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

The wounded soldiers poured in like a tidal wave.

Severed hands, disemboweled bodies, arrow wounds—one after another, they were carried, supported, and dragged, filling the entire medical officer camp. Wails, groans, and dying gasps mingled together, sending chills down one's spine. The stench of blood was thick and unbearable, and the muddy ground beneath their feet was a dark red, muddy mess.

Physician Liu, along with a group of military doctors, was already in a state of panic.

Following their lifelong medical practice, they treated each wounded soldier one by one, applying ointment, bandaging, and stopping the bleeding. Each doctor tended to a wounded soldier, slowly and methodically cleaning and applying medicine, as if they were still sitting in their tranquil clinic.

But there are too many wounded soldiers.

While one person was being saved, three or five others nearby had already silently passed away due to excessive blood loss and festering wounds.

Yang Hu squatted down in front of a wounded soldier who had lost blood. He had just pressed on the bleeding wound and turned back to get something to stop the bleeding when he turned back to the soldier's hand, which had gradually gone limp and he was no longer breathing.

It's not that it's incurable.

It wasn't my turn yet.

Immediately afterward, another young soldier, wounded in the chest, died right before his eyes while waiting to be bandaged.

Yang Hu clenched his fist suddenly.

For the first time, he realized so clearly that in the face of such overwhelming casualties, trying to save people one by one with just his own two hands was simply a drop in the ocean. The dead always die faster than the rescues.

This is not due to poor medical skills.

It's a method, but it's wrong.

He suddenly looked up, scanning the entire chaotic camp. The doctors were all busy with their own things; the seriously wounded were ignored, while the lightly wounded were being hoarded. Those who could be saved, those who couldn't, those who could wait, and those who couldn't—it was all a chaotic mess. If things continued like this, before dawn, more than half of the wounded soldiers in this camp would die in vain.

Without a moment's hesitation, he stood up abruptly, leaped onto a wooden crate beside him, and let out a roar that drowned out the chaos in the entire tent.

"Stop! Listen to me!"

That shout, carrying an undeniable authority, completely silenced the chaotic medical officer camp. Everyone paused, turning to look in unison.

"From now on, wounded soldiers are not allowed to treat each other independently!" Yang Hu's voice echoed throughout the entire area. "Those who can still walk and shout, go to the left and wait! Those with bleeding from vital organs but still salvageable, bring them all to the middle area and treat them first! Those who have already stopped breathing and cannot be saved even by a miracle, move them to the back, don't hoard them!"

His job is to triage patients.

Use all of our limited manpower on those who can be saved.

"Nonsense!" Physician Liu exclaimed, reaching out to stop him. "What if those who haven't breathed yet are still clinging to life? If you just throw those who aren't dead back like that, aren't you just letting them die!"

"Don't waste time saving those who can be saved first, instead of exhausting yourself on those who can't be saved," Yang Hu turned sharply, his gaze like a knife. "That's the real deal—making those who can live die along with them!"

This triage method comes from the time traveler's knowledge, which far surpasses that of this era. On the battlefield, casualties are plentiful; only by prioritizing people based on their urgency and concentrating manpower can the most lives be saved in the shortest amount of time.

As soon as the military order was issued, the entire medical officer camp actually started operating rapidly, just as he had instructed.

The able-bodied wounded soldiers moved to the left on their own, and the medics carried the seriously wounded with bleeding from vital organs to the center one by one. The doctors no longer took turns guarding each patient, but instead divided into several groups to specialize in stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wounds, and bandaging them.

What was just moments ago a chaotic mess, with everyone frantically trying to save themselves, was quickly brought together by these directives. The seriously wounded were treated in a concentrated manner, and manpower was no longer wasted on those who couldn't be saved. One after another, the wounded soldiers who were on the verge of death were pulled back from the brink of death.

"And another thing!" Yang Hu stood on the wooden crate, sternly ordering, "For severe, bleeding wounds, ignore everything else for now. Press down on the veins, apply tourniquets, and keep the patient alive! Get all the knives, scissors, and cloths boiling water in a pot. Only touch the wounds after they've been scalded! In the army, more wounds rot and die than from knife wounds, and most of them are caused by simply being dirty!"

These points left the old doctors somewhat skeptical, yet under his imposing presence, they dared not disobey.

Before long, several large pots were set up in the camp, boiling water bubbling, and knives, scissors, and stacks of cloths were all scalded in the pots.

"Why bother boiling a perfectly good knife?" an old doctor muttered, his face full of disapproval.

Within half a day, the number of wounds on the opposite side that hadn't had their instruments scalded with boiling water, which were red, swollen, and festering, was several times greater than on this side. The old doctor dared not say another word, and quietly and obediently dipped the objects in his hands into the boiling water.

Just then, several soldiers carried in a wounded soldier whose abdomen had been ripped open by a barbarian spear. From the wound, a section of intestines was gushing out, covered in mud and blood.

"It's hopeless, his intestines are all spilled out..." The army doctor glanced at him, his face ashen, and shook his head repeatedly.

"Who says there's no hope!" Yang Hu lunged forward.

He ordered warm salt water and the cleanest cloth to be brought. First, he carefully washed the protruding intestines with salt water to remove the filth. Then, he used the warm, damp cloth to support the section of intestines and slowly, inch by inch, put it back into the abdomen. After that, he skillfully and neatly sutured the abdominal wall with his needle and thread.

"This... can the intestines that have been turned inside out be stuffed back in?" Everyone in the tent was horrified.

After this treatment, the wounded soldiers, who were originally destined to die, miraculously survived, with 70-80% of them surviving.

Standing to the side, Dr. Liu watched as the wounded soldiers were triaged from piles of corpses and rescued like a flowing stream. His face, which had been practicing medicine for forty years, changed from initial doubt and resentment to complete acceptance. He could no longer utter a single word.

He finally understood that the young medical officer was not saving just one person, but all the soldiers in the camp who could climb back onto the city wall.

A lieutenant general who had come to check on the wounded stood at the camp entrance, looking at the wounded soldiers who had been miraculously brought back to life from the pile of corpses. His expression gradually changed from impatience to shock. He had fought half his life and was used to seeing seven or eight out of ten wounded soldiers die in the same way, but this was the first time he had seen so many brothers who should have died being rescued one by one.

He gave Yang Hu a deep look, then turned and went to the central command tent without saying a word.

Saving a wounded soldier means preserving a fraction of the fighting strength for this beleaguered and isolated city.

Whether this isolated city can be defended depends on every breath of life that Yang Hu has pulled back from the brink of death.

Qin Ying, disguised as a medicine boy, stood beside Yang Hu, steadily handing him the instruments one by one.

She gazed at the young man who, amidst the mountains of corpses and seas of blood, had miraculously revitalized a lifeless camp. A deep emotion flickered in her usually cold eyes.

She thought that he alone was worth as much as a detachment of troops.

But Yang Hu's expression suddenly froze at that moment.

He pulled a deeply embedded arrow from the back of a wounded soldier.

He recognized the style of the arrowheads and the dark blue patina.

Those were the standard-issue arrowheads that the Western Camp had secretly leaked out through collusion with the barbarians.

Now, the arrow that should have been in the hands of the Da Cheng garrison has instead pierced through the body of one of his own brothers from the barbarian army formation opposite.

The hand hidden deepest within, its tail, was revealed once again in this decisive battle at Qing Shi Kou.