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

Yang Hu wrapped the standard-issue arrow, which he had pulled from his brother's back and which belonged to the Dacheng garrison, in oilcloth and kept it close to his body.

This is yet another irrefutable piece of evidence that the other hand was colluding with the barbarians and inviting wolves into the house. An arrow that should have been in the hands of the Da Cheng garrison was instead shot through the body of one of their own brothers from within the barbarian ranks.

But he didn't make a fuss.

With the decisive battle imminent, the thread trailing behind these arrows is hidden far too deeply. Alerting the enemy would only cause them to retreat further into their shell. What he must do is remain calm and collected, slowly following this thread to its deepest point.

He just didn't expect that the claws of that hand would reach even closer than he thought.

The change began with those wounded soldiers who should have been recovering.

In recent days, several wounded soldiers whose wounds had been cleaned and treated and were about to scab over have experienced repeated redness, swelling, ulceration, pus discharge, and foul odor, followed by persistent high fever and unconsciousness. A young soldier who had only suffered a minor cut on his calf was still clamoring to return to the city walls the day before, but the next day, he died from the fever.

Yang Hu squatted down in front of the now-cold soldier and slowly clenched his fist.

A young man who only suffered a minor scrape should not have died like this.

He personally cleaned and disinfected the wounds; his methods of scalding instruments with boiling water and cutting away rotten flesh clearly saved most of the wounded soldiers in the army who were on the verge of death. Logically, such a mistake should never have happened.

"It's not that my method was wrong," he muttered to himself, his eyes gradually darkening. "It's something else that went wrong."

"Something's not right." He squatted down in front of a festering wound and said in a deep voice, "The same wound, the same treatment, heals quickly elsewhere, but this batch all rotted. The problem lies elsewhere."

He recalled that these wounded soldiers, whose wounds were severely damaged, had one thing in common: the wound medicine they were using was from the same batch recently obtained from the military pharmacy.

Yang Hu immediately took the batch of wound medicine, placed it in his palm, rubbed it carefully, smelled it closely, and finally licked a little with the tip of his tongue.

The powder felt rough and gritty to the touch, clearly mixed with fine sand; its smell carried a musty, damp odor, completely lacking the bitterness that good medicine should have; and its taste on the tongue was so bland as to be almost nonexistent.

He then took out his own superior wound medicine, and comparing the two, the difference was immediately apparent. The good medicine was delicate and slightly bitter, and when applied, it helped to heal wounds and promote tissue regeneration; the medicine issued by the military pharmacy, however, was coarse, moldy, and worthless.

Yang Hu's face suddenly darkened.

"This medicine has been tampered with."

Ordinary wound medicine should be used to close wounds and promote tissue regeneration. However, this batch was mixed with sand and moldy dregs, rendering the medicine completely ineffective. What's worse, the moldy dregs, when applied to the wounds, not only failed to close them but also promoted putrefaction and suppuration, turning perfectly healthy wounds into festering sores.

No wonder the brothers who received the medication suffered repeated ulceration of their wounds and died from high fever.

"Someone sabotaged the military medicine."

Yang Hu's gaze grew colder and colder.

He used the pretext of the medical officer inspecting military medicines to rush to the military medicine depot.

In the warehouse, the accounts were meticulously kept, with every detail—newly acquired medicines and quantities issued—leaving no room for error. But Yang Hu insisted on comparing each item in the accounts with the actual stock and quantities of medicines in the warehouse.

Sure enough, it doesn't match.

The records indicated that the best wound medicine was being sent to the wounded soldiers' camp, but what was actually distributed was this adulterated, inferior product. The good medicine that had been stored away was secretly smuggled out through some side door.

In the end, what they swallowed was a life-saving medicine, while what they fed to their brothers was a deadly inferior product.

The person who handled the substitution and the use of inferior goods was a minor military clerk in the Qing Shi Kou camp.

A familiar chill swept through Yang Hu's heart.

The methods of smuggling military equipment, embezzling rations, and adulterating military supplies are strikingly similar to those used by the hand that was operating in the Western Camp.

Yang Hu was almost certain that the inferior medicine at Qing Shi Kou, the arrows at the Western Camp, and the broken axles and lost supplies along the way all came from the same source. It had hollowed out the foundation of the Western Camp and then quietly laid that corrosive net at Qing Shi Kou, the site of the decisive battle.

"That hand's net didn't even spare the military medicine at Qing Shi Kou." He said each word carefully, "The wounded soldiers rotted to death with inferior medicine, and the brothers defending the city died one after another. This pass was empty on its own without the barbarians even having to attack. This is another trick of collusion between inside and outside."

But he didn't react on the spot.

This minor military clerk is merely a claw floating on the surface. The real hand that relays messages and provides support remains hidden deep within. Once this clerk is alerted, that hand is severed and withdrawn.

"Save them first." Yang Hu suppressed the murderous intent in his heart.

He immediately sealed off the batch of substandard medicine and hurriedly transferred another batch from the good medicine he had brought with him and from other places that had not yet been replaced.

Afterwards, he personally stayed at the wounded soldiers' camp, meticulously cleaning and applying genuine, good medicine to each of his brothers whose wounds had been festering and oozing pus from the inferior medicine. Those soldiers who were delirious with fever and on the verge of dying from a packet of inferior medicine gradually had their fevers subside and their wounds closed under his care.

One by one, they were snatched back from the clutches of that corrupting medicine. The brothers whose fevers had subsided and who had opened their eyes looked at the young medical officer with the eyes of someone who had been given a way out of nowhere.

Military medicine is the foundation of an army.

If the medicine is contaminated, even the bravest soldier can only lie in the camp, letting his wounds fester and kill him. The fewer brothers on the city walls who can wield a sword, the more dangerous it becomes. Defending this military medicine is defending the last vestige of this isolated city's fighting strength.

Yang Hu knew better than anyone that what he was protecting was not just a few lives, but the very foundation of whether Qing Shi Kou could hold out until reinforcements arrived and whether it could stop the Black Tide.

Qin Ying, disguised as a medicine boy, stayed by his side, watching him work until late at night. A deep sense of solemnity flashed across her clear, cold eyes.

"Adulterating military medicine," she whispered, "is more ruthless than killing an extra squad on the battlefield. Those who die by the sword are martyrs, but those who rot in substandard medicine will never get an explanation."

Having served in the army for many years, she knew best the crucial links in the military's defenses. An arrow, a medicine, a bag of rations—these may seem insignificant, but if one part is compromised, the entire defense line will weaken by an inch.

"If you seal this batch of medicine, you can save these dozens of brothers in front of you." Qin Ying raised his eyes and looked towards the direction of the central command tent, his eyes filled with a chilling intent. "But as long as that hand is still there, the black hand in this military medicine will never be completely eradicated."

Yang Hu nodded silently, his gaze also turning towards the outside of the camp.

"It's not something that can be rushed," he said slowly. "The war is raging right now. It's easy to catch a minor official who changes medicine, but once that hand discards this pawn, it will retreat again. What I need is to follow this thread of military medicine and find its true form in Qing Shi Kou."

He secretly memorized the batch of substandard medicine that had been sealed away and the discrepancies in the accounts. These would become the knives that would one day pin that hand down.

Just then, he saw the clerk who had stolen the medicine hurrying towards the central command tent under the cover of night, carrying something in his pocket.

The hand hidden deep within the bluestone mouth, its claws and teeth, has once again revealed themselves.

And at the end of that line, the central command tent, its lights burning all night, was gradually emerging from the water.