Chapter 23 — The One Who Keeps The Venom Saves People

The next year's flood season came earlier than forecast, but Khe Lanh Snake Farm welcomed it with a completely different mindset than last year. The Mist-Scaled Viper specific serum warehouse now has fifteen reserve vials, the result of expanding the specialized immune horse herd after the additional budget was approved by the Department of Health. The regional serum sharing network has expanded to two more neighboring provinces, with more than twenty medical facilities participating.

Du stood in the camp's new office — a renovated meeting room, with a large screen displaying a map of the area and real-time data on the serum stock status of each unit participating in the network. She no longer had to stare at the old laminated paper map like last year, although she still kept it, hanging solemnly on the wall as a reminder of where everything began.

"Miss Du, there's a call from the provincial television station. They want to interview about the serum network model." A new camp administrative officer announced, poking his head in the office door.

"Pass it on to Mr. Thanh, I'm not good at interviews." Du smiled, waved his hand and refused decisively. She has never felt comfortable with the media attention, even though the network model is now cited as a shining example of grassroots health reform in the region.

Khiem walked in, now the official technician in charge of a small group of three new recruits, young faces who had just graduated from biology or veterinary medicine, and were in the process of being trained by him from the beginning - exactly the way Du had trained him for the first eight months.

"Miss Du, our group just completed a simulated emergency drill." He reported, his voice filled with the pride of an instructor. "All three of them handled the venom extraction exercise well under simulated time pressure."

"Very good." Du nodded with satisfaction. "Remember to emphasize to them that theory is one thing, but when faced with reality, everything will be very different. The most important thing is not not to be afraid, but to know how to do things right even when you are afraid."

"I always remind them that, I learned it from you." Khiem smiled, then looked out the window, where the rain was starting to fall the first drops of the new flood season. "Do you think this year will be as stressful as last year?"

"Mr. Nguyen visited camp yesterday and mentioned that." Du said, recalling a short conversation with the rescue captain who had been coming back and forth to the camp regularly since last year's flood night. "He said that this year the commune rescue team has prepared two new motorboats, with a list of dangerous high mounds that need to be monitored during the flood season, created after last year's experience."

"That's good." Khiem nodded. "It seems like not only our camp learned a lesson from that night, but the surrounding community changed as well."

"That's right." Du agrees. "A good system is not just about technology or process, but also about everyone around us learning from experience and preparing better for next time."

She stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the farmyard where Khiem's three new students were practicing with simulators under the supervision of another technician. That scene reminded her of herself eight years ago, a young girl new to the profession, still clumsy with a snake hook, but with an unshakable determination in her heart.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if these kids really understand the importance of the work they're doing." Khiem said, standing next to her, also looking out at the farm yard. "Or they just consider this a normal job, like any other job."

"It's okay if they don't understand right away." Du replied, his voice gentle but full of philosophy drawn from personal experience. "Me too, at first I simply thought I wanted to do something meaningful after what happened to my family. I never thought that one day this job would take me this far. Just let them find their own meaning over time, through each actual shift, like you found out."

"I hope not." Du replied, his eyes also looking out into the rain. "But no matter how stressful it was, I was much better prepared than last year. That's the most important thing."

Her phone vibrated, a text message from Bong: "Miss Du, Nhi starts second grade today, I remind you all the time, saying when I grow up I want to be a doctor like Ms. Thu."

Du read the message, a warm smile spread across her face. She typed back: "Congratulations baby, I believe you can do whatever you dream of." Then save the photo of Nhi wearing a brand new uniform, standing smiling at the school gate that Bong sent along with the message.

She put down the phone and looked out the window where the rain was falling more and more heavily, reminiscent of the fateful night of floods a year ago. But this time, the feeling in her heart was no longer the constant fear, but the steady calm of someone who had gone through the greatest challenge and stood firm on the other side.

Thanh walked into the office, holding a stack of new documents. "The Department of Health has just sent an invitation to you and me to attend the Central region health conference next month, presenting the network model for other provinces to learn from."

"Another long trip." Du sighed, but the corners of her mouth couldn't hide the smile. "Okay, I will prepare the presentation."

"You know," Thanh said, sitting in the chair opposite, his voice becoming more thoughtful. "Sometimes I think about that night, about all the difficult decisions I had to make in those few short hours. I still wonder, if I hadn't had the courage to step into the boat then, what would have happened."

"I wondered that too." Du admitted, looking distantly towards the window. "But I think the more important question is not what would have happened if I hadn't gone, but what have I learned from having gone. And I think the clearest answer is the network that's running out there, silently saving people every day without the need for another night of crisis."

Outside, the rain had begun to get heavier, but unlike a year ago, no one in that office felt extremely worried by that familiar sound. They have prepared, learned, and built a system strong enough to face whatever this year's flood season brings.

That evening, after everyone had gone home, Du stayed in the office alone, reviewing the entire report summarizing a year of network operations before sending it to Thanh for final editing. The number that appeared on the screen made her pause for a long time, reading it over and over again as if to make sure she wasn't mistaken — a total of thirty-seven snakebite emergencies had been supported through the network in the past year, the average coordination time was reduced by more than seventy percent compared to before, and there were no deaths due to lack of timely serum in the entire pilot area.

She opened her desk drawer and took out her grandfather's old snake hook that her mother had given her, which she now solemnly hangs on the office wall next to an old paper map, as a symbolic reminder of where everything began, and of why she continues to walk. She gently touched the polished wooden handle, feeling a connection that spanned generations — from her grandfather, to her father, to herself, and now, to young students like Khiem who continue to pass on what they have learned.

Her phone vibrated with the last text message of the day, from Tram. "Ms. Du, next month's conference has more than a hundred delegates registered to attend. They are especially interested in your presentation. Prepare yourself!"

Du read the message and sighed but the corner of his mouth still couldn't hide the smile. She never imagined that the most terrifying night of her life could lead to such a long journey — from a scared girl standing in the middle of rushing water, to someone who is helping to reshape the way an entire land responds to natural hazards, a journey that she knows is still long ahead.

She turned off the office light, walked out into the hallway, where the sound of rain was still falling steadily on the camp's corrugated iron roof, a sound that now no longer evoked constant fear, but was simply part of the rhythm of life where she had chosen to spend her whole life, a rhythm of life she no longer wanted to avoid.