Jiang Rou bit her lip, her gaze drifting between the injured educated youth and the anxious villagers gathered around.
It was not that she was unwilling to bring out medicine, but rather that she did not know how to justify having it. Jiang Rou dug her fingernails into her palms, her eyes flickering between Zhao Song’s bruised, swollen leg and the worried faces of the villagers.
In this 1970s rural village, even a barefoot doctor was a rare sight. How was she supposed to explain the origin of such precious Western medicine?
Chapter 85