After one night of warfare subsided, with confirmation that the Eastern slave army had indeed retreated, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Being able to defend the pass and block the Eastern slaves from entering through here was truly a great achievement.

The atmosphere in the room became much more cheerful, with everyone engaging in low conversations, sweeping away yesterday’s tension.

“How are the casualties?” Chang Yuncheng asked.

This question made everyone quiet down again.

“Over six hundred wounded, over two hundred killed in action,” an officer hurriedly replied.

This number was hastily tallied overnight and might not be accurate, but the final count would certainly only be higher, not lower.

In just one day, the casualties were so severe. Chang Yuncheng sighed softly, while the others appeared relaxed.

After every battle, there were casualty statistics. For these officers, this was nothing strange—they had even grown accustomed to it, numb to the point where those numbers were merely numbers.

This wasn’t because they were heartless, but because there was no choice. On the battlefield, life and death happened in the blink of an eye, and post-battle deaths from severe wounds or disabilities were unavoidable reality. Reality was just this cruel and merciless. What else could they do but become numb?

“Let’s go see the wounded,” Chang Yuncheng said.

Everyone was somewhat surprised but immediately stood up to follow.

“The soldiers fought valiantly; we should visit and comfort them,” everyone agreed.

When Chang Yuncheng and the others came along the street for their inspection, they saw several large pots set up on the main street, with water boiling inside.

Sitting or standing under the eaves along the street were lightly wounded soldiers, with white-clad physicians carrying medical kits examining them and changing their dressings.

The officials who had come with Chang Yuncheng grew increasingly surprised by what they saw along the way.

There was none of the chaotic, wailing scenes typical of post-battle situations. Though there were many people on the street, it wasn’t noisy or disorderly. The air carried strange medicinal scents that greatly reduced the piercing smell of blood.

Most importantly, everywhere they looked seemed somehow… clean?

Clean—this word appearing in a place where wounded soldiers gathered after battle was truly strange…

“Are these pots of water for cooking?” someone couldn’t help but ask.

“No, they’re for disinfection,” Chang Yuncheng replied.

Disinfection?

The officers exchanged glances, then understood.

The military strategist general, born a prince, was indeed different from them—well-traveled and knowledgeable.

They couldn’t help but stop to watch a soldier with an arm injury being treated against the wall.

“Can you bear the pain?” the physician asked.

Since anesthetics were limited and mainly used for severe cases, this type of injury would be treated without anesthesia if possible.

The soldier nodded and picked up his blade, biting down on the handle.

The physician then took cotton from his medical kit and poured some liquid from a porcelain bottle onto it. The cotton immediately became soaked.

Standing close, they could smell the strong alcohol scent.

These were all heavy drinkers, so they naturally recognized it. They watched as the physician repeatedly cleaned the soldier’s wound with the cotton, calculating that just the cotton alone used up a large amount, not to mention all that alcohol…

Soon the physician stopped cleaning, and the officers present sighed with relief.

That should be enough.

But then they saw the physician take out another bottle…

It’s not over yet?

The officers couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed.

They watched as the physician sprinkled medicinal powder from the bottle onto the soldier’s wound, then took out cloth bandages and wrapped it layer by layer.

The officers sighed with relief again.

Good heavens, this was so meticulous…

Just as they relaxed, they saw the physician take out yet another bottle…

Still not finished!

“These are oral pills. Take twice daily,” the physician said.

The soldier received them with trembling hands.

They even had to take medicine?

For these external wounds, no one had ever treated them this way before. In the past, a rinse and bandage would have been considered good treatment.

And now there was medicine to take?

“Someone will change your dressing in three days,” the physician said again, only then standing up to quickly move to the next soldier.

My goodness.

Seeing these officers standing motionless, Chang Yuncheng grew somewhat impatient. His gaze searched urgently, scanning the houses along the street. By habit, that woman was usually in…

“External wounds one… external wounds two… external wounds three… critical one…”

An officer also looked toward the adjacent house, curiously reading the red-background, white-text wooden signs hanging in front of the house, which were particularly conspicuous.

What was this?

Chang Yuncheng had already lifted his feet toward the house marked “Critical.”

The officers, not understanding, hurried to follow.

“Critical one, dispensing medicine.”

Two people in the house were calling out, with a large medical kit placed before them.

Hearing this, three physicians who had been busy in the house came over.

“Critical one, thirty-eight people, thirty-eight penicillin doses, eighteen saline bottles,” the first person to speak said, holding a paper and looking at it, then handing it over. “Please verify.”

One physician took the paper while the other two bent down to count the medicines in the kit. They quickly nodded, and the physician wrote on the paper with his brush.

“Thank you for your hard work,” both sides bowed to each other politely, then separated to continue their respective tasks.

These physicians were brought by Chang Yuncheng with his army. Though everyone didn’t recognize them personally, they recognized their clothing, which was completely different from their own army doctors.

It was already generous enough for them to come support the army, and they even brought physicians to help—truly embarrassing.

“Three people caring for thirty-eight patients?” an officer standing at the door asked in surprise, his expression somewhat serious. “Isn’t this nonsense?”

“Right, don’t we have thirty army doctors? What are they doing?” someone immediately demanded.

Another hot-tempered officer began cursing, basically calling them cowards and useless while the soldiers fought to the death.

Chang Yuncheng frowned but said nothing. The physician who had delivered the medicine didn’t appreciate this.

“Don’t make noise here. Your army doctors are all busy with the lightly wounded. They’re not needed here,” one said irritably.

This statement left the officers speechless.

Not needed…

This single sentence was harsher than the ten sentences of cursing they had just uttered.

“Where is Yueniang Qi?” Chang Yuncheng, who had been silent, asked.

The two physicians hurriedly bowed respectfully.

“Lord Prince, Master is still in surgery and will be finished shortly,” they said.

Chang Yuncheng frowned again, looking toward the three tents in the middle of the street not far away.

It had already been a day and night, and this woman…

He strode quickly in that direction.

The officers, not understanding, hurried to follow.

Just as they reached the tent, they heard a commotion.

“Master, Master!” “Yueniang!” “Let me carry her down!”

These voices made Chang Yuncheng feel his heart stop. He rushed forward abruptly.

Someone was carrying a stretcher out of the tent.

“How is she?” Chang Yuncheng looked at the woman on the stretcher—pale-faced with dry, cracked lips—and shouted loudly while grasping Qi Yue’s hand.

No one came out of the tent. Liu Pucheng had already taken over from Qi Yue, bent over suturing. Zhang Tong and A’Ru were treating the patient’s other wounds. Their expressions were resolute, showing no panic.

“Exhaustion from overwork. IV saline,” Liu Pucheng said. “Use Solid Qi Decoction.”

The other officers had also followed, watching with some curiosity.

“So why do women come to the battlefield?”

“Exactly, isn’t this just causing trouble?”

Someone couldn’t help but comment.

Before they could finish speaking, Chang Yuncheng had already followed the stretcher into the adjacent house.

“Hey? General?” they called out in surprise. “What are you doing?”

Looking around, no one answered them, and all eyes seemed somewhat angry.

These physicians, relying on being from the Military Strategist General’s camp, were being so rude, right?

“They’re out! They’re out!”

Excited voices came from the distance. Everyone looked in bewilderment and saw an old man jumping and running toward them, with two or three people following behind.

“Yueniang, Yueniang, they’re out!” Zhou Maochun shouted loudly, his voice trembling.

What was out?

The officers frowned in confusion at this disheveled old man. The general had brought some truly strange people.

The people behind the old man caught up, breathing heavily. The officers were familiar with this person.

“Doctor Qiao, what are you doing? There are so many wounded soldiers to care for, why are you running around?” an officer frowned.

Qiao Minghua’s face was flushed with excitement, and there were traces of what seemed to be either sweat or tears on his face.

Of course, the officer hoped it was sweat.

“Sir, they’re out!” Qiao Minghua also shouted, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“What’s out?” the officer demanded sternly.

Crazy nonsense!

“Sir, this time there were six hundred thirty-seven wounded. The count is now complete. These wounded, these wounded…” Qiao Minghua began trembling, too excited to control his shaking body, until he finally couldn’t continue speaking.

Zhou Maochun pushed him aside and waved the paper in his shaking hands.

“Six hundred thirty-seven wounded! Three hundred ninety-two lightly wounded can all be completely healed! Of the remaining severely wounded, half can be saved!” he shouted loudly.

Upon hearing this, everyone was stunned. Even Liu Pucheng and the others, who had been focused on surgery inside, looked up, seemingly not understanding what he meant.

“What do you mean?” an officer asked in a daze.

Zhou Maochun jumped in front of him, eyes wide, face flushed red.

“What do you mean? What do you mean? Damn it, six hundred thirty-seven people, six hundred thirty-seven wounded, over five hundred can be saved, over five hundred can be completely healed, over five hundred people! Over five hundred lives! Over five hundred lives can be recovered! Over five hundred lives that the King of Hell can’t take! Five hundred! Human lives! Human lives! Do you damn well know what this means now?” he shouted wildly, waving the paper in his hand, spittle flying.

The officer was sprayed in the face but didn’t notice, completely stunned by the shouting.

Five hundred… human lives…

What is a person? What is a human life? How many years does it take to go from crying at birth to toddling to gaining wisdom? How much food must be consumed?

What is a person? What is a human life? How many years does it take to go from an ordinary person to a soldier who can wield sword and spear? How much training? How much effort and energy?

What is a human life? Decades of sustenance, decades of worldly tempering, decades of weathering storms and rain to forge a person! To count as one life!

This life, forged by decades of heaven and earth’s tempering, could vanish in the blink of an eye on the battlefield.

Heaven and earth are heartless, treating all things as straw dogs.

Now, this life that could have been easily crushed like a straw dog had escaped!

From the Eastern slaves’ blades and spears, from the battlefield’s slaughter, from the gates of the King of Hell’s palace, they had walked a bloody circle and lived!

A soldier who had died once was a true soldier!

What did it mean?

It meant they would soon have five hundred fierce warriors! No, these five hundred warriors would no longer be just five hundred—their fighting power would far exceed five hundred!

What did it mean? It meant…

“I’ve struck it rich…” this officer murmured, then his face twitched. As if infected by Zhou Maochun, he suddenly raised his hand and waved it fiercely.

I’ve struck it rich!