When Yang Ping received the call, he was discussing the design pathway for monoclonal antibodies of receptor X with Weber in the laboratory. The phone vibrated on the lab bench, and he didn't pick it up immediately. He waited until the third buzz before grabbing it. The screen displayed Lu Xiaolu's name. He pressed the answer key and wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, as the pen in his hand continued sketching the antibody structure diagram on paper.
"Professor, Lin Xiaoyu has a fever."
Yang Ping's actions halted. He set down the pen, adjusted the phone properly against his ear, "How high is it?"
"Thirty-eight point seven degrees. The nurse measured it during the rounds ten minutes ago. I went and measured again to confirm twice. It's still thirty-eight point seven."
"Is she feeling unwell? Headache? Nausea? Does her neck feel stiff? Is there anything unusual about her eyes?"
