A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

After entering the central army and rescuing Deputy General Li Chong, Yang Hu's influence in the western camp has deepened once again.

But he knew in his heart that the closer he got to that hand hidden deepest inside, the more dangerous it would be.

In recent days, the barbarian tribes beyond the Great Wall have become restless again, growing more rampant each day.

Groups of barbarian scouts frequently patrolled outside the border wall, occasionally harassing the garrison's outposts. The brothers in the camp were on high alert; a minor border skirmish was brewing.

That afternoon, a sentry post on the east side indeed ran into an invading barbarian squad.

After a brief but fierce battle, the barbarians were driven back, but several of the brothers guarding the outpost were also lost, and a group of wounded soldiers were carried back.

Yang Hu was already waiting in the wounded soldiers' camp.

Ever since that fire attack and that dysentery epidemic, he, as the medical officer, has become the pillar of the Western Camp. Whenever wounded soldiers are carried back from the front, the first thought of the brothers is, "Quickly send them to Doctor Yang."

Wounded soldiers were carried in one after another—some with severed hands, some with broken heads, some pierced by arrows—their screams and groans mingled together.

Yang Hu remained calm and composed, treating each case according to its severity and urgency. Those who could walk and had minor injuries were placed in the back and pressed down; those bleeding from vital organs were stopped first; and those who were not breathing were moved aside. With this triage method, he managed to bring order to the previously chaotic wounded soldiers' camp.

The doctors and soldiers accompanying the army were already used to obeying his orders. This young medical officer, standing in this pool of blood, became the backbone of the entire battalion of wounded soldiers.

But when a young soldier with a knife wound in his chest was carried up, Yang Hu's brows suddenly furrowed.

The soldier, surnamed Zhou, was a new recruit who had only recently joined the army. A deep gash had been slashed across his left chest by the barbarian's curved blade, and he was gasping for breath, his breathing sounding strange. With each breath, bubbles and froth of blood rose from his chest, and his face visibly changed from red to blue, then to purple.

"Oh no, it's a lung injury." The army's medical officer, Liu, came over to take a look, shook his head repeatedly, and looked helpless. "This knife wound went through the chest, and air is leaking out. The chest is swollen up. Even a god couldn't save him. I think we should take him away as soon as possible and prepare for his funeral, so that this child doesn't suffer in vain."

Yang Hu, however, paid him no heed.

He took the soldier's pulse, then looked closely at the wound and the heaving chest, and his mind became clear.

This is a pneumothorax, an extremely dangerous and deadly tension pneumothorax.

The barbarian's knife ripped open his chest, and the air outside rushed into his chest cavity through the wound, only to be unable to escape. The air that rushed in accumulated more and more, like a sack that kept getting inflated, crushing and deflated the lungs inside his chest cavity.

The lungs were compressed, making it hard to breathe. The air accumulating in the chest cavity was gradually increasing, pushing the heart meridian to the side. If this continued, the person would suffocate to death in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn; there was no chance of survival.

To onlookers, it was just a knife wound and bleeding, but only Yang Hu saw through it all. What was truly deadly was that invisible, intangible breath that was slowly taking away his life.

Ordinary hemostasis and bandaging are completely useless for this kind of injury. Not only are they useless, but sealing the leak will only prevent the air from escaping and make the injury worse.

There is no room for hesitation.

"Bring me my needle! The longest one! And take a hollowed-out thin bamboo tube, soaked in strong liquor!" Yang Hu ordered sternly as he quickly pressed the needle inch by inch against the soldier's chest.

What he was looking for was the place where people were most suffocated and where their anger was most intense.

Qin Ying, disguised as a medicine boy, quickly handed over the needles. Although she couldn't understand what Yang Hu was going to do, she had an unquestionable trust in him. This man had never made a mistake.

What he needs to do is deflate the gas.

Draw out that stagnant, lifeless air that's been trapped in your chest and weighing down your lungs, from the right place.

As Yang Hu counted the soldier's ribs, his finger precisely stopped at a gap between the ribs.

"What are you doing? Sticking needles into someone's chest? Isn't that going to kill him?!" Physician Liu exclaimed in shock.

Yang Hu ignored him. This method of releasing air from the chest cavity came from the transmigrator's knowledge, which far surpassed that of this era. Wherever the air is trapped, that's where you release it; you can't go wrong. Too deep, and you'll damage your heart and lungs; too shallow, and you won't reach the place where you're suffocating.

Everyone in the tent held their breath, staring intently at his hand. Some tried to stop him, but were intimidated by his undeniable calm and didn't dare to utter a sound.

He held his breath, his wrist as steady as a rock, and slowly, yet firmly, pierced the long needle, soaked in strong liquor, into the crevice of the ribs.

With a soft "hiss" sound.

The moment the needle pierced the pleura, a long-suppressed gas suddenly burst forth from the puncture site, making a long, soft, leaking sound.

The miracle happened in that split second.

The soldier's eyes, which had been bulging and turning purple, slowly shrank back. His rapid, strange breathing gradually calmed down. His collapsed lungs expanded again, greedily inhaling a large mouthful of life-saving air.

Miraculously, the bluish-purple complexion regained its color.

"He's...he's alive!"

The soldiers in the tent were all terrified.

The physician, Liu, stared wide-eyed at the needle stuck in his chest that had pulled him back from the brink of death, speechless for a long time. He had treated hundreds, if not thousands, of chest injuries in his entire medical career, but he had never imagined that this suffocating feeling could be released with a single needle.

Once that deadly breath was released, most of the danger was gone.

Yang Hu then performed a simple treatment on the needle hole, and carefully cleaned, applied medicine, and bandaged the soldier's chest wound. Every step was meticulous and allowed no room for carelessness.

He once again snatched a life from the clutches of death.

The new recruit surnamed Zhou caught his breath, weakly opened his eyes, looked at Yang Hu, his lips moved but he couldn't speak, his eyes were full of gratitude for surviving the ordeal.

"Dr. Yang... has saved another life!"

A chorus of heartfelt praise rang out in the wounded soldiers' camp. The young medical officer's skills, one after another, had already won the complete respect of the entire camp. Every brother he rescued was a real asset on this frontier.

Even though he saved the person's life, Yang Hu felt no relief whatsoever.

He wiped his hands, looked at the wall outside the tent that was dyed red by the setting sun, and his eyes gradually darkened.

The barbarians' recent unusual movements are too frequent and too strange.

It's like...testing something.

It's as if they are quietly preparing for an even bigger storm.

He recalled all the things he had discovered in recent days: the leaked military equipment, the poisoned arrowheads, the contaminated wells... Every mischief that the hand hidden in the shadows had stirred up in the camp seemed to be loosening the soil of this border region little by little for the barbarians beyond the pass.

With internal troubles still unresolved, external threats have arisen. Yang Hu clenched his fists, feeling the burden on his shoulders grow even heavier.