Chapter 32: Stitching the Old General’s Wound Shut?
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“Who goes there?”
Du Ruhui frowned. He had given strict orders earlier that no one was to approach this place without permission.
“Keming, it’s me!”
The newcomer entered breathlessly. When they saw him, Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui both rose in surprise and went to greet him.
Wen He also found the man vaguely familiar. After pondering for a moment, he finally remembered who he was.
Wasn’t this Liu Shili?
Wasn’t he stationed at Xuanwu Gate?
Why had he suddenly returned to the Prince of Qin’s residence?
“Where is Young Master Wen?”
Liu Shili had no time to exchange greetings with Du Ruhui and Fang Xuanling. He hurriedly searched for Wen He.
Standing outside his field of vision, Wen He rose in surprise and pointed at himself. “You’re looking for me?”
“Quickly, come with me to the front courtyard!”
Without time to explain, Liu Shili seized Wen He by the arm and dragged him outside.
“What happened?”
Fang Xuanling did not stop him. Instead, he followed along, while Du Ruhui, having no time to think, hurried after them as well.
“It’s Lord Jing. His wound won’t stop bleeding, and the physicians are completely helpless.” Liu Shili gasped for breath, quickening his pace further.
“His Highness said that Young Master Wen is the only one who can save him!”
Wen He stared at Liu Shili in astonishment.
Had Jing Junhong’s wound worsened?
He had thought Jing Junhong had survived, that he had changed history.
He had never imagined that something like this would happen.
Could history not be changed after all?
But he had moved the battle at Xuanwu Gate ahead of schedule.
“Wait!”
Wen He tugged at his hand, trying to force him to stop, but Liu Shili was far stronger. Wen He was dragged along for more than a dozen steps.
“There’s no time! Whatever it is, tell me in the front courtyard!”
With that, Liu Shili stopped dragging him and simply scooped him up in his arms, charging forward.
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui hurried after them, calling out for Liu Shili to be careful. Yet in the blink of an eye, he had vanished from sight.
By then, the front courtyard of the Prince of Qin’s residence had descended into chaos.
Cheng Zhijie had rushed back and was now holding a sword, preparing to leave.
“Duan Zhixuan, let me go! I know His Highness values Xue Wanche. I won’t kill him—I’ll only cut him once!”
“Duke of Lu, calm down first! If Xue Wanche could be killed, His Highness would have cut him down already!”
A burly man nearly eight feet tall stood in his way. No matter how hard Cheng Zhijie pushed, he could not move him even an inch.
“You little bastard! Do you think I can’t beat you?”
Cheng Zhijie glared at him with tiger-like eyes, angrily clenching his fists in threat.
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Yet the man before him truly did not fear him. With a bitter expression, he spread both arms and blocked the way.
He would rather let Cheng Zhijie punch him a few times than be punished by the Prince of Qin afterward for failing to restrain him.
“Yaojin, stop fooling around!”
A weak yet stern voice came from behind. Qin Qiong walked toward them.
Seeing him, Duan Zhixuan let out a long sigh of relief.
“Greetings, Duke of Yi.”
Qin Qiong nodded at him. “How is Junhong?”
“He’s unconscious. The wound is too severe, and the physicians are powerless.” Duan Zhixuan could not help sighing.
“Second Brother, Xue Wanche went too far! His Highness had just tried to persuade him to surrender, yet he answered with vile insults. If His Highness hadn’t stopped me, I would have beaten him until his flesh was torn open!”
He was exaggerating, but everyone present had felt exactly the same way.
“Forget that for now. Didn’t we send someone to find Young Master Wen? Why hasn’t he arrived yet?” Qin Qiong knitted his brows. Though anxious, he knew that at a time like this, the more urgent the situation, the less room there was for panic.
The moment he finished speaking, everyone heard a reply from nearby.
“He’s here! Young Master Wen is here!”
Liu Shili came running in drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. It was no small feat for a man of his age.
When Duan Zhixuan saw him, he hurried forward, thanked him for his trouble, and took Wen He from his arms.
“Slow down. I’m dizzy.”
In the Tang dynasty, Wen He had somehow experienced the sensation of motion sickness.
“We had to hurry because someone’s life was at stake. Forgive us, Young Master Wen.” Qin Qiong apologized, then gestured for Duan Zhixuan to take Wen He to Jing Junhong.
“This little child can really save the old general?”
Cheng Zhijie found it difficult to believe.
Qin Qiong felt the same.
How could a child of barely ten possess the ability to save a man’s life?
But this was the Prince of Qin’s command, and there was nothing to do but try every possible remedy, no matter how desperate.
They reached a side hall.
Servants came out one after another, carrying basins of bloody water.
Two white-haired physicians anxiously flipped through medical texts, while on a bed not far away, an old man lay unconscious, his face pale. The wound across his chest had stopped bleeding.
Several bold servants were wiping the area around the wound with silk cloth.
“Stop standing around and get out!”
When Duan Zhixuan entered carrying Wen He and saw the scene, fury immediately blazed in his chest.
At a time like this, they were still leafing through medical books.
“Don’t send them away. I still have use for them.”
Wen He patted his face, then tapped Duan Zhixuan on the shoulder.
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He did not know who the man was, so he simply addressed him as “General.”
“General, please put me down first.”
“We shall trouble you, Young Master Wen.”
Duan Zhixuan was privately doubtful as well. Did this Young Master Wen truly possess such ability?
The two physicians were seasoned military doctors who had saved the lives of countless soldiers.
Yet even they were helpless. Could this Young Master Wen truly possess some kind of supernatural art?
Wen He, of course, knew no supernatural arts. Fortunately, he had learned a few emergency first-aid techniques in his previous life.
Earlier, at Xuanwu Gate, he had examined Jing Junhong’s wound.
A wound of this size had to be stitched, or it would certainly worsen. Unfortunately, the people of the Tang dynasty possessed no such knowledge.
He walked to Jing Junhong’s bedside. The servants instinctively made way for him. Amid their bewildered looks, Wen He lifted the silk cloth pressed against the wound.
The blood was not flowing particularly fast, but if it continued, the man would certainly die.
Fortunately, no internal organs had been damaged. Only the flesh and skin were bleeding.
The pungent smell of blood made Wen He uncomfortable. Frowning, he turned around. The two physicians were looking at him skeptically.
“Do you know how to sew?”
“What?”
Everyone in the room was stunned, unable to believe what they had heard.
“What do you mean, Young Master Wen? Surely you aren’t saying that you intend to stitch the old general’s wound closed with needle and thread?”
Duan Zhixuan had imagined what he thought was an utterly absurd solution.
But as soon as he finished speaking, he saw Wen He give him a meaningful smile.
“We should be grateful that the old general’s wound is not deep. If it had reached his internal organs, I would have been unable to save him. Stop standing there. Prepare a needle and thread, and bring an oil lamp.”
“Then have someone boil some water. Every piece of silk cloth we use must first be boiled in hot water.”
Without alcohol, they could only disinfect with intense heat.
As for whether the method would work, that would be left to fate.
Wen He looked at Jing Junhong lying on the bed and clenched his fists tightly.
“If I cannot change your fate, then I will have to reconsider the choices I make in the future.”