“A patient with Influenza B at the hospital basically meets the inclusion criteria. The investigator is currently discussing informed consent!”
“Great! What’s the patient’s general condition? Is the fever still ongoing? I’m heading over right away."
Cheered by our colleagues, Minghao and I, who were new to the team, quickly gathered our things and rushed to the hospital.
At 7 p.m., the fever clinic’s designated Gate 9 stood under the dim night sky, illuminated by a red light. Xiwen led us to the hospital to await the outcome of the consent process.
According to Little C (a nickname for CRC), the patient was a young man with dark skin. After several rounds of discussion between the doctor and the patient, consent was finally given—an hour had passed.
Xiwen breathed a sigh of relief as the patient and the doctor signed the informed consent form. After completing the patient enrollment and dosing procedures, our team walked out of the hospital's fever clinic—it was already 3 a.m.
I can hardly recall the exact details of that night, only the glowing red light of Gate 9 in the pouring rain. On my way home, I saw Sister Nan’s Moments post tagging all of us: “My first working day after graduation: working overtime until 3 a.m. in heavy rain. This is the daily life of clinical research practitioners. The job is grueling, but it’s also awesome. Everything will be worthwhile in the end!”
That day marked my first day working with the Beijing team, and it was also my first time fighting side by side with my clinical research colleagues in Beijing. I was filled with indescribable gratitude and excitement to work alongside amazing people on incredible projects.
The project had been running for more than half a year by then. I had no idea how many stressful, thrilling, frustrating and regretful late nights the Beijing clinical team had endured over these months. Nor did I know how many sleepless nights Sister Nan had spent anxiously waiting for updates while staring at the DingTalk attendance page.
Gradually, I grew into my role and became capable of handling project work independently. For months, I traveled to China-Japan Friendship Hospital for monitoring every week. Amid recurring COVID outbreaks, everyone wore thick masks, while influenza lurked silently.
Every time we found a patient with matching symptoms who fit the trial criteria, our excitement would fade instantly when the influenza test showed a negative result, leaving us disappointed and sighing.
From summer to autumn, we worked in heavy protective suits and face shields, with only our eyes exposed.
I coordinated with Little C during follow-up visits. Besides collecting influenza and nucleic acid samples from fever patients, we also took samples from close contacts. Slowly, I got familiar with the hospital’s doctors, nurses and even sample delivery staff. I began to understand why all medical staff cooperated so well with Xiwen’s on-site work. We devoted ourselves to assisting the hospital with every detail. Our relationship with medical staff grew from strangers exchanging simple greetings to full collaboration across all procedures whenever eligible patients appeared for our trial. Long before I joined the team, Xiwen and other colleagues had laid solid groundwork at the hospital, teaching me the value of dedication and down-to-earth work.
When influenza season arrived, positive cases began to emerge in the hospital. As we started identifying flu-positive patients daily, we couldn’t afford to miss patient flows even on weekends. Following the hospital’s shift schedule, Xiwen, Congcong and I took turns working night shifts and overtime on weekends.
With more influenza patients coming in, the investigator received various responses from candidates:
“Doctor, I don’t want to join any clinical trial. Just give me regular treatment.”
“I’m planning a pregnancy. I won’t even get a CT scan, so I definitely can’t participate.”
“I know my body best. I don’t want to be a guinea pig.”
 ……
On some occasions, patients with basic knowledge of clinical trials initially agreed to enroll, but refused after learning multiple follow-up hospital visits would be required. During this period, positive cases appeared at the hospital every day. The investigator even offered home visits to patients, only to be rejected repeatedly. At that tough time, Sister Nan encouraged us:"Positive cases are always good news. In non-influenza seasons, we can hardly recruit any patients in northern China. Now that cases are rising, we must stick to our posts and remind the investigator not to miss any eligible candidates." 
Nationwide, fewer than 20 trial quotas remained available. To boost team morale, Sister Nan even joked about her promises: she would sing while doing a handstand if we enrolled six more patients, and perform "breaking a stone on the chest" if we recruited another 10. Everyone was full of motivation, waiting for more influenza patients to come forward.
Time kept moving forward relentlessly. On a crisp, bitterly cold Saturday in late autumn, heavy snow blanketed the hospital like a soft white quilt. During monitoring rounds, the investigator sighed:"This heavy snow will definitely reduce the number of influenza patients." Even at 10:30 p.m., many patients still came to the hospital. I watched the investigator finish routine clinical work, then return to the nucleic acid testing cabin in bulky protective gear to continue tests, hoping more influenza patients would seek medical attention. It was completely dark when we left, with only a handful of patients around. The red light above Gate 9 stayed bright against the snow.
The temperature rose the next day. On that weekend afternoon, we suddenly received good news from Congcong: “One female patient has basically agreed. She is not planning pregnancy and meets most inclusion criteria. No further updates yet.”
This short message lifted our spirits instantly. We took taxis to the hospital from all directions. Our efforts finally paid off—the patient was successfully enrolled, bringing us renewed hope.
At that time, only three enrollment slots remained nationwide. The following day, two patients tested strongly positive for influenza B. Both agreed to participate. Unfortunately, the male patient’s disease course exceeded the time limit and his fever had subsided, so only the female patient was enrolled in the end. As the saying goes, persistent dedication always bears fruit. Later, the investigator identified another influenza B patient, and two participants were enrolled that day.
Sister Nan was too excited to sleep and rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night to stay with us. Looking back, if the male patient had fully met the inclusion criteria, the project would probably have been completed successfully on that very day. It was three o’clock in the morning again when we left. The light at Gate 9 was still on, keeping watch alongside us. Together with Sister Nan, we took another photo at Gate 9 of the fever clinic, capturing Beijing at 3 a.m.
All of this is just a tiny fraction of what the team has experienced—simply an ordinary day for every member. Spread across different hospitals, everyone kept working diligently at their posts. On the day the project concluded, some shed tears, some hugged, some cheered joyfully, while others felt regret for not being able to complete the final enrollment themselves. Witnessing everyone’s excitement and joy, I felt once again the original sincerity, passion and enthusiasm deep in my heart. How wonderful it is to devote ourselves to a field we love alongside like-minded colleagues.
We are always on the road, striving toward our goals. Whatever the outcome, our dedication will never be in vain, leaving no regrets behind.
I can almost see countless miracles that have happened and will continue to happen at Qingfeng Pharmaceutical. And in this moment, we ourselves are the miracle.