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

Inside the central command tent, the voices of opposition were even more unified than Yang Hu had anticipated.

Commander Ma slammed his hand on the table first: "Sancha'ao is 120 li away, and it takes four days to go round trip. If the barbarians turn around and bite us during these four days, what will Qing Shi Kou use to stop them? There are less than 2,000 men in the city who can stand up. Taking away 80 cavalrymen may not seem like much, but those 80 cavalrymen are the only force that can pursue, intercept, and send messages right now."

"Besides," another captain chimed in, "there are seventeen bodies lying in that hollow, the flags all burned. Forty-five days have passed, what survivors could there possibly be?"

Yang Hu spread the half-cloth strip on the table.

"It was hung up two days ago."

"So what if they were hung up two days ago?" Commander Ma said. "The people hung up there might not even be alive anymore. Maybe they left right after hanging themselves, maybe they died right after hanging themselves. Physician Yang, I know who you're going to save, but this isn't how you fight a war. Is it worth draining the last bit of energy from this city for a few people whose fate is uncertain?"

The tent fell silent.

These words may sound harsh, but they are all true. Yang Hu stood there, unable to answer for a moment.

During his two months in Qingshikou, he was constantly calculating accounts. He knew exactly how much damage each section of the city wall caused each day, and how many of each batch of wounded soldiers could return in ten days. If this trip were also put on the agenda, the answer would be clear: it wasn't worth it.

He knew in his heart that if someone else had been lying in that ravine, they would probably have said the same thing. Forty-five days, seventeen corpses, a burned flag. According to the army's calculations, this unit should have been deregistered long ago.

After a long pause, he spoke.

"That group of thirty or so riders who went out of the city was not sent out by me."

Captain Ma was taken aback.

"It was sent out by this city," Yang Hu said. "They went out to seek help for the two thousand people in the city. In these forty-five days, two thousand three hundred people died in the city. Those who survived did so because the wells were sealed, the water was boiled, and the wounded were carried back to the city walls. But when they went out, we promised them one thing: We'll wait for you to come back."

He tucked the half-length of cloth into his sleeve.

"If this promise doesn't stand, who will go on any future errands outside the city?"

He paused.

"For forty-five days, I ordered the wells to be sealed, the water to be boiled, and the dead to be taken out and cremated. The brothers all obeyed. They obeyed not because what I said made sense, but because I had fulfilled every single one of my promises."

No one answered from inside the tent.

The fire in the charcoal brazier had long since gone out, and most of the small flags representing the barbarian camps on the sand table had been pulled down yesterday, with only a small cluster remaining in the southeast corner.

Commander Wang had remained silent. He sat by the table, the knife wound on his left arm wrapped in newly changed cloth, and he was emaciated. At this moment, he looked up and asked:

"Yang, the Physician Assistant, will you go as a Physician Assistant, or as the person carrying this talisman?"

Yang Hu looked at him.

"I am neither a medical officer nor someone who carries talismans," Yang Hu said. "I will go under the name Yang Hu."

He took the bronze talisman out of his pocket.

"I'm returning the talisman to Commandant Chen." He took out the bronze talisman with the blue stone hilt from his pocket and placed it on the table. "During these four days outside the city, the two commanders will discuss the orders for the city. I will not bring a single regular soldier, only those willing to come with me."

The sound of the copper talisman being placed on the table was very soft.

Commander Ma stared at the talisman, his expression shifting several times. His earlier words had been about not sacrificing a city for a few people; but now this man had abandoned the most important thing, essentially pulling himself out of the city's lifeline.

"Anyone willing to go with you?" he asked hoarsely. "How many people can you take with you?"

Yang Hu did not answer. He himself was not sure of the number. He only knew that there were about three hundred men in the city who could ride horses, most of whom were regular soldiers from various battalions. They were the last remaining resources under the command of Captain Ma, and none of them could be transferred.

That afternoon, 117 people stood under the south gate of Qingshikou.

Only eighty-three horses could be gathered, and the rest of the riders either rode in pairs or ran alongside. Yang Hu originally intended to cut more horses, but he couldn't cut any more after cutting halfway.

Yang Hu originally only wanted eighty riders. But when the news reached the sheds near the wounded soldiers' camp, far more people came out than he had expected.

There were about twenty men who had come from the "waiting-to-return" shed. Their wounds had just healed, and they could still lift a knife. Standing at the end of the line, they wouldn't leave no matter who tried to persuade them. Another ten or so were men they had rescued from the horse crossing the night the eastern wall broke through. One of them was missing two fingers. Squeezed at the front, he kept repeating the same thing: that night, arrows rained down like rain, and Physician Yang squatted by the door to set his fingers, never once looking up. He was determined to go this time. Then there was the tofu seller from the Cui family, who had been boiling water by the city wall for forty-five days of siege, the pot never stopping, never sleeping. Now he stood in the line with his iron pot on his back, saying he could bring it so the brothers could have something hot on the road.

Of these 117 people, more than forty still had wounds that hadn't fully healed. Yang Hu walked through the line, looking at each one individually, but stopped halfway through.

Medical Officer Liu also arrived. He carried his medicine kit on his back, didn't say a word, and simply stood in the group.

"Medical Officer Liu," Yang Hu said, "there are over nine hundred wounded soldiers in the city, and someone needs to watch over them."

"I have two apprentices," Physician Liu said, his neck stiff. "Physician Yang, in my thirty years of medical practice, this is the first time I've ever answered a letter from someone twenty years younger than me. If you perish on this trip, then my thirty years of life will have been wasted."

When the list was finally closed, Yang Hu closed it and asked, "Who has elderly or young children at home? Step forward."

No one moved.

He asked again. At the very end of the line, an old soldier coughed and said, "Officer Yang, most of the families in this city with elderly and young members were rescued from door panels by you. How are we supposed to answer your question?"

Yang Hu put the roster into his pocket and asked no more questions.

Su Heng stood in the shadows of the city gate and waited until everyone had finished ordering before coming out.

She changed into a more fitted outfit, slung her sword at her waist, and carried a medicine pouch on her back. That medicine pouch was the one Qin Ying had packed before leaving the city, and it had been sitting untouched in the camp ever since.

"My father," she said, "died in that battle, and no one came to meet him."

Yang Hu did not try to persuade him further.

As he mounted his horse, he glanced back at the city.

Forty-five days ago, there were four thousand three hundred men on the walls of Qingshikou. Now, less than two thousand remain, standing on the walls watching them go. The breach in the eastern section has been half-built with sandbags, the western section of the parapet has collapsed by three zhang (approximately 10 meters), and half-burnt siege engines float in the moat. Yet, the city still stands.

On the city wall, Commandant Wang raised his uninjured hand.

Then, the people on the city wall also raised their hands. Some were leaning on their guns, some were leaning against the crenellations to stand, and some had one sleeve empty.

The two iron-clad doors of the south gate were opened for the first time in forty-five days for people leaving the city. The same old soldier opened the door, turning his back to the crowd as he lifted the bolts.

One hundred and seventeen riders left the city, heading south, then east, straight for the snow-capped mountains. The sun pressed down behind them, casting long shadows that stretched all the way into the city gate. The city gate closed behind them inch by inch, until only a sliver of light remained, and then it was gone.

Yang Hu rode at the front, the half-strip of cloth in his sleeve digging into his wrist.

In this group, he had stitched up the wounds of more than forty people himself, and he had rescued more than twenty people from door panels. Now they were following him out of the city to pick up another group of people.

Throughout his life, he had saved countless lives. But this time, leaving the city, he felt more uncertain than ever before, even when he was about to draw his sword.