Chapter Three: Surgery and Blood Transfusion

For a moment, all the bandits’ eyes converged on Chen Tong, though their faces were filled with doubt. No matter how they looked at it, they couldn’t fathom how a penniless scholar could possibly save the second-in-command.

“If you manage to save my brother, I, Iron Bull, will kowtow and apologize to you,” grumbled Iron Bull in a muffled voice beside him.

Chen Tong paid no mind; time was scarce, and saving the man was paramount. He had no patience to waste on bickering with a bunch of bandits.

Though it appeared to be just an external wound, missing the golden window for first aid would mean that even with Chen Tong’s skills, treating it successfully would require extra effort.

Without a word to the bandits, Chen Tong stepped forward to examine Xie Hu’s condition.

After a careful check, a measure of relief settled in his heart.

As he had suspected, Xie Hu’s injury was indeed a cold weapon wound affecting only the surface. Fortunately, they had crossed into an ancient era. Had this injury occurred in modern times, with firearms and artillery, Chen Tong would have had no choice but to hang himself with a white silk ribbon.

“I need tools!” Chen Tong said decisively, addressing Xie Qingshuang, the head of the bandit group. He couldn’t attempt surgery empty-handed.

Qingshuang was momentarily taken aback, clearly troubled.

“You need herbs?” she asked.

Black Wind Mountain was a bandit’s den.

They robbed and pillaged, taking from the rich to give to the poor, but rarely kept any herbal medicine in stock.

In ancient times, many ailments were poorly understood; even something as simple as typhoid could be fatal, let alone a grievous wound from a cold weapon.

“Iron Bull here will make a trip. I know a medical officer just outside the city. Give me ten men; I’ll be back soon,” Iron Bull said without hesitation, stepping forward.

Chen Tong immediately suspected that the man had designs on raiding something on the journey.

Unfortunately, Chen Tong was no herbalist; aside from recognizing ginseng, he couldn’t identify most herbs. Even if he was shown Tianqi, honeysuckle, or rehmannia, they would be meaningless to him.

“Do you have horse intestine casing and embroidery needles?” Chen Tong asked directly.

The bandits blinked in confusion, puzzled by what the scholar wanted with horse intestine casing and silver needles. The former was beyond their understanding, but the latter was typically a lady’s household item. What use could they have for it? Besides, Black Wind Mountain was a thieves’ den, not a brothel; where would a group of rough men find such things?

Chen Tong ignored their bewilderment, uninterested in explaining the suturing techniques of Western medicine.

His gaze shifted to Xie Qingshuang, who looked momentarily perplexed, clearly unsure of the scholar’s intentions. She furrowed her brows, then whispered an order.

Not long after, a woman fetched embroidery needles from her chamber. As for horse intestine casing, Black Wind Mountain naturally had none in stock, but even the poorest bandit den could spare a couple of horses.

Once the two items were prepared, Chen Tong weighed them thoughtfully, boiled a pot of water, and immersed the casing and needles within. Then he gathered some wood ash from the stove to use as a hemostatic and disinfectant.

A crowd of bandits packed into the gathering hall, wide-eyed, eager to witness how Chen Tong would perform his miraculous cure and save their brother.

“Everyone out! Stop crowding like monkeys. I’m about to perform surgery. Too many people will hinder ventilation and operation,” Chen Tong commanded with a wave of his hand, dispersing the crowd.

The bandits were stunned.

Could they still tell who was in charge? He was their hostage, the captive tied up in their mountain stronghold.

How could a mere scholar issue orders in Black Wind Mountain?

However, despite being a woman, Xie Qingshuang understood the gravity of the situation.

She spoke soothingly, and the bandits grumbled but eventually moved outside.

“Out as well!” Chen Tong closed the door and politely but firmly asked Xie Qingshuang to leave with the others.

Returning to the hall, Chen Tong was startled to find Xie Hu had awakened, showing signs of a fleeting rally.

“Don’t be afraid. I will save you, but it might hurt,” Chen Tong said gently.

“Now, I need to cut open your wound, remove the necrotic flesh, and then use the intestine casing for suturing. Only this way will your wound heal quickly. The wood ash will stop the bleeding...” Chen Tong explained, but halfway through, he realized he was speaking to an uncomprehending audience.

Most of the bandits were illiterate farmers forced into banditry; they couldn’t read large characters, let alone grasp modern medical jargon.

That didn’t matter. Xie Hu understood the gist.

“Do it... I’ll endure it,” Xie Hu whispered weakly, struggling to speak.

A real man.

Chen Tong silently admired him, then began the swift, no-nonsense suturing.

Just as the ancient tale of Guan Yu playing chess while having his bone scraped without flinching, here was Xie Hu, the stalwart second-in-command of Black Wind Mountain, keeping his eyes open through the stitching, silent.

But soon, Chen Tong noticed that Xie Hu fainted, overwhelmed.

He didn’t mind. In just over thirty minutes, the suturing was complete.

Now, all that remained was to pray to the heavens that the second-in-command wouldn’t die from infection. Fortunately, it was winter, when such complications were less likely.

Exhaling deeply, Chen Tong stepped out of the hall.

In an instant, the bandits who had been sent outside all turned to look at him. Xie Qingshuang’s face tightened as she urged, “Scholar, why haven’t you started treating him? His wound is severe; don’t delay.”

Chen Tong was taken aback.

“Started? It’s already done.”

It was just a simple suturing operation. Although the wound was deep, almost exposing bone, for a professional surgeon like Chen Tong, it was a trivial matter.

But as soon as he spoke, every bandit’s expression darkened instantly.

Done? The second-in-command was dead?

Iron Bull’s eyes reddened. He stepped forward, grabbed Chen Tong by the collar, and hoisted him up. “Scholar, you promised to save my brother. If you kill him, I’ll take your life with his!”

Chen Tong’s face turned pale. He struggled violently, shouting, “Let go! Let go! You’re choking me. Who said your brother is dead? He’s alive and well!”

“You brute, let me go, or I’ll die here!” Chen Tong shouted back, hopping on the spot and swearing.

Iron Bull hesitated and loosened his grip a little. Meanwhile, Xie Qingshuang realized what was happening and hurried back into the hall. Seeing Xie Hu lying on the raised platform, breathing steadily though his eyes were shut, she ordered, “Iron Bull, let him go.”

She glared at Iron Bull and stood in front of Chen Tong, her tone icy: “Scholar, you say you saved the second-in-command, so why hasn’t he woken up?”