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

The murderous intent of that hand transformed into a dangerous night raid in the dead of night.

In the dead of night, when all was quiet, a mournful bugle call suddenly tore through the night sky above the Qing Shi Kou camp.

"Barbarians! Barbarians have sneaked in!"

Under the cover of night, a small group of elite barbarian cavalry, taking advantage of the moment when the garrison was changing shifts, stealthily reached the flank of the main camp and plunged into the rear camp where the wounded and medical personnel were stationed.

Torches flew everywhere, and tents burst into flames one after another. The barbarians spurred their horses, brandishing their swords and hacking at anyone in their path, while also throwing torches into the tents where medicinal herbs were stored. Shouts of battle, screams of agony, and the crackling of fire erupted into chaos in an instant. The rear camp, already mostly composed of wounded and sick soldiers, was no match for these fierce cavalry and was quickly overwhelmed, with men and horses falling to the ground.

Startled awake by the noise, Yang Hu jumped up with a start.

A chill ran through his heart.

The timing of this barbarian attack was too perfect. They deliberately avoided the heavily guarded city walls, bypassed the central command tent, and specifically targeted this crucial medical location in the rear camp. And coincidentally, it happened right at this critical juncture when he took over the central army's medical affairs and discovered the vital hand at his throat.

"It's that hand that moves." He said each word clearly, his eyes cold. "It's using the barbarians' swords to try and get rid of me in this chaotic battlefield."

The poison operation by the central army failed to bring him down, and the junior clerk, fearing punishment, committed suicide, severing one of its claws. The other side, in desperation, colluded with the barbarians beyond the pass, using the chaos of this night raid to quietly bury this troublesome young military doctor in the inferno. To die by the barbarians' blade would be "martyrdom for the king," clean and without fault, leaving no room for criticism.

What a clever tactic of using someone else to do the dirty work.

Flames shot into the sky, and thick smoke billowed.

Anyone else would probably be only concerned with saving their own life at this moment. But Yang Hu showed no panic about protecting himself. He grabbed his medicine box and rushed towards the place where the flames were the brightest and the screams were the most intense.

Behind him, Qin Ying whispered "Danger!" but he couldn't dissuade him, so he could only grip the short knife tightly and follow closely.

He rushed out of the tent, and the first thing he saw was the wounded soldiers struggling in the flames, choked by the thick smoke. Flames licked at the tent cloth, heat waves hit their faces, and the thick smoke made it impossible to open their eyes. Some were rolling on the ground with their clothes on fire, while others were paralyzed by the smoke and unable to move.

"Saving lives is the priority!" Yang Hu shouted hoarsely, plunging headfirst into the smoke and fire.

An elderly officer, overcome by smoke and flames, was being dragged out of the fire by two bodyguards. The officer, an old constable, had no visible wounds, but his face was a frightening bluish-purple, and a strange, hoarse sound came from his throat, as if a file was being pulled back and forth inside. His chest heaved violently, again and again, but he couldn't breathe a single breath of life.

"His throat was damaged by the smoke, and his airway is swollen and blocked." Yang Hu took his pulse and looked at his chest, which was high but unable to breathe. He immediately understood, "If he can't breathe in any more, he will suffocate in an instant."

Ordinary methods are completely useless for this kind of swollen and blocked throat. The air is stuck in the upper part of the throat and cannot go down, so the person will suffocate to death because of that one breath.

There is no room for hesitation.

"Bring me my syringe! It must be soaked in strong liquor!" Yang Hu ordered sharply, his fingers already precisely pressed on a soft, sunken spot below the officer's Adam's apple.

That's where you bypass the swollen, closed larynx and go straight into the trachea.

He held his breath, his wrist as steady as a rock, and decisively pierced the thin tube, which had been soaked in strong liquor, into the indentation between the cartilages.

This method of bypassing the swollen throat and going straight into the trachea comes from the time traveler's knowledge, which far surpasses that of this era. This needle must be inserted deeply or shallowly, and the point of insertion must be precise; the slightest error will damage the major blood vessels next to the trachea.

The moment the needle pierced the trachea, a suffocating gushe of air burst forth through the thin tube with a long, soft, leaking sound.

The old officer's previously bluish-purple complexion miraculously recovered. He gasped for breath, drawing in mouthfuls of life-saving air through the thin tube in his throat. His bulging eyes slowly shrank back, and his rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

The two guards standing nearby watched helplessly as their captain was about to suffocate in their hands, only to be brought back to life by the young military doctor injecting an needle into his throat. They were stunned for a moment before finally coming to their senses, exclaiming repeatedly, "Amazing! Amazing! Doctor Yang is truly a miracle!"

In this chaotic battlefield where swords flashed and human life was cheap, saving even one more soldier who could still breathe and wield a sword meant increasing the chances of defending the city. Once again, Yang Hu pulled a life hanging in the balance back from the brink of death.

But at this moment, a sudden change occurred.

In the shadow of the firelight, a dark figure, taking advantage of the chaos, silently stabbed towards Yang Hu's back.

That wasn't a barbarian; it was a poisoned arrow meant to kill him.

At the critical moment, a figure suddenly cut in.

"clang!"

With a crisp sound, the short blade aimed at Yang Hu's back was knocked away by a long sword, sending sparks flying.

Yang Hu turned around abruptly and saw a spirited young woman in a smart, close-fitting outfit, her long sword drawn, blocking his path. She moved with lightning speed, and with a backhand strike, forced the black-clad assassin back several steps. Her swordsmanship was sharp and decisive, each move aimed directly at vital points—a skill far beyond what ordinary women in the army possessed.

Qin Ying, disguised as a medicine boy, also pressed down on his short knife and stepped out from the shadows, flanking Yang Hu with the woman on either side.

Seeing that his attack had failed and he was now entangled with the woman, the assassin knew he would never succeed again. So, he gritted his teeth and slit his own throat, collapsing to the ground, dead.

Another die-hard who would rather die than spit out a confession.

The woman sheathed her sword and stood there, her bright and sharp eyes fixed on Yang Hu, scrutinizing him with a hint of understanding.

"Yang, the medical officer," her voice was clear and crisp, "someone wants to borrow the barbarians' knife to kill you. The hand you investigated is more urgent than you think."

Yang Hu was startled.

Who is this woman? How did she know someone wanted to kill him? And how did she know he was investigating that hand?

The firelight illuminated her profile, revealing a heroic air about her that was unlike any other woman in the military, as if she had been raised in a respectable family.

Yang Hu clenched his fist. The woman's background, why she saved him, and how she saw through this scheme of using someone else to kill—everything about her seemed suspicious. But her sword strike just now had undeniably saved his life from the assassin's blade.

The night raid, intended to kill someone by using another's knife, was gradually suppressed by the defenders' desperate counterattack. The defenders on the city walls, positioned high above, rained down arrows, and the small group of elite barbarian cavalry that had penetrated deep into enemy territory was ultimately outnumbered and retreated in disarray, leaving behind several corpses.

The scheme to use the barbarians to eliminate Yang Hu has once again failed.

But Yang Hu felt no relief whatsoever.

He stared at the woman who had suddenly appeared and saved his life, his eyes filled with doubt and wariness. Qin Ying, standing beside him, never loosened her grip on the dagger.

Where did she come from? And why did she happen to come to the rescue at this critical moment? Was it another trap set by that hand, or was there another hidden story?

The fire gradually died down, but the lingering smoke remained.

Is she an enemy or a friend?