Song Sisi brought up the hemostatic cloth she had used the day before. "Boss, I used the hemostatic cloth as a sanitary pad yesterday afternoon, and it actually felt pretty good. Not only is it super absorbent, but there was no odor. I even felt like the cramping in my lower abdomen eased up quite a bit. I recommended it to Yang Qing and Xiao Yu. They’re coming to get some this morning, is that okay?"

"Of course, that’s no problem."

Li Xu said, "We have several boxes in the warehouse. They’re just sitting there anyway."

He then explained the feasibility of using the hemostatic cloth as a substitute for sanitary pads: "Our hemostatic cloth is made with Yang Xiu and Persimmon Frost. Yang Xiu itself has detoxifying, hemostatic, and anti-inflammatory properties, and Persimmon Frost has similar effects. When combined, they can help reduce inflammation, stop bleeding, improve circulation, and alleviate pain. So the reason you didn’t feel any pain is because of its pharmacological effects."

As he was speaking, an idea suddenly struck Li Xu.

’A thought quickly took shape in his mind—with such a major sanitary pad safety scandal happening right now, consumer trust in traditional brands has hit rock bottom. The market is in a state of panic and uncertainty.’

’Why not take this opportunity to produce our own sanitary pads?’

Li Xu recalled an article he had read before, one that detailed the history of sanitary napkins.

The birth of the modern sanitary napkin was, in fact, an accidental discovery stemming from hemostatic cloths.

In 1914, the flames of the First World War engulfed Europe. On battlefields shrouded in gunpowder smoke, the sounds of gunfire were incessant.

In the trenches, the pained groans of wounded soldiers rose and fell.

Military medics faced a daunting challenge: a shortage in the supply of traditional cotton gauze made it impossible to treat the massive number of casualties. They were in urgent need of a medical dressing that was more absorbent and less expensive.

Meanwhile, back on the home front, in cities and villages alike, women were silently enduring their own "private dilemma."

During their routine monthly periods, most women could only use reusable, washable cotton cloths or scraps of fabric. Even wealthy women were limited to simple "sanitary belts."

These crude supplies were not only inconvenient but also a breeding ground for bacteria, frequently leading to infections and illnesses.

What was even more suffocating, however, was society’s absolute silence on the topic of menstruation—it was a taboo that could not be openly discussed, forcing women to bury this trouble deep in their hearts.

The need for hemostasis on the battlefield and the physiological needs of women, seemingly from two completely different worlds, came to share a common solution through a historical accident: a more absorbent, softer, and cheaper material.

A paper company founded in 1872—the Kimberly-Clark Corporation—received an urgent order from the government: develop a medical dressing material that could replace cotton, with the requirements that it be more absorbent and lower in cost.

The company’s R&D team turned its attention to wood pulp.

After a series of chemical treatments and innovative processes, they finally developed a new material made from processed wood pulp—Cellucotton.

The material’s absorbency was astonishing: it could absorb five times its own weight in liquid, far surpassing ordinary cotton.

And because its raw materials were abundant and manufacturing costs were low, it quickly became the standard dressing in field hospitals.

On the front lines, military medics discovered that this soft, highly absorbent material not only effectively stopped bleeding but also reduced the chance of infection.

Cellucotton’s reputation as "the life-saving cotton" spread like wildfire, and countless soldiers’ lives were saved because of it.

In November 1918, the war abruptly ended.

The Kimberly-Clark Corporation faced a sweet dilemma: they had a massive inventory of Cellucotton and highly specialized production lines, but the wartime demand had vanished.

Company executives held an emergency meeting to discuss what to do with the surplus materials.

Some suggested selling it off at a low price, while others advocated for transitioning to produce other paper products.

In the midst of the heated debate, an unexpected piece of news changed the course of history.

The company began receiving feedback from returning nurses and female volunteers: many female personnel on the front lines had been quietly using the Cellucotton for menstrual hygiene, and its effectiveness far surpassed any product on the market at the time.

One American nurse, having returned from France, even demonstrated to the company how to make a sanitary pad from Cellucotton: simply cut the Cellucotton to a suitable size, wrap it in gauze, and secure it with a safety pin. She exclaimed excitedly, "This is so much better than anything we’ve ever used before!"

Kimberly-Clark’s management keenly realized they had likely stumbled upon a huge, untapped market: the female hygiene products market.

In 1920, Kimberly-Clark made a bold decision: to reposition Cellucotton and market it as a women’s hygiene product.

But the company faced a tricky challenge: how to market this product in a society that was deeply secretive about the topic of menstruation?

The company’s first step was to come up with a subtle name that wouldn’t cause embarrassment.

After much discussion, they finally named the product "Kotex," a word combining "cotton" and "texture," cleverly avoiding any direct reference to its purpose.

The first Kotex sanitary napkins officially went on sale in 1920. They consisted of a Cellucotton core and an outer layer of gauze, with no images or text on the packaging that overtly suggested a woman’s menstrual period.

Even more revolutionary was Kimberly-Clark’s sales strategy: they set up a special display area in drugstores where customers could simply place money in a box and take the product themselves, completely avoiding the potential embarrassment of interacting with a clerk.

This "silent sales method" may seem incredible now, but at the time, it was an ingenious response to social taboos, providing women with a barrier-free way to obtain hygiene products.

After Kotex hit the market, the Kimberly-Clark Corporation launched a careful marketing revolution.

They decided to challenge the social taboo, but they adopted a gradual strategy.

The company placed advertisements in major American women’s magazines. These ads never directly mentioned the word "menstruation," instead using euphemisms like "special needs for a certain time" or "the inconvenient days of the month."

The marketing campaign emphasized three main advantages: modern, convenient, and healthy.

One ad from the 1920s read: "Kotex is designed for the modern woman, allowing you to maintain an active lifestyle, no longer troubled by monthly inconveniences."

These ads also linked the product to the image of the new, independent woman: one who could freely go to work and attend social events without being limited by her biological condition.

This message resonated with the burgeoning women’s liberation movement of the time.

However, challenges remained. Many media outlets refused to run sanitary napkin ads, and some stores were unwilling to display such products.

Even as late as the end of the 1920s, major American broadcast networks still prohibited sanitary napkin advertisements from being aired on their programs.

But the shift in social attitudes was already inevitable.