8 Treating the Wounded

The squad leader was named Zhang Sanwa, a tall and slender young man. Although his clothes were worn, they were spotlessly clean.

"Squad Leader Zhang, please gather the bowls your men used for eating," Han Lei instructed. Each person was handed a small ceramic bowl, which she had already cleaned with alcohol. She then poured some alcohol into each bowl.

The night before, Han Lei had noticed that besides the dishes for serving food being porcelain plates, everyone ate their rice from ceramic bowls, indicating that porcelain was still quite rare in this era.

Han Lei then handed out twenty packets of cotton swabs, distributing them one by one. She began demonstrating the procedure on the nearest wounded soldier.

"Come closer and watch carefully," she said.

Han Lei poured alcohol onto the wound and gently spread it with a cotton swab, repeating the process twice—pouring and wiping.

"Pay attention: the cotton swab should only touch the wound and must not come into contact with the alcohol in the bowl. Use a new swab for each wound to avoid cross-contamination," she explained patiently.

After demonstrating on two wounded soldiers, the ten-man squad finally grasped the basic method of cleaning wounds.

Han Lei then asked Li Erniu to fetch a rosewood box. She taught him how to open antibiotic packaging and remove the capsules, placing them all inside the box.

"Now go around and distribute the pills—two per person—to be taken with clean water. No wounded soldier should be missed. After dinner tonight, distribute another two pills per person. When supplies run low, come here to get more."

Li Erniu listened carefully and began handing out the pills one by one.

Han Lei called over an old military doctor and instructed, "Doctor, please follow behind the soldiers cleaning wounds. For any wounds you see that won't heal on their own, record them. I will come by to stitch them up individually."

"Stitch them up?" The old doctor’s forehead creased with confusion and disdain. "Hah! Don't think you can save lives just because you've read a few medical books. This isn’t a game."

This veteran doctor, surnamed He, was nearly sixty and had fought alongside the father of the Free King in past campaigns. He had served in the military camp for decades and had never heard of stitching wounds before today.

"Doctor, I know you doubt my skills, but the situation is urgent. Please follow my instructions for now. Afterward, I’ll explain everything in detail, alright?"

Han Lei, not wanting to show off in front of the elder, spoke patiently.

Doctor He wanted to argue further but suddenly caught the gaze of the marshal sitting nearby in a wheelchair, who nodded slightly at him. He smirked, gave Han Lei a slight bow with his hands, and turned away.

"Alright, old man will follow along to take a look," he said.

If the marshal agreed, what else could he say? He would comply. If he didn’t trust this young woman, did he trust the marshal any less?

Zhao Zun watched the departing old doctor with amusement.

---

Old He was certainly reluctant, but seeing Han Lei manage the wounded with such order and direct her subordinates efficiently, he found himself inexplicably convinced. From pulling out arrows to stitching wounds, repelling ambushes to driving supply trucks, Han Lei was unlike any woman he had ever met.

In just two short days, Zhao Zun felt there was nothing Han Lei couldn’t handle.

Perhaps in a couple of days, even old He would have to admit it. Zhao Zun genuinely looked forward to seeing the old man fully concede.

Lost in his thoughts, Zhao Zun saw Han Lei emerge from the tent with several soldiers, carrying medical instruments.

Outside the tent, neatly arranged on the ground, lay hundreds of soldiers beyond hope—some already dead, others destined to die.

In the freezing cold, lying on the bare earth, even the strongest would succumb.

"Young brother, go and have more tents set up nearby," Han Lei ordered.

"Young brother, fetch some fire pits; light them and place one in each tent."

"Young brother, prepare more blankets and bring them here."

"Young brother, get the kitchen to cook some porridge or rice soup and bring it over."

...

Han Lei crouched on the ground, checking the breathing of the wounded with her hand while calmly issuing orders to the nearby soldiers assisting her.

One by one, the soldiers obeyed and went off to carry out her commands.

At that moment, a fully armed squad approached and stopped not far from Han Lei.

"Swish!"

"Swish!"

"Swish!"

The soldiers lined up uniformly, drawing their waist swords in unison, their blades glinting coldly in the air.

Han Lei turned at the noise and stood up. Before she could speak, the lead officer shouted out.

"Sorry, brothers! We will be quick; we won’t let you suffer."

With that shout, all the soldiers simultaneously flipped their swords—the blades pointing downward, the handles up.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Han Lei exclaimed in shock.

The lead officer looked at Han Lei, his eyes full of lingering sorrow and pity, and paused his motion.

"It’s General Ma Chengma’s order to escort the brothers on their last journey. You are...?"

This was an unspoken rule in the camp: any brother mortally wounded and beyond help on the battlefield would be given a merciful death by their own comrades to grant a final release.

No soldier wished to undertake such a task; no one could bear to.

They had reluctantly accepted the duty only because General Ma forced their hand.

Still alive, and yet they were to be sent off? Han Lei had only ever seen such scenes on television.

Though an act of mercy, it was nonetheless cruel.

Han Lei was stunned by the officer’s words, her mind blank for a moment before she replied, "I... I’m the newly assigned military doctor, Han Lei."

The lead officer scrutinized her from head to toe. Seeing her oddly dressed and that she was a young woman, he furrowed his brow slightly.

"Newly assigned military doctor? Do you know that the brothers lying here are already beyond rescue?" he said gravely, shaking his head.

"No! Many of them can still be saved," Han Lei answered with unwavering conviction. Facing the imminent mercy killing, she spoke decisively, "Please give me one day. Perhaps I can save them."

Han Lei had just carefully examined them. After more than ten days of fighting, excluding those already dead or truly mortally wounded, a large portion had fallen ill and become unconscious due to infected wounds and fever caused by delays in treatment.

If it were gunshot wounds requiring surgery to remove bullets, perhaps she alone couldn’t manage. But these were injuries from cold weapons; she was confident she could save some.

The lead officer was stunned. His hands holding the sword trembled slightly, and the soldiers in line all turned to look at Han Lei. They wanted hope too, but orders were orders.

"Old He and the others have already declared them hopeless. You..." he began, wanting to ask why she insisted.