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

As dawn broke, the barbarian siege began again.

Horns blared through the air, and arrows rained down like a sudden storm. A black tide of barbarian troops, carrying ladders and pushing battering rams, surged wave after wave towards the walls of Qing Shi Kou. On the city walls, rolling logs and stones, arrows rained down, and the shouts of battle shook the entire wilderness.

In less than half a day, wounded soldiers once again flooded into the medical officer's camp like a tidal wave.

This time, however, Yang Hu's medical officer camp was no longer the chaotic scene it had been the first night.

Those who could walk moved to one side, while those bleeding from vital organs were moved to the center. The doctors divided into several groups, specializing in stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wounds, and bandaging. Triage, hemostasis, and disinfection proceeded in a streamlined and orderly manner, pulling one wounded soldier after another back from the brink of death.

Physician Liu stood by, assisting him, no longer harboring any doubts, only complete and utterly convinced.

Just then, a series of urgent shouts broke the commotion in the tent.

"Quickly! Save Lieutenant Chen!"

Several guards carried an armored officer, who tumbled and crawled in.

The officer was none other than Chen, the deputy general guarding the eastern city. He had been shot in the chest with an arrow, which had been removed, but the wound was not large. However, he was barely breathing, his face was ashen, and his lips were purplish-black.

Yang Hu took a step forward.

When he took the general's pulse, his heart sank. The pulse was so weak it was almost undetectable, beating rapidly and erratically, like a string about to snap. Looking at the side of his neck, the two carotid veins were bulging and swollen like ropes, clearly indicating that blood was not returning to the heart.

This pulse and this complexion are extremely ominous. An ordinary person would think it's an arrow piercing the heart, and certain death.

"It's hopeless." The army doctor beside him glanced at him and shook his head repeatedly. "An arrow pierces the heart; even a god couldn't save him. Prepare for the worst."

"Shut up!" Yang Hu shouted.

He leaned in and listened intently to the lieutenant's chest for a moment. The heartbeat that should have been strong and thumping sounded muffled, as if it were separated by a thick layer of cotton wool, distant and faint.

Yang Hu's eyes suddenly lit up.

"It wasn't an arrow that pierced the heart," he said, emphasizing each word. "It was that arrow that damaged the membrane surrounding the heart, and blood was slowly accumulating inside that membrane, effectively constricting the heart. The heart was wrapped in blood and couldn't move, causing the person to suffocate."

"If you release that bag of blood, he can live."

Everyone in the tent was horrified.

Inserting needles into the heart was something he wouldn't even dare to think about. But Yang Hu's expression showed no hesitation whatsoever.

This method of bleeding from the pericardium came from the time traveler's knowledge, which far surpassed that of this era. The blood accumulated in the pericardium, if removed, leads to life; if left, it leads to death. The location and depth of the needle insertion must be precise, without the slightest error.

He ordered his personal guards to hold down the lieutenant's body, and then had Qin Ying bring over strong liquor to carefully clean and disinfect the area below the lieutenant's chest.

He took the longest thin needle, attached a hollowed-out tube soaked in strong liquor, and extended two fingers to press and probe inch by inch between the lieutenant's ribs and xiphoid process, precisely finding a spot.

That spot was precisely where the centrifuge was closest, yet it avoided the heart. A hair's breadth of difference, and the needle tip would have pierced the struggling, beating heart.

"Are you trying to stab him in the heart?" the army doctor exclaimed in shock. "Is this healing, or hastening his death?!"

Yang Hu ignored him. He held his breath, his wrist as steady as a rock, and slowly, yet firmly, pierced the fine needle into that spot.

The moment the needle pierced the pericardium, a stream of dark red bruises gushed out through the thin tube.

The miracle occurred in that very instant.

The officer's previously ashen face gradually regained its color. His swollen neck veins slowly deflated, and his rapid, erratic heartbeat gradually calmed down.

The heart, which had been constricted by blood, was once again given room to beat freely.

"He...he's breathing again!"

As Yang Hu slowly released the blood stasis from the pericardium, he pressed his finger on the pulse, watching as the weak, almost imperceptible pulse gradually regained its strength. Once he had released a certain amount of blood, he decisively withdrew the needle, not daring to release even a fraction more.

Not long after, General Chen, who had been sentenced to death, moved his throat and slowly opened his eyes. He stared blankly at the top of the tent, gasping for breath. His life, which had almost been cut off, was actually brought back to life by a needle.

The tent was deathly silent.

The army doctor stared wide-eyed at the thin needle lodged in his heart, the one that had pulled him back from the brink of death. A doctor for half his life, he was speechless. He had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of chest wounds, and always could only watch helplessly as people died. He had never imagined that such a deadly arrow wound could be saved with a single needle.

Several of Chen's personal guards, who had been preparing to collect their commander's body with red eyes, suddenly knelt down and kowtowed heavily to Yang Hu.

"Divine doctor... a living Buddha!" ​​a blood-covered soldier choked out, "If it weren't for you, our commander would have..."

Once again, Yang Hu snatched a lieutenant general guarding the eastern city back from the clutches of death.

General Chen is the backbone of the eastern city defense line. If he were gone, this section of the city wall would be leaderless and easily torn apart by the barbarians.

What Yang Hu saved was not just a life, but the key to victory on this section of the border wall. With a commander standing atop the city wall, his fierce soldiers had a backbone, and that section of the defense line could hold.

In this war that threatened the entire nation, his medical skills were no longer limited to healing the sick and saving lives. Saving a wounded soldier meant consolidating the fighting force; rescuing a commander meant stabilizing a section of the city's defenses. Medicine had become a true factor in determining victory or defeat on the battlefield.

Qin Ying, disguised as a medicine boy, stood beside him, watching the young man's ability to kill with a needle. A deep, strange light flashed in his cold eyes.

Throughout the entire camp, from the condemned military physician to the fierce soldiers under General Chen, not a single person dared to use the phrase "a greenhorn" to assess the abilities of this young medical officer.

"Divine Physician and Military Advisor..." Someone murmured the words first, and those four words quietly spread throughout the camp.

Before Yang Hu could even catch his breath, a squad of armored soldiers from the central army went straight to the medical officer's camp.

"Which one of you is Yang Hu, the medical officer?" The lead soldier's voice was cold and hard. "There is an order from the central command tent that you are summoned immediately."

Yang Hu's heart suddenly tightened.

Central command tent.

That was the most likely hiding place of the hand he had been tracking all along.

Was it this act of saving the general that alarmed the central army that earned him genuine recognition? Or was it that the hand hidden deepest within finally noticed this up-and-coming military doctor and wanted to scrutinize him closely?

he does not know.

But he remembered the mismatched accounts in the military pharmacy, the minor official heading to the central command post, and the standard-issue arrow that pierced his brother's body. Every sinister act in Qing Shi Kou seemed to converge on that central command tent, its lights burning all night.

Now, that large tent has opened its doors to him.

Yang Hu slowly tightened his grip on the arrowhead he had hidden close to his body, glanced at Qin Ying, who was disguised as a medicine boy and quietly pressed down on a short knife, and took a deep breath.

All he knew was that this trip to the central command tent was both an opportunity and a den of wolves. And the hand he was looking for might be waiting for him behind that door.