Once Upon in Nanjing-Chapter 21 - 8 Dysmenorrhea

The next morning, Ban Xia lingered in bed for a while, listening to the patter of rain outside, clutching the bedsheets with both hands and curled up like a big shrimp, her face pale and forehead sweating.

Because she was suffering from menstrual cramps.

"Pain..."

Ban Xia's period came in the last week of each month. She didn't usually experience severe cramps, but today she couldn't get out of bed because of the pain. Perhaps it was because she got caught in a downpour while visiting South Airline yesterday and fell into a manhole, soaking in the cold, muddy water all day. Her teacher had warned that one should not get chilled or wet during menstruation, and now it seemed she was right.

In waves, sharp pains emanated from her lower abdomen, as if a sharp drill was stirring inside. Ban Xia lay powerless on the bed, her whole body soaked in sweat. This girl had lived alone for many years, carrying knives and bow and arrow, braving wind and rain, moving in and out of dangerous places as if they were unguarded, but now she felt as fragile as glass, with only enough strength to curl her toes.

Ban Xia felt like she was about to die, her body devoid of warmth and strength, just a sack filled with ice water, cold, heavy, limp, and beyond the control of her brain.

Why am I a girl?

Why must girls have periods?

The pain...it's killing me. Someone, please chop off my lower half. I don't want it anymore; I don't want it anymore.

Ban Xia struggled mentally, debating whether to take painkillers.

In this era, all medications were precious non-renewable resources. Antibiotics such as amoxicillin and Ribavirin, along with broad-spectrum antimicrobial and antiviral drugs, and painkillers like Ibuprofen and Aspirin, were more valuable than gold.

Whether they were expired or not, whether they were intended for human use—her teacher had prudently stockpiled a vast amount of pet and poultry antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. While everyone else was scavenging empty pharmacies, the teacher was raiding pet shops, carrying bags of penicillin, tetracycline, and cat food. Back then, the teacher had to carry an automatic rifle to protect her supplies, luckily, she was so formidable that no one dared to mess with her.

Pet medications didn't differ much from human medications, and in an era of extreme drug scarcity, they were still faster-acting than homemade herbal remedies.

The girl slowly got up and decided to take the medication.

No matter how precious, they were not as important as her physical health.

Ban Xia dragged her feet, inching into the living room, and pulled out a box of Acetaminophen Tablets from the drawer of the TV cabinet.

These medicines had all expired over a decade ago, but they still had some effect.

She pressed out two Acetaminophen Tablets, placed them on the wooden coffee table, then turned to pour some hot water from the kettle.

Only a little hot water was left, barely half a cup, steaming faintly.

Ban Xia held the gradually warming cup with both hands and pressed it against her face, feeling somewhat better, though she wasn't sure if it was just a placebo effect.

She swallowed the painkillers with water, closed her eyes, curled her legs, and lay on the worn-out sofa, waiting for the medicine to take effect.

Hoping they still worked.

Ban Xia was terrified. She wasn't scared of the outside world that devoured people or the heavyweight beasts. As long as she was inside the shelter, protected by strong buildings and high-voltage fences, she remained unharmed by the outside world. But disease could easily destroy her. Nothing was more desperate than lying in a room dying of illness.

At that time, she wouldn't even have the strength to pull the trigger for euthanasia.

She swore she'd never go out in heavy rain again, hoping her body would quickly recover.

Please, get well soon.

Ban Xia silently chanted in her mind.

Perhaps the medicine gradually started to work; the pain began to subside, and her body temperature rose. The girl felt feverish, and drowsily, she fell asleep on the sofa.

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After the first morning class, Bai Yang quickly caught up on some sleep, yawned, and buried his head in his arms.

It wasn't just him snoozing, the whole class was silent, and everyone seemed to be catching up on sleep. Only the class representative was busy collecting homework back and forth, using this time between the first and second periods, dubbed the "early sleep time," to make up for lost sleep.

The interval between the second and third periods was the "early midday nap time," meant to make up for any lack of sleep during the early sleep time.

Then, naturally, the break between the third and fourth periods was the "pre-midday nap time," serving as a precursor to the actual nap.

After the fourth period came the rightfully due midday nap.

The class teacher, Mr. Liu, asked in class, you guys don't have that much study load usually, right? Why are you so sleepy?

One comrade raised his hand to answer—this comrade was He Leqin, who recited a poem on the spot: Teacher, as the old saying goes, spring is not for reading; blistering summer days are for sleep; after autumn and winter comes, we joyously celebrate the New Year.

For a student like He whose average scores in languages, math, and English barely reach sixty, what can the teacher do?

Scolding isn't an option, nor is punishing, or else he might face complaints from parents.

Nor can he be forcibly taught; others absorb ink when they study, while He Leqin is like swallowing weights—a master of the peerless "thousand-pound-drop" martial arts technique, not even six top-grade teachers can move him.

So, he is left to joyously celebrate the New Year.

The city's Education Bureau repeatedly emphasizes quality and joyful education, yet under this guidance, all the local high schools are easily outmatched by schools in Su Bei, with students from South University affiliated schools unable to get into South University, and those from South Airline affiliated schools unable to get into South Airline. Clearly, He is a typical product of this educational philosophy, he has manners, bravely helping elders who've fallen down—though that's mainly because he's rich, and also quite happy, living every day like it's a joyous New Year—of course, mainly because he's rich.

Bai Yang said if it weren't for the eight properties you own...

He Leqin corrected him, saying it's only six.

Comrade He Leqin, owner of six properties, doesn't need to get into South University or South Airline, but Bai Yang does; his mother has high hopes for him, aiming for South University, or at least South University of Science and Technology.

Privately, Bai Yang complained that if he could get into South University, he would not have ended up at South Airline High School; those capable of getting into South University are all at Golden Middle South Normal High.

A copy of "Small Questions Frenzy" smacked him from behind, waking Bai Yang up. He looked up to see He Leqin's big face approaching.

Before he could even speak, Bai Yang already knew what he was going to say.

Having hung around him for many years, Bai Yang could tell what kind of crap He was going to pull just by the way his dumb ass posed.

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"What's for lunch?"

Both asked simultaneously.

After morning reading, He Leqin would start pondering what to eat for lunch, a question he could contemplate all morning.

"Let's have beef soup. I saw a new place on Meituan," said He Leqin. "My treat."

"Is it far?"

"We'll take a taxi there and back," He Leqin said. "It's near the new mall, not too far."

"What about Yan? Is Yan coming?"

"Yan won't come. She said she feels unwell, her stomach hurts."

"Unwell? Should we bring her some medicine when we return?"

And so, Bai Yang decided on what to have for lunch, providing a joyful anticipation and goal through the next three tedious lessons—at that moment, he could understand why He started thinking about lunch right after the morning reading; because in a draining environment, thinking about joyful things always seems to make time pass exceptionally fast.