After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

The jeep stopped when it reached the edge of the village.

Driver Zhang jumped out of the car, looked around for a long time, and finally turned back into the car with a bitter expression: "Director Yan, it's really no use. This road is too bad, I dare not drive any further."

Yan Hua glanced at the outline of the village hidden in the gray fog in the distance; that was Lanni Bay.

"Go inside."

Yan Hua was a ruthless man. He pushed open the car door and stepped into the ankle-deep mud, one foot sinking deep and the other shallow. The mud was icy cold and could seep into his shoes and socks instantly.

Zhao Haifeng looked at his leather shoes, which weren't completely ruined yet, gritted his teeth, and followed them down.

Ye Zhen walked last.

This road is indeed difficult to walk on. The snowmelt from a few days ago mixed with the yellow soil, turning into this sticky, glue-like mud. With each step, my feet seemed to be sucked into the ground, and it took a lot of effort to pull them out.

The further you went in, the stronger the stench of decay became. It wasn't just the smell of garbage; it was the stench of rotting aquatic plants mixed with some kind of fermented, aged excrement, and even the putrid smell of dead rats. It was sticky and clung to the nasal mucosa, making your stomach churn.

This is Muddy Bay. This environment is a paradise that snails love most.

There were no dogs barking at the village entrance. In this impoverished village of those days, people couldn't even afford enough to eat, let alone keep dogs. Not even a chicken could be seen; the whole village was as quiet as a mass grave.

Several crooked mud-brick houses lay scattered in the depression like building blocks about to collapse. Large patches of plaster had peeled off the walls, revealing blackened straw stalks and the mud bricks inside. Most of the doors and windows were covered with tattered plastic sheeting or rotten straw mats, which rattled and banged like funeral banners when the wind blew.

"That is..." Zhao Haifeng suddenly stopped and gasped.

Several people were squatting at the foot of the earthen wall by the roadside.

They wore ill-fitting, tattered cotton-padded jackets, with the cuffs and trouser legs rolled up several times. Judging by their height alone, they were only seven or eight years old. Large heads, thin limbs.

They stared blankly at the three well-dressed outsiders, their eyes filled with curiosity.

Zhao Haifeng subconsciously reached into his pocket to take out something to eat to appease the child, but then realized he hadn't brought anything.

"Little friend, where are your parents?" Zhao Haifeng tried his best to make his tone sound as kind as possible.

Nobody paid him any attention. The "kids" just blinked slowly, their eyelids drooping and their eyes full of sleep.

Ye Zhen stopped and looked at one of the "children." The face had rough, dark skin, deep crow's feet at the corners of the eyes, and even sparse stubble on the chin.

That wasn't a child's face. It was the face of a weathered adult, forcibly placed onto the body of a dwarf.

"They're not children." Ye Zhen's voice was soft, yet exceptionally clear in the cold wind. "These are classic cases of dwarfism. They're at least twenty-five years old."

Yan Hua swayed, her steps faltered, and she almost stepped into a mud puddle.

Although she had heard Ye Zhen's report in the office and remembered all the cold medical terms and data, witnessing this human tragedy firsthand was a completely different experience.

That was a living, breathing person. He should have been the pillar of his family, he should have married and had children, but now he was as if under a spell, forever trapped in this broken body.

"What a sin..." Yan Hua gritted his teeth, his nails digging deep into his palms, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

The three of them inquired along the way and arrived at the village chief's house.

It was less of a home and more of a slightly larger mud shed. Piles of rotten firewood were stacked in the yard, and a few strings of withered red peppers hung under the eaves, the only bright spots in this drab village.

A middle-aged man, wearing a tattered cotton-padded coat and with a slightly hunched back, came to greet us, his steps uneven. His coat looked like it had been worn for many years; the collar was greasy and shiny, and the exposed cotton had hardened into lumps.

Zhao Haifeng stepped forward and revealed his identity.

"Oh, are you a leader from the county?" The man's face was plastered with a fawning smile, his wrinkles stained with grime—the kind of shabby poverty that never seems to dissipate. "I'm the village head here, Wang Laonian. What brings a leader to such a poor slum in this freezing weather? Come on in, please. It's just so messy, there's nowhere to put your feet..."

As he spoke, he rubbed his thigh with his hand, his eyes darting around, avoiding Yan Hua's gaze.

"Stop talking nonsense." Yan Hua said sternly, without entering the house. Her official air seemed somewhat out of place in this dilapidated village, yet it was enough to keep the situation in check. "Take us to see the sickest family. I want to see those with swollen bellies and vomiting blood."

Wang Laonian's smile froze for a moment, his eyes darting around nervously: "Boss, this is just poverty, nothing to see here. Everyone says it's bad feng shui, a curse..."

"lead the way."

Ye Zhen interrupted him. Her clothes were still splattered with mud from pushing the cart. But as she stood there, her cold and sharp aura was even more intimidating than Yan Hua's.

That's the kind of toughness doctors possess when facing disease and ignorance.

Old Wang subconsciously shrank his neck, not daring to say another word.

Old Liu's house was in the lowest-lying part of the village, right next to that blackened ditch.

The room was as dark as a cellar, with only a faint light coming from the embers in the stove. The air was thick with the pungent smell of urine, herbs, and an indescribable aura of death.

As soon as Ye Zhen entered the room, she heard a heavy, labored breathing sound, like a bellows.

A person was lying on the earthen bed. If you didn't look closely, you couldn't tell it was a human shape at all. The quilt was a clump of blackened cotton, its original color long since unrecognizable, and it was as hard as a sheet of iron.

A huge bulge appeared under the blanket—it was the belly swollen with severe ascites, like a balloon about to burst, pressing down on that withered body.

A woman sat by the kang (a heated brick bed), her hair disheveled, holding a chipped black porcelain bowl in her hand.

"Father, have some drink." The woman's voice was wooden, revealing neither joy nor sorrow.

The bowl contained dark, burnt medicine that smelled of burning, mixed with the smoky fumes from the stove.

Ye Zhen's nose twitched, and her brows furrowed instantly: "Incense ash?"

The woman raised her head, her eyes hollow like two dried-up wells, devoid of water, only filled with ashes: "The sorceress gave it to me. She said drinking it would suppress that anger."

Ye Zhen didn't say anything, but reached out and took the bowl.

It's cold.

A thick layer of ash settled at the bottom of the bowl. This was the only "medical resource" in this forgotten corner. They pinned their hopes for salvation on a handful of burnt wood ash.

A timid little head peeked out from behind the woman. It was a little girl of four or five years old, with dry, yellow hair like tangled weeds, and a dirty face. Only her eyes were frighteningly large, staring at the half-pen sticking out of Ye Zhen's pocket, gleaming brightly.

Ye Zhen's heart skipped a beat.

She placed the bowl of incense ash water on the stove and took out a White Rabbit milk candy from her pocket. Gu Zheng had insisted on giving it to her before she came; that man was always afraid she would faint from low blood sugar, so he stuffed candies into her pockets until they were bulging.

"Here you go." Ye Zhen unwrapped the candy, revealing the milky white candy inside, and handed it over.

The milky aroma seemed so out of place in the hazy air.

The little girl didn't take it.

She seemed to have seen something terrifying, and abruptly pulled her head back, hiding herself in her mother's withered back, trembling. Her large eyes were filled with fear.

"She's never seen it before." The woman forced a bitter smile, her voice hoarse. "She's never eaten candy in her life."

Ye Zhen's hand froze in mid-air.

At that moment, Dr. Ye, who remained calm even while cutting open a skull with a scalpel, felt a lump in his throat, as if the strange smell had stung his eyes.

She rewrapped the candy and stuffed it into the little girl's tightly clenched hand, her movements so forceful that there was no room for refusal.

"Here you go. It's sweet."

After saying that, she turned around, her voice regaining the calmness she had in the operating room: "Director Yan, please have them boil some water. Well water will do, it must be boiled."

Without a word, Yan Hua turned around and went to the stove to start a fire. The dignified director of the health bureau was now squatting on the ground like a fire-starting maid, blowing on a fire tube.

The water has boiled.

Ye Zhen rolled up her sleeves, found a relatively clean cloth, soaked it in hot water, and wrung it out.

She walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and lifted the blackened cotton quilt.

A stench hit me.

The old man's lower body was almost entirely submerged in incontinent excrement; his trousers were soaked through and stuck to his skin. Due to prolonged bed rest and malnutrition, the skin on his tailbone and heels was ulcerated and oozing yellow fluid.

Yan Hua was pouring water when she smelled this odor. Her stomach churned, and she instinctively covered her nose, turned her head away, and gagged.

Ye Zhen didn't even frown.

She treated him as if he were a esteemed patient, not a frail, impoverished old man. She first used scissors to cut open the stiff, filthy trousers, then gently wiped the old man's body.

Hot water wiped away the grime from the withered skin, leaving behind a long-lost warmth.

The old man's cloudy eyes moved slightly, and the muscles on his face, which looked like tree bark, twitched slightly as his lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something.

"Don't talk, save your energy."

Ye Zhen's voice was unusually gentle, exuding a calming power.

She changed the water and began massaging the old man's stiff limbs. Her hands were very professional; her fingers precisely targeted the origin and insertion points of the muscles, avoiding the festering wounds.

Zhao Haifeng stood beside her, holding a basin of water, watching Ye Zhen's slender, fair hands move over her filthy skin. Those were hands that held a scalpel, each finger precious, yet now they were busy working in that filth.

He was filled with mixed emotions. Was this the demeanor of a top expert? In the operating room, he was as proud as a god, inspiring awe; yet in the muddy farmhouse, he could bow his head, showing more tenderness than a beloved daughter.

This is what a real doctor is like.

After washing and drying her hands, Ye Zhen began to examine the elderly man.

Look, touch, knock, listen.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the swollen belly, producing a dull "thump-thump" sound. Large amounts of ascites.

Next, she moved her hand down to palpate the liver and spleen.

Suddenly, Ye Zhen's fingertips stopped.

About three centimeters below the groin of the elderly woman's left leg, her fingers touched a foreign object.

Hard. Round. Like a pea buried under the skin.

Ye Zhen's eyes sharpened instantly, and that focused light unique to the operating table returned to her eyes.

She didn't make a sound immediately, but gently pinched the nodule between her thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes, feeling the texture, edges, and mobility of the little thing with her fingertips.

It has a tough, cartilage-like texture. Its edges are irregular. It adheres tightly to the surrounding tissue and cannot be moved.

This is the last line of defense that the body has built against invaders after years of weathering.

"Director Yan, Dean Zhao."

Ye Zhen straightened up and pointed to the inconspicuous bulge in the old man's groin.

"This is an ectopic schistosomiasis granuloma."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was like a thunderclap, exploding in the dimly lit little room.

"Schistosome eggs flow backward through the portal vein system or through collateral circulation and deposit here, forming these special nodules. These are the footprints left by the worms, and they can't be denied."

Ye Zhen turned her head and looked at Yan Hua: "As long as we do another poop incubation experiment, the evidence will be complete."

The wind outside howled through the tattered window paper, making a mournful sound, as if it were lamenting the injustices suffered over the years.

Yan Hua looked at Ye Zhen.

In the dim light of the oil lamp, the young woman's eyes shone with an alarming light. There was no disgust for the filthy environment, nor any calculation for her future career; only a steadfast pursuit of the truth and a profound reverence for life.

Yan Hua felt all the blood rush to his head at that moment, and all his previous official airs and concerns were burned away by this fire.

She took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly: "Xiao Ye, is there any cure for his illness?"