Governing the country, enriching the people, an unparalleled imperial tutor

The journey from the capital to Jizhou took a full day and night at breakneck speed.

Lin Yanzhou sat in the bumpy carriage, surrounded by surgical instruments and medicines prepared by the Imperial Hospital. The Imperial Physician, Qin Zhongnian, was over sixty years old, his hair and beard graying. He had spent his life treating nobles in the palace, but had never treated a wound caused by an arrowhead lodged deep in the bone. He sat opposite Lin Yanzhou, clutching a yellowed copy of the *Golden Mirror of Surgery*. He turned to the page on "Treatment of Arrow Wounds," and spent a long time reading the densely packed, tiny characters, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

"Imperial Preceptor," Qin Zhongnian finally put down his book, his tone carrying the caution of an old-fashioned physician, "According to ancient methods, if an arrowhead is embedded in the bone, it must be removed with red-hot iron pliers, then packed with wound medicine, and covered with hemostatic herbal powder. However, the blood vessels in the scapula are complex, and if the Lung Meridian of Hand-Taiyin is damaged, this arm will be useless. This old man... dares not make the move."

Lin Yanzhou leaned against the carriage wall, having rested with his eyes closed all night. Now, he opened his eyes and said calmly, "Doctor Qin, I will handle things once we arrive. You can assist me from the side."

Qin Zhongnian glanced at him, hesitated, and finally just cupped his hands in greeting.

The carriage arrived at the city of Jizhou at dusk.

The city wall was higher and thicker than Lin Yanzhou had imagined. The bluish-gray bricks and stones had been worn rough by the wind and sand of the north. Black dragon flags of Xuan Shuo were planted on top of the wall, their corners fluttering in the north wind. Long queues formed at the city gate: grain carts, soldiers changing shifts, and civilians entering and leaving the city. Everyone's face was tense, like a bowstring that might snap at any moment.

Lin Yanzhou's convoy displayed its imperial credentials, and the city gate guards quickly allowed them to pass after inspection. Once inside the city, he lifted the carriage curtain and saw that most of the shops on both sides of the main street were closed; the few that remained open had sandbags piled up at their entrances. Patrolling soldiers walked the streets, their steps heavier and more steady than those of the imperial guards in the capital, their scabbards worn and grizzled, clearly indicating they were seasoned veterans of weaponry.

The military camp was located in the drill ground north of the city, surrounded by a wooden fence about half a person's height. Inside, the tents were neatly arranged, and several bonfires burned in the open space in the middle. Several wounded soldiers lay on straw mats beside the fires, their arms and legs wrapped in strips of cloth. The air was filled with the smell of boiled herbs, mixed with the smell of horse manure and rust, creating a rough and authentic atmosphere.

As Lin Yanzhou alighted from the carriage, the sentry on duty at the drill ground recognized him—his short hair and unusual attire, so out of place in the imperial court, became his most conspicuous feature in the military camp. The sentry paused for a moment, then knelt on one knee: "Grand Preceptor! You've arrived!"

The sound was like a pebble thrown into water, ripples spreading outwards. Nearby soldiers turned their heads, some putting down their rations, others standing up from the campfire, all their eyes fixed on Lin Yanzhou.

Lin Yanzhou noticed that there was no doubt or curiosity in those gazes, only a suppressed expectation. A soldier whispered, "The Imperial Advisor is here, the princess is saved," and someone next to him immediately nudged him with their elbow, but the words had already spread.

"Take me to see the princess," Lin Yanzhou said.

Zhao Lingxi's tent was located at the deepest part of the training ground, a size larger than the other tents. The curtain at the entrance was secured with iron rings, allowing a corner of dim light to peek out. Two guards stood on either side of the entrance, their left arms wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. Upon seeing Lin Yanzhou, both of them straightened their backs simultaneously.

"Imperial Preceptor," the guard on the left said in a hoarse voice, his eyes red, "the princess kept calling out for you before she fell into a coma."

Lin Yanzhou nodded, lifted the curtain, and entered the tent. Qin Zhongnian followed behind, carrying the heavy medicine chest from the Imperial Hospital, his pace much faster than usual.

The light inside was dimmer than outside, with only an oil lamp on the low table by the bed, its flame flickering in the wind. Zhao Lingxi lay on the cot, covered with a gray military blanket. Her left shoulder was slightly raised, tightly bound with makeshift bandages, dark red bloodstains seeping through three layers, the edges already dried into a dark brown.

Her face was deathly pale, her lips bloodless. The aloof and haughty aura that usually emanated from her moon-white robes had vanished completely, leaving only a thin and weary face. There was a thin scab on her forehead, and her eyebrows and eyes looked much softer than usual in the dim light, as if all the sharp edges had been smoothed out by this injury.

Qin Zhongnian put down his medicine box, strode to the bedside, first examined her forehead, then bent down and pressed gently against the edge of the wound on her left shoulder through the cloth strip. His face changed in that instant, becoming solemn and pale, as if a doctor had seen the sign he least wanted to see.

He slowly straightened up, turned to Lin Yanzhou, and said in a low voice with a heavy sense of helplessness: "Imperial Preceptor, I dare to speak frankly—the princess's injury is probably... beyond saving."

Lin Yanzhou looked at him: "You haven't checked your wound yet."

"No need to look." Qin Zhongnian shook his head, his tone firm yet bitter. "I have practiced medicine for forty years and have seen at least eight hundred, if not a thousand, arrow wounds. The princess's breath is weak and scattered, her face is as white as paper and her cheeks are flushed, which is a sign of heat poison entering the blood. Although the bandage on her left shoulder is tight, the edges of the bloodstains have already turned black and brown, indicating that the wound has begun to rot and fester."

He paused, his voice lowering even further: "More importantly, it has been three days since the battle of Qing Shi Ling. Within these three days, she will inevitably have a persistent high fever and be delirious. The arrowhead has been lodged in her flesh for three days, and the rust and bits of clothing have already seeped deep into her muscles through the wound. In addition, she is weak from days of fighting, and her qi and blood are depleted. Even if we pull the arrowhead out now with red-hot pliers, the wound will not close—the moment it is pulled out will be the moment the last drop of blood gushes out."

Lin Yanzhou was silent for a moment: "You haven't checked the wound yet."

"The Imperial Advisor!"

"Let's see first."

Qin Zhongnian's lips moved, but he didn't argue anymore. He walked to the bedside, bent down, and began to carefully untangle the strip of cloth from Zhao Lingxi's left shoulder.

As the first layer of cloth was peeled away, the bloodstains underneath were even darker, almost black. When the second layer was peeled away, a stench of blood and decay wafted out, and Qin Zhongnian's brows furrowed even more. When the third layer was peeled away, the bottom layer of gauze was completely stuck to the wound, its edges blackened and hardened, like a black scab growing into the flesh.

It took him almost the time it takes to brew a cup of tea to slowly soak, soften, and peel off the last layer of cloth stuck to the wound with warm salt water.

The moment the wound was exposed, Qin Zhongnian gasped.

About three inches below the left collarbone, there was a fist-sized wound with completely ulcerated and blackened edges. Dark red pus mixed with foul-smelling liquid slowly seeped from deep within the wound. The skin around the wound was swollen and purplish, with dark red lines spreading along the collarbone, indicating that the heat toxin was traveling along the meridians.

The tip of the arrowhead was buried deep in the wound, with only a small section of black iron, about the size of a fingernail, protruding. But Qin Zhongnian could tell at a glance that the arrowhead had barbs, and double barbs at that. Once such an arrowhead is inserted into the body, it will hook into the muscles and blood vessels when pulled out, going deeper and deeper, making it impossible to use ordinary pliers.

Even more terrifying is that the wound is located right next to the subclavian artery, less than two inches from the lungs. Any external force could cause the barb to sever the blood vessel, and once that artery ruptures, blood would gush out of the chest cavity, and the patient wouldn't even last the time it takes to brew a cup of tea.

Qin Zhongnian withdrew his hand from the edge of the wound, his fingertips trembling slightly. He turned to look at Lin Yanzhou, his voice hoarse and low: "Grand Preceptor, this injury... I cannot cure it. An arrowhead embedded in the bone, poison in the blood, and the wound festering for three days—if any one of these three conditions occurs, I have a 30% chance of success. But if all three are combined—even a god couldn't save me."

He took a half step back and lowered his hands: "This old man can only do his best, using ginseng soup to keep her alive and applying wound medicine to her wounds, so that when the princess passes away...she will suffer less."

The tent remained quiet for a long time. The oil lamp flickered in the night wind, casting a pale yellow glow on Qin Zhongnian's graying beard and hair. He stood there, as if the injury had drained all his strength.

Lin Yanzhou did not respond to him.

He walked to the bedside, bent down, and examined the wound closely under the oil lamp. The festering edges, the black iron surface, the dark red pus, the purplish-red lines spreading along the collarbone—all the symptoms pointed to the same conclusion: in modern times, this would require emergency surgery, intravenous broad-spectrum antibiotics, and ICU monitoring, but at this moment he only had a mobile phone, a travel bag, and a box of ancient herbs.

"Physician Qin," he said, "please boil a pot of water, the hotter the better."

Qin Zhongnian paused for a moment: "Grand Preceptor, you still want to... test it?"

"Let's try it," Lin Yanzhou said. "You can just watch from the side."

Qin Zhongnian opened his mouth, but finally nodded, turned and left the tent. A moment later, the sound of a fire being lit and water being boiled could be heard outside.

Taking advantage of this time, Lin Yanzhou went to the darkest corner of the tent, took out his phone from the deepest part of his travel bag, and turned on the screen.

The signal bar was one. Faint, intermittent, but present. He felt a slight jolt—his phone had never detected a signal during his last time travel, but now, in this military camp in the northern border city, that one bar of signal felt like some inexplicable miracle. Was it because of the new phone? Or was it because he had returned to ancient times a second time?

Without hesitation, he opened a search engine and typed in "scapular arrowhead removal surgery." The page took a long time to load, and the text appeared line by line on the screen. He then clicked on a tutorial video; the resolution wasn't high, but the steps were clear: disinfection, widening the incision, exposing the location of the foreign object, separating the adhesions, forceps removal, debridement, and suturing. He watched it twice, memorizing the key steps.

Then he turned off his phone and put it at the bottom of his travel bag.

When the water boiled, Qin Zhongnian brought in a basin of scalding hot water. Behind him followed the old army doctor who had accompanied the army, carrying a stack of clean strips of cloth.

"The cloth strips were boiled in boiling water, scalded thoroughly, and then dried until they were no longer too hot to handle. It took about half an hour in total," the old military doctor said.

Lin Yanzhou nodded: "Thank you both. You can leave the rest to me and Physician Qin. Please ask the senior doctor to keep watch outside and prevent anyone from coming in to disturb us."

The old military doctor glanced at him, then at the unconscious princess on the bed, asked no further questions, turned and left, the curtains closing behind him.