Jiang Cheng briefly recounted the middle-aged man he had just met, then asked, "Dean Jiang, do you know roughly how many families in your hospital are in the same situation as him?"
Jiang Long had no idea why Jiang Cheng had suddenly brought this up.
After all, he didn't know Jiang Cheng's exact identity.
Shen An had only told him that the man was the chairman of Xingchen.
His status was at least on par with the Wang and Xu families.
He glanced awkwardly at Shen An.
Shen An spoke up. "Uncle Jiang, don't worry. Just tell the truth. It's nothing bad—it's actually something good. Would I ever set you up?"
Even after Shen An's reassurance, Jiang Long's expression didn't relax much.
He hesitated for a moment before slowly saying, "Young Master Shen, Chairman Jiang, there are actually many families like the one you just mentioned. We see similar cases almost every day. Some families can't afford the high medical costs due to financial difficulties and end up giving up treatment or choosing cheaper but less effective alternatives."
At this point, everyone present instinctively frowned.
Jiang Long continued, "Even families that were originally well-off find the long-term treatment costs a heavy burden. Many fall into poverty and even lose hope in life."
Shen An couldn't help asking, "Does your hospital provide any help or support for these families?"
For a Second-generation rich like him, he had never worried or even thought about such matters.
When he encountered people praying while sick outside, he would, like just now, hand over a few hundred bucks to ease his conscience.
But he had never considered doing what Jiang Cheng was doing.
Jiang Long shook his head helplessly. "Of course we want to help, but our ability is limited. We can only do our best. For special cases we organize donation drives, but the money raised is far from enough to solve all the problems."
"There are some things I'd rather not say too much. A hospital is no different from any other company; only the nature of the business differs. In some places, for profit, they'll push imported products on you."
After saying this, Jiang Long paused, as if considering how to phrase his next words.
"Everyone knows that when the efficacy is the same, imported goods naturally bring higher profit than domestic ones, so the commission is bigger. That's why some salespeople prefer prescribing imports, making patients pay more."
"But it depends. In certain special cases imports really are better than domestic ones; in others there's no difference. It all comes down to whether the person selling to you has a conscience."
Jiang Cheng naturally understood what Jiang Long meant.
Domestically produced drugs are usually cheap—just a few or a dozen yuan a bottle.
Imported drugs cost far more—tens or even hundreds of yuan a bottle.
If used only occasionally, an ordinary family can still manage.
But if the drug must be taken long-term to stay healthy, the expense becomes huge.
Jiang Long went on, "Many illnesses are dragged out like this. His situation is one of those helpless realities. These advanced diagnostic machines cost tens of millions, even hundreds of millions. Fortunately, with rapid technological progress their accuracy keeps improving."
"After we replace the machines, we can't just throw the old ones away; they're shipped to smaller towns for continued use. As they're passed down the line, backward little mountain villages with low revenue end up buying these second-hand devices. So the machines there might be several or even a dozen years old, and misdiagnoses are sometimes unavoidable."
Although Jiang Long's answer was still somewhat evasive, Jiang Cheng could understand.
After all, being suddenly called here to answer such questions would make anyone nervous.
People inside the system tend to speak cautiously and like to hedge.
In Jiang Cheng's view, the phenomenon Jiang Long described was an inevitable result of market-economy development.
Compared with other countries, China had already done quite well in medical reimbursement; there was almost nothing to criticize.
Jiang Cheng waved his hand and got straight to the point. "Dean Jiang, rest assured, I'm not here to investigate or to discuss these operational matters. I only want to know: how many families like his are in your hospital? How many children have had to give up treatment because they have no money? Give me a list."
Hearing this, Jiang Long secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"That situation is a bit complicated. Most of the child patients we see every day have minor ailments—colds, fevers, allergies, skin problems, dental issues; all small stuff."
Jiang Long caught his breath and continued, "However, in recent years the number of hematology and oncology cases has clearly increased; beds are often full. There are quite a few like that, but most are out-of-town families in poor financial straits who leave after hearing the price. Still, some may seek treatment elsewhere, so exact figures are hard to give; we'd need to compile statistics."
As Jiang Long said, the situation was indeed complicated.
If they really had to count every case in detail, it would probably be impossible to finish today.
Yet the system's requirement clearly stipulated the task must be completed today.
After pondering for a moment, Jiang Cheng said, "Then narrow the scope. First give me a list of patients who recently started treatment here but had to stop midway because of money."
Jiang Long nodded slightly. "That's easy; we can pull that together quickly. Every so often our hospital makes follow-up calls to those patients to check on their condition."
"Then I'll trouble you, Dean Jiang."
"You're too kind." With that, Jiang Long walked to his office desk, picked up the phone, and dialed without hesitation.
After giving instructions, he returned to the sofa in front of the reception table.
No sooner had he sat down than, as if suddenly remembering something, he looked up with a hint of doubt and asked uncertainly, "Chairman Jiang, may I ask why you want these names?"