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

The first cut caused blood to gush out.

The young master cried out "Ah!" and covered his eyes, unable to look any longer. A servant next to him, his legs went weak, and he braced himself against the door frame, his face as white as paper.

Yang Hu acted as if he hadn't heard anything.

For him, there was only that one opening.

Skin, fat, and then a membrane, layer upon layer—he knew exactly how much to cut from each layer, what lay beneath each one, and how heavy to cut. His hands didn't tremble even slightly.

But this place was much simpler. There were no bright lights, only a candle; no suitable tools, only a knife wiped with liquor. He would stop when the light dimmed and wait for the candle to come back on before daring to make a cut. In other places, this would be a matter of minutes, but here it was a matter of enduring each word and each letter.

With a precise cut, one layer is sliced ​​open, and then another.

The smearing "medicine boy" stood by the bed, handing him hot towels and cloths, then using the cloths to press down on the wounds on both sides to wipe away the unstoppable bleeding so that he could see clearly.

Qin Ying kept her eyes closed, and the hand that handed over the cloth didn't resemble that of a country bumpkin. She had helped people apply medicine and stop bleeding on the battlefield, and had seen more severed limbs than anyone else. But this was the first time she had ever cut off the abdomen of a living person layer by layer so slowly and deliberately. A layer of fine sweat had already seeped from the palm of her hand that was pressing the cloth.

The tip of the knife pierced through the innermost membrane.

In that instant, a thick stream of yellow pus mixed with red pus and blood, along with an indescribable strange smell, gushed out with a "poof".

Everyone in the room changed their expressions.

The servant boy who had been leaning against the doorframe could no longer hold back and began to gag. The white-bearded old man took a step back, covered his mouth, and his voice trembled: "I knew it! I knew it! You cut a perfectly healthy person open and drained so much pus and blood from him. Is this treatment? It's murder! Damn it, it's murder!"

The young master suddenly turned around, his vision blurred upon seeing the gushing pus and blood, and he staggered, clinging to the bed for support: "What about my father?!"

"fine."

Yang Hu's voice was like a calm pool of water amidst the panic of the group.

"It'll be fine once the pus comes out."

He knew everything was clear: this bellyful of pus was the root of his death; if the pus couldn't be expelled, the old man would surely die tonight. The fact that the pus had come out today meant that he had made the right cut.

He couldn't control the terrified and angry crowd. With one hand gripping the knife and the other reaching inside to dodge the tangled mess of intestines, he groped downwards to the right.

The intestinal abscess is over there.

The finger quickly touched a soft, rotten section of intestine with pus oozing out. It was black and purple with a hole in it, from which it was slowly leaking out.

Found it.

"Warm water, bring more," he said.

Qin Ying quickly brought over a basin of hot water.

Yang Hu used hot towels soaked in water to carefully scoop out and wipe away the pus and blood rotting inside the abdomen, one handful at a time. He changed the dirty towels one by one, and the water in the basin was soon stained red.

This was the most difficult time; it couldn't be rushed or delayed. If the pus wasn't completely cleared, the poison would still be inside, and the incision would be wasted! Sweat was beading on his forehead, so the young apprentice quickly brought him a dry cloth and gently wiped it away.

Don't let your sweat fall onto the blade!

The person on the bed, unconscious, had a furrowed brow and let out a few low groans. Their hands were unconsciously clenched together; the medicine meant to put them to sleep couldn't stop the agony of being disemboweled.

As he scraped the pus, he felt a mix of emotions he couldn't quite describe.

Intestinal abscess is not an incurable disease. In the early stages, surgery can drain the pus, and the patient can get out of bed after a few days of recuperation. It was only because it was delayed for a day that not a single famous doctor in the city recognized the disease. Some said it was intestinal colic, others said it was possession by evil spirits, and they even rang bells and chanted incantations, watching helplessly as a wound developed, which led to this life-threatening situation.

The border region was cold and lacked doctors and medicine, resulting in countless deaths, all because of the absurd saying "even a god couldn't save them"!

I need to calm myself down and focus on saving this life first!

The young apprentice knelt beside him, handing him cloth and water with nimble movements, but his eyes were fixed on his skillful hands. Qin Ying had seen his skillful hands pull back a festering, rotting leg from the jaws of death, and he had seen him bring a man down with a touch of two fingers. But now, these hands were so still in the pus and blood inside a belly, like a stagnant pool of water—whether saving a person, killing a person, or dissecting a person, it was all just a pair of hands.

Just then, Qin Ying, who was pressing the old man's wrist, suddenly changed his expression and exclaimed, "Eh!"

He freed one hand and pressed it against the old man's wrist.

It was weaker than before, yet it sped up a bit more; it looked very weak.

Blood loss, pus, and the old man's final moments as he dies.

Time is running out!

"Father!" The young master of the family collapsed into tears by the bedside, sobbing uncontrollably. "Doctor Yang! My father... his face is so pale and frightening! Is it... is it him... him..."

"He's not going to make it..."

Outside, the old scholar, who had been waiting with a displeased expression, peeked inside.

The white-bearded doctor sneered gloatingly, "I told you, even a god couldn't save him! Now look what happened, he got stabbed for nothing and still won't be alive..."

"Shut up!"

Yang Hu didn't look at him, but those words made the old doctor swallow back the sarcasm that followed.

He turned to look at the young master, who was crying uncontrollably, and said in a low voice, but with a certainty that gave people a strange sense of peace: "The pus in his belly has been almost completely cleared out. I've also found the most poisonous part. There's only one last step left—cut off the rotten part and sew up the good one. Once this step is over, the old master will have passed through this gate of hell."

The young master was stunned, and managed to suppress the sobs that had been going on for almost half an hour: "My father is still alive, so there's still hope?"

"If it's still there, there's still hope." Yang Hu paused. "The only thing you can do now is to keep your mouth shut and not make things worse."

The young master stared blankly at Yang Hu for a moment, swallowing back all the words he wanted to say. He just clenched his fists and nodded with red eyes.

Yang Hu then raised his head, glanced at the rotten intestines, and quickly calculated in his mind: Cut it off!

Cut!

Cut off the rotten part with a knife, then sew the rest of the good parts back together!

The most dangerous step!

But this is also the most crucial point. If he takes the wrong step, the old man will die; if he takes the wrong step, he will also injure the good intestines next to him. If he takes the wrong step, he will not be able to return to his hometown!

Once you start moving, you can't afford to panic!

He glanced at the unconscious old man on the bed, his brows furrowed tightly, a few tears streaming down his face. Finally, he looked at his own hands, which were covered in dirty blood. He gritted his teeth, took a few breaths, and picked up the small knife in his hand.

"Hold him down," Yang Hu ordered Qin Ying in a very low voice. "Once this incision is made and stitched up, it will take at least the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. You need to hold onto his last breath for me!"

Qin Ying nodded emphatically and firmly pressed down on the shoulders of the sleeping old man on the bed.

The candlelight beside the couch was startled by the cold wind seeping in through the cracks in the window, causing it to dim and flicker on everyone's faces.

Yang Hu's blade was already aimed at the boundary between the rotten intestine and the healthy intestine, separated only by a piece of white flesh less than a thumb thick.

The room was deathly silent.

All that could be heard were the suppressed, intermittent gasps of the young master and the increasingly faint breaths of the old man on the bed.

A stick of incense.

A life is on the line of this incense stick and his hands.