Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

Her mother stammered, her face pale, her voice choked with sobs and panic, clearly having witnessed a horrific scene and was deeply traumatized. Seeing this, her master quickly interrupted, gently comforting her to prevent her from succumbing to fear again: "Don't overthink it, calm down, I'll go and treat her right away."

After saying that, he turned to Xingbao and Guixiang beside him, his tone calm and solemn: "If you two are afraid, then stay in the courtyard and wait. But since you are medical students, saving lives is your duty, and you will have to experience such a tragic scene sooner or later."

After speaking, the master said no more and strode straight toward the wounded's treatment point in the bamboo building ahead. Xingbao did not hesitate for a moment and quickly followed behind. Guixiang watched their backs, bit her lower lip, suppressed the remaining fear and timidity in her heart, clenched her sleeves, and resolutely followed as well.

The group quickly stepped out of the shop, where a scene of utter devastation greeted them. The eaves of the shop were riddled with holes from the shockwave, with tiles falling off and covering the ground. Broken bricks, rubble, and pieces of wood were scattered all around, piled up in layers in front of the steps, everywhere bearing the marks of the bombing's devastation.

The gaze shifted to the opposite side, where the disaster at the Long family's old house was even more dire. Uncle Long, covered in dust and looking anxious, shouted encouragement as he led about a dozen able-bodied men from the village in a frantic effort to salvage the situation: "Father, Mother, Sister-in-law, don't worry, we're moving things! Everyone, give it your all!" Together, they lifted and pried, struggling to move the heavy logs and thick bricks pressing down on the cellar entrance. Faint responses could be heard from beneath the rubble; clearly, Grandpa Long, Grandma Long, and the pregnant Aunt Long were trapped inside, their fates unknown.

Not only the Long family, but several other families in the distance were trapped under the rubble, unable to escape. Smoke still lingered behind their houses, faintly burning, the heat carrying a pungent, acrid smell that stung the throat and eyes. The families of the mute man and the hunchbacked man were among the hardest hit. Fortunately, these families had heeded the Song family's advice and specifically dug their cellars near the main entrance.

The fire started at the back of the house and spread towards the main house in the front. The front yard was well-ventilated and the smoke was thin, so it had little impact on those who were hiding in the cellar, which was a great stroke of luck in this desperate situation. At this moment, all the villagers were busy with disaster relief, shuttling back and forth among the ruins. Some worked together to move heavy brick and wood debris and clear debris blocking the road, while others carried buckets of water back and forth to extinguish the fire. Still others bent down and kept shouting to reassure those trapped deep in the cellar, telling them to stay calm and hold on, and that they would be rescued soon.

Compared to the dilapidated and damaged houses everywhere, the bamboo house not far away was remarkably intact, almost undamaged. This was all thanks to the layers of reinforcements they had made over time; every bamboo pole was tightly intertwined and bound together, creating a sturdy and resilient structure. Furthermore, the mud bricks that Father had purchased earlier were piled up on both sides of the bamboo house, forming a solid protective barrier. The old Long family house in front also provided shelter, absorbing most of the impact of the explosion, which allowed it to survive the air raid unscathed. However, from inside the intact bamboo house, the mournful cries of the wounded echoed continuously, each sound piercing and chilling, sending shivers down one's spine and tightening one's nerves. One could only imagine the severity of the injuries inside.

The three of them carefully tiptoed out from under the eaves, stepping on the broken tiles and bricks scattered on the ground. They walked through the narrow corridor, quickly passed through the vegetable garden that was mostly covered by debris, and finally stepped into the relatively stable bamboo house.

Upon entering, a heavy stench of blood mixed with the pungent aroma of liquor assaulted the senses, making one's chest feel heavy. Inside the bamboo building lay seven or eight soldiers, covered in blood and grime, their uniforms torn and stained with dust and blood, each one wounded and in a wretched state.

Father and elder brother were kneeling before the wounded soldier, urgently treating him. They poured out strong liquor as they carefully cleaned the gruesome wound on his severed arm. In excruciating pain, the soldier couldn't help but let out heart-wrenching screams, hoarse and piercing, echoing throughout the bamboo house. The sound sent chills down everyone's spine, a poignant reminder of the battlefield's devastation. Father, a former handyman, had only learned a few crude and rudimentary battlefield first aid techniques in the army. His methods were rough and hasty. The most pressing issue was the lack of any anesthetic; the soldier had to endure all the pain of cleaning, stopping the bleeding, and bandaging.

Seeing the soldier convulsing in pain, howling in agony, with blood gushing from his wounds and impossible to bandage properly, the master made a decisive move, urging Xingbao in a deep voice, "Quickly get the silver needles and apply acupuncture to stop the pain and bleeding!"

Upon hearing this, Xingbao dared not delay. He quickly unloaded the medicine box from his back, deftly retrieved a set of silver needles, and with a slight twitch of his fingertips, steadied himself and cooperated with his master in administering the acupuncture. The excruciating pain nearly made the soldier faint. After the needles were inserted into several key acupoints for pain relief and hemostasis, his violent struggles gradually subsided, his piercing cries slowly subsided, and the bleeding slowed down.

Gui Xiang stood at the entrance of the bamboo house, completely stunned by the bloody scene before her. Wounded people everywhere, covered in blood and grime, gruesome wounds, and the lingering stench of blood assaulted her senses. Her feet were frozen in place, her body trembling slightly, her eyes glazed over, unable to move an inch, completely forgetting to step forward to help.

In contrast, Xingbao relied entirely on the maturity he had built up over decades in his previous life to maintain composure. He suppressed the surging discomfort within him, focused intently on assisting his master in cleaning wounds and arranging dressings. However, facing such a brutal battlefield first aid scene for the first time, he was still unsettled, his movements faltering several times, and he nearly made a mistake. Having grown up in a peaceful and prosperous era in his previous life, he had only ever seen stability and tranquility; he had never witnessed such a bloody, life-or-death spectacle.

Practicing medicine in chaotic times means facing life-or-death trials and bloody scenes, and fear can only be overcome little by little by oneself. Xingbao had no time to pay attention to the timid and absent-minded Guixiang, suppressing all distractions and focusing all his attention on the emergency treatment.

Several silver needles were inserted steadily and took effect very quickly. The soldier's heart-wrenching screams gradually subsided and subsided, and the gushing blood from the wound slowly stopped flowing, with the rate of bleeding slowing down significantly. With the situation stabilized slightly, the father quickly took out the family's treasured white medicine and sprinkled it evenly on the gruesome severed arm wound. Then, he took a clean white cloth, wrapped it layer by layer, carefully bandaged it, and neatly sealed the wound, stabilizing the injury.

Gui Xiang, who had been frozen at the doorway, slowly recovered. Suppressing her fear, she moved her stiff feet cautiously closer, watching silently as the others treated the injured. She was still timid, hesitant to lend a hand, but she had overcome her instinct to turn and run, daring to face the bloody scene. Keep in mind, she wouldn't be eight years old for several days; this composure was a remarkable improvement.