Cheng Chumo returned looking disheveled and dejected. His honest face was now filled with rage and sorrow. The soldiers wanted to comfort him, but seeing his bloodshot eyes, they silently withdrew.

Yun Ye stood beside the vats where potatoes were planted, using a small iron rake to loosen the soil for the potato seedlings. In his view, he wasn’t loosening soil for potatoes but serving a vat full of copper coins. Each time he loosened the soil, it seemed he could hear the copper coins clinking. He was deeply immersed in this beautiful fantasy.

Five days ago, the potato seedlings had finally broken through the soil. Two tender leaves topped the sprout tips, and the emerald green leaves proved the plants were well-nourished. Yun Ye finally felt at ease and specially drank three consecutive cups with Cheng Yaojin in celebration.

Having finished loosening the soil, he was just preparing to wash his hands and enter the tent when he saw Cheng Chumo standing before the tent entrance, his eyes full of pleading. Mud and bloodstains covered his armor, and his left arm was still faintly bleeding.

Yun Ye was greatly startled. He stepped forward and grabbed his arm. The small knife in his right hand had already cut open the sleeve—a two-cun-long gash was gushing blood. He hurriedly ran into the main tent, rummaged out the first aid kit, had Cheng Chumo sit down, and prepared to treat his wound. But Cheng Chumo stopped Yun Ye. His mouth opened for a long time before squeezing out a few words: “I’m fine. Save my brother.” After saying this, he pulled Yun Ye and headed straight for the front camp.

Cheng Chumo’s brother was in terrible shape—struck by nine knife wounds. They were all good men who had rolled around the battlefield several times. When receiving the knife strikes, they had deliberately avoided vital points; otherwise, they would have died long ago. Even so, excessive blood loss had occurred, and the person had fallen into a coma. The military physician accompanying them kept shaking his head, saying the root had been injured and he was beyond saving.

Yun Ye didn’t understand. It was merely excessive blood loss. After replenishing the blood, as long as there were no complications, in one or two months he would be a lively and vigorous good man again. How could he be beyond saving? Besides, he still had anti-inflammatory medicine in his hands. Originally, because he had gone to rescue people in the rocky area, he had carried quite a lot of miscellaneous medicines. Because of this, that bastard team leader hadn’t even let him bring more food. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had to run so far for water, ending up running all the way to the Tang Dynasty unable to return home.

Having formed a plan in his heart, he wasn’t flustered anymore. He pressed Cheng Chumo down onto a bench, took out the suturing needle and soaked it in alcohol for disinfection, used tweezers to grip cotton and clean his wound. Cheng Chumo had no reaction to the alcohol’s stimulation, continuously muttering: “He took the knife strikes for me. These strikes should have been mine. I’m useless.”

Yun Ye paid him no mind. Seeing the wound cleaned, he threaded the silk thread and sutured his wound. Cheng Chumo was in self-injury and self-pity, as if the flesh wasn’t his own and could be manipulated at will.

The physician beside them was greatly shocked. Seeing a young man taking a needle to suture a wound—people weren’t clothes, how could they be sewn with a needle? Just as he was about to stop him, he saw the young man beckon to him. He moved closer. The young man said: “Watch carefully. Next time there’s a wound like this, after cleaning it thoroughly, use a needle to sew it up like this. It’s beneficial for the wound to heal properly. Remember, use catgut thread inside—that’s cutting off the intestinal casing of a sheep, drying it, soaking it in strong alcohol, and then it can be used. Use silk thread outside.” As the words finished, the work in his hands was also done. He took out Yunnan Baiyao, sprinkled it on the wound, and wrapped it with bandages, performing with incomparable skill. The physician somewhat wanted to believe this young man was a physician.

Cheng Chumo at this moment seemed to come back to life. Earlier, unconsciously pulling Yun Ye over was just wanting to find someone close to comfort himself and share his pain—this was completely a subconscious behavior. Now seeing Yun Ye treat his wound with incomparable skill, and with a method never seen before, this rekindled his hope.

“A Ye, save my brother, save my brother. You must have a way, you must have a way, right?”

“Of course I have a way. If nothing unexpected happens, your brother won’t die. Two months later, he’ll be a good man again.”

The military physician’s eyes widened. If he hadn’t just seen Yun Ye handle the wound methodically and orderly, he would have already burst out cursing. He had never seen a physician like this. The wounded had lost excessive blood throughout his entire body. At this moment, his breath was like a gossamer thread. If he couldn’t catch the next breath, he would die beyond any saving. Yet he spoke such wild words, guaranteeing to save the wounded, and even said “good man.” Luckily surviving would just mean gasping for breath in bed, that’s all. Let’s see how he treats him. In any case, in his own view, the wounded was ninety-nine percent dead out of a full hundred percent. Just let him fiddle around.

“My brother will be alright?” Cheng Chumo thought he had heard wrong and hurriedly asked again.

“When have I ever lied to you? I say he won’t die, so he won’t die. Move aside, don’t block me from saving people.”

Hearing these words, Cheng Chumo swooshed behind Yun Ye, eyes unblinking, prepared to watch how Yun Ye would save the person. Yun Ye took out his mobile phone and turned on the flashlight function, letting the light spot shine on the wounded man’s pupils. Seeing the pupils still contract and change, he sighed inwardly: This fellow’s life force is truly strong.

“Now I need blood, human blood. I’ll use your blood to save this fellow. Who’s willing to donate?”

The surroundings suddenly quieted down. Everyone looked at each other, hesitating for a long while. Cheng Chumo gritted his teeth and stepped forward: “A Ye, use mine. In any case, my life was also saved by Santing. Consider it repaying him with a life.”

Yun Ye’s eyes revealed irrepressible appreciation. In his heart, he couldn’t help but cheer for Cheng Chumo: “Good man!”

Just as he was about to explain that blood transfusion wouldn’t kill anyone, he saw a large hand slap the back of Cheng Chumo’s neck: “This old man isn’t dead yet. When is it your turn? Young Master Yun, does it have to be our own people’s blood, or will any human blood do?”

No one had noticed when Old Cheng appeared standing in the doorway, fully armored, the horizontal blade in his palm covered with bloodstains. It seemed he had just finished killing people. His murderous aura pressed so heavily that Yun Ye almost didn’t dare look directly at him.

“Uncle, as long as it’s human blood and the blood type is compatible, there’s no problem.”

“Then see if these fellows will work?” Old Cheng pointed with his horizontal blade at seven or eight Qiang people outside the door, bound tightly with rope.

“Let your nephew test the blood type first.” Yun Ye took out two pieces of glass and a light yellow test strip with five small squares divided into five colors. He placed these two items on a tray, used a toothpick to prick the wounded man’s middle finger, squeezed out blood, and applied it to the five small squares on the yellow test strip. He squeezed out another drop of blood and applied it to the glass. He switched to another toothpick, pricked his own middle finger, took a drop of blood and mixed it with the wounded man’s blood, pressed the two pieces of glass together, gently slid them, and carefully observed. In a moment, there was a result—the wounded man and himself were different types. Looking at the test strip again, only the blue Type A blood square had changed color; the others remained unchanged.

After determining the wounded man’s blood type, Yun Ye came before those several Qiang people. The Qiang people couldn’t understand what they were saying, but by intuition felt it wasn’t something good and desperately shrank their bodies backward. Several burly men grabbed their hands and handed them to Yun Ye. At this moment, Yun Ye felt he was very much like a Japanese person. After collecting blood from their hands one by one, he discovered two people had the same blood type as the wounded man. He instructed the personal guards to wash these two fellows’ arms clean—they were all greasy. He didn’t want the wounded man to die from bacterial infection. The Qiang people with blindfolded eyes struggled desperately, but under the guards’ efforts, Yun Ye still managed to insert the rubber tube’s needle into their blood vessels. Watching the somewhat blackish blood slowly flow into the wounded man’s body, the wounded man’s breathing also became increasingly long and drawn out. His lips began to show a trace of blood color. The physician felt the wounded man’s pulse, his eyes growing brighter and brighter, his mouth opening wider and wider. As for everyone else in the main tent, except for the Cheng father and son whose faces showed joy, the other people looked at Yun Ye with increasingly reverent eyes.

Zhuang Santing came back to life, except the wound that had just stopped bleeding began bleeding again. Yun Ye used tweezers to grip cotton and carefully cleaned it once. He didn’t want the person he had worked so hard to save to be left with aftereffects.

The military physician had completely become his assistant. Each person held a needle to suture the wound. Although his hands shook terribly, with deep and shallow stitches sewn in a crooked and twisted manner, he still managed to persevere. In any case, Zhuang Santing didn’t rely on his face to make a living. Whether it was sewn well or poorly didn’t matter. Surviving this great disaster was already rare—how dare he be picky?

The Qiang person died. He wasn’t killed by blood transfusion but was literally scared to death. No one had the slightest doubt about the Qiang person’s death. Even the naturally kind military physician only complained that the Qiang person’s excrement and urine had dirtied the tent, as if the Qiang person’s life wasn’t worth even a tent.

This time Yun Ye didn’t use the white medicine. After all, what he had brought was too little. Zhuang Santing’s wounds were too large and too numerous—using it two or three times would finish it. The military physician used trauma medicine to dress his wounds. He picked up the trauma medicine and smelled it. Quicklime. Damn it, so it was quicklime, mixed with all sorts of miscellaneous medicinal herbs. Yun Ye didn’t understand—what medicinal herbs still had therapeutic effect after reacting with quicklime? In Yun Ye’s impression, quicklime was either used to whitewash houses or to paint fruit trees to prevent insects. He hadn’t expected it could also be used to paint wounds. In his heart, he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed about his stinginess.

He took out a pack of cephalosporin, handed it to Cheng Chumo, and instructed two pills at a time, three times a day. As for whether Zhuang Santing could survive the wound inflammation depended on fate.

Old Cheng’s eyes shone frighteningly bright. Before Yun Ye could even ask what had happened, he grabbed him in one motion, tucked him under his arm, turned his head and left. As he walked, he ordered the personal guards to bring all of Yun Ye’s medical equipment to the command tent. Cheng Chumo considered for a moment and also followed his father to the command tent.

“Can you borrow life?” Old Cheng’s eyes stared tightly at Yun Ye, nearly face to face. Yun Ye turned his head with difficulty, very unaccustomed to talking to people like this.

“I cannot!” The question Old Cheng asked was too fantastical. He had to immediately deny it. Otherwise, if he changed the method and made him “borrow life” again another way, the trouble would be great.

“Why is it that when you used the small tube to draw blood into Santing’s body, Santing lived and the Qiang person died? Isn’t this borrowing life?” Cheng Chumo’s eyes were filled with blazing flames of gossip.