shop.

The children thanked him and some even said they would take some home for their families.

Wei Lan took out a carved lacquer box from the trunk and handed it to Liu Yao. “Sister Yao, this is some newly arrived rouge from Suzhou.” Liu Yao opened the box to see jasmine flower powder pressed into fragrant cakes at the top, rose water cream in the middle, and neatly arranged rice paste face masks at the bottom.

“Don’t use lead powder or cinnabar. These are all pure and natural,” Wei Lan pointed to a small porcelain bottle and reminded, “The official powder contains lead, but this rice powder is made from freshly ground rice, so you can use it without worry.”

Liu Yao’s eyes lit up, but she then became a little embarrassed. “Sister, these things are too precious, it’s too much. How about we return them and buy some plain flour instead, something more practical?”

Wei Lan smiled, holding down Liu Yao’s hand as she tried to refuse. “These are goods I’m using to pay off a debt. If you don’t want them, I’ll just feed them to the pigs.”

Upon hearing this, Liu Yao stopped refusing and took the box with a smile.

After the children ran back home with their cakes, the smile on Liu Yao’s face gradually faded, and she sighed. “When my father’s headache attacks, it’s really unbearable. But when he’s with these children, he seems to feel a little better.”

Wei Lan and Mingyi entered Liu Mingyi’s father’s room. Liu Mingyi carefully took his father’s pulse while Wei Lan asked detailed questions about his symptoms. Liu Mingyi’s father’s headaches fluctuated in intensity, sometimes accompanied by dizziness, but there were no other obvious abnormalities. Wei Lan thought to herself that as long as it wasn’t a tumor, it shouldn’t be too serious, but she couldn’t be certain yet.

Liu Mingyi wrote a prescription: three qian of cinnamon twigs, two qian of chuanxiong…

Wei Lan noticed that the elderly man’s eyes were always following her. When Wei Lan left, and only father and son were left in the room, Liu Mingyi’s father suddenly spoke, his tone calm but meaningful: “Do you know Miss Wei’s true identity?”

Liu Mingyi was puzzled, “What identity? She’s not a spy.”

Liu Mingyi’s father smiled faintly, his eyes deep. “She doesn’t belong to this time and space.”

Liu Mingyi’s heart tightened, “Father, why did you suddenly say this?” He had sworn to keep Wei Lan’s secret and had never revealed anything to his father.

Liu Mingyi’s father looked at his son’s tense shoulders and sighed. “You knew, didn’t you?” He raised his hand to stop Liu Mingyi from explaining. “I’m telling you this, but don’t let Yao know.”

He paused for a moment and continued, “Recently, my headache and fatigue have been worsening because I’ve been summoned to serve as a temporary judge in the underworld.”

Liu Mingyi was stunned but soon felt that this absurdity was nothing compared to the secret of Wei Lan’s background.

Seeing Liu Mingyi’s bewildered expression, Liu Mingyi’s father chuckled, “There are too many people starving and dying in the north, so the underworld is understaffed. They’ve been recruiting the living to serve at night. I’m just one of them.”

“So, Miss Wei…” Liu Mingyi grasped the key.

“Next to her name on the death register,” Liu Mingyi’s father lowered his voice, “it says ‘A person not of this time and space.’ I don’t know how she got here, but I can be sure that she doesn’t belong to our dynasty.”

“Can she return?” Liu Mingyi leaned forward urgently. “Is there any way?”

Liu Mingyi’s father shook his head. “The judges only handle life and death. They can’t change fate. I remember these things while serving, but once I wake up, I forget. The only thing I clearly remember is Miss Wei.”

Liu Mingyi wanted to ask more about Wei Lan, but Liu Mingyi’s father waved his hand. “I can’t see the details. Don’t ask anymore.”

Liu Mingyi pressed his father’s cold wrist, frowning. “Is the headache caused by the entry of yin energy? Can you quit this job?”

“The ox-head and horse-face said it’s harmless. When the war subsides, it will end,” Liu Mingyi’s father pulled back his hand and said indifferently. “Everyone has their own destiny. Your father was once a judge in a past life, so I was chosen this time.”

Liu Mingyi asked, “Father, what does the underworld look like? How did you get there?”

Liu Mingyi’s father glanced at him. “Why do you want to know this?”

“I study the I Ching and the laws of heaven and earth. I just want to know who set these rules,” Liu Mingyi flipped open a book and revealed pages full of notes.

“At midnight, a black sedan comes to pick me up. After my soul leaves the body, I go straight to the underworld. To enter, I have to say the right code. The office there is similar to the county government’s document room.”

“Does the underworld have a sun?”

“No. The sky is dark, and you can see about five meters around you. Beyond that, it’s all fog.”

“What do the ghosts look like?”

“Most of them are dull-headed. Those who just died still wear their clothes from life. After a while, they change into gray robes.” He lowered his voice. “Remember, if you see a ghost wearing a red robe and smiling at you, run immediately! That’s a century-old vengeful spirit, even the judges can’t control them.”

Liu Mingyi scribbled “Red-robed vengeful spirit” on paper and asked, “Is the underworld really underground?”

“Not exactly. It’s better to say it’s a world that coexists with ours. They can’t see us, and we can’t see them. Only at special times do the doors between the two worlds open. That’s why some people have yin-yang eyes—they can see both worlds.”

Liu Mingyi frowned, deep in thought. “So how did you come back?”

Liu Mingyi’s father smiled. “When the time comes, I just return. It’s strange, but not strange, just like waking from a dream.”

Liu Mingyi looked out the window. The sky was growing darker, as if the black sedan could come for his father at any moment. He sighed softly and whispered, “Father, you must be careful. If there is danger…”

Liu Mingyi’s father spoke casually, “Don’t worry.”