Rebirth of a Mercenary: The Ace Mercenary Forced to Be the Beloved of the Group

The medical clinic is located on the east side of the camp, in a two-story building with its exterior painted a slightly worn white.

Bai Ye pushed open the door. The smell of alcohol and iodine hit her, mixed with the faint bleaching smell of medical gauze.

The military doctor in the infirmary was sitting at his desk writing a medical record when he looked up and saw the blood on Li Mo's shoulder. He put down his pen and stood up.

"What happened?"

"Misfire." Li Mo's voice was flat, as if he were reporting the weather today.

The medic frowned and quickly walked over to check the wound. Li Mo stepped aside.

"Let's see him first."

The military doctor was taken aback and followed Li Mo's gaze to look at Bai Ye.

"I'm not hurt," Bai Ye said.

"The bullet grazed his face." Li Mo's tone left no room for negotiation. "Check him first."

Bai Ye turned to look at Li Mo. Blood was still seeping from the bullet hole in Li Mo's right shoulder, and the fabric below the shoulder of his training uniform was soaked with blood and stuck to his skin.

"Your own shoulder is bleeding," Bai Ye said.

"Two minutes won't make a difference."

"You are bleeding."

"I heard you." Li Mo remained unmoved. "You go first."

The military doctor looked at Li Mo, then at Bai Ye. He probably read from Li Mo's expression that there was no room for negotiation. He sighed and beckoned Bai Ye to sit down on the examination bed.

Bai Ye stood still, glancing at Li Mo for two seconds. Li Mo looked back at him, his gaze exactly the same as it was on the training field—this was an order, not a request for discussion.

Bai Ye could certainly continue arguing with him. But the blood on Li Mo's shoulder had already dripped onto the ground, forming a small, dark red dot that was slowly expanding. The more stubborn he was, the longer Li Mo stood there, and the more blood would flow.

He walked to the examination bed and sat down.

The medic shone a flashlight into his pupils and then examined the areas on his cheeks and temples where the bullets had grazed. The small patch of skin was slightly red, and a few strands of hair were curled, but the skin was undamaged. The medic had him turn his head several times to confirm that his hearing was unaffected, and then had him follow the movement of his fingers with his eyes to confirm there were no signs of a concussion.

"No problem." The medic put down his flashlight and wrote a few words in the medical record. "Just apply cold water to this part of your face when you get home, and it will be fine in two days. Hearing, vision, and reflexes are all normal."

Bai Ye got off the examination bed, stepped aside, and made room for Li Mo. Then he looked at Li Mo.

After confirming that Bai Ye's test results were indeed normal, Li Mo walked over to the examination bed and sat down.

The medic used scissors to cut open the collar of his training uniform on his right shoulder. The fabric, soaked in blood, clung to his skin, making a slight ripping sound as it was torn. The medic's movements were practiced, but the fabric still managed to rip into the skin at the edge of the wound. Li Mo's brow twitched, but otherwise he showed no reaction.

His training uniform was completely removed and piled up around his waist. Li Mo's upper body was exposed to the incandescent light of the infirmary.

Bai Ye was stunned.

Li Mo's physique wasn't exaggeratedly muscular, but every muscle was perfectly positioned. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and the outlines of his chest and abdominal muscles were well hidden under his training uniform, revealing their true weight only when he took off his clothes. It wasn't the kind of angular, jarring build-up you get from eating protein powder in the gym, but rather the result of years of high-intensity physical training—solid, well-proportioned, powerful, and pleasing to the eye.

But these were not the reasons that made Bai Ye pause.

What stopped him in his tracks was the scar.

On the left chest, below the ribs, there's an old knife scar about ten centimeters long, with a clean cut. On the right side of the waist, there are two circular scars, less than three fingers apart, marks left by penetrating wounds—the bullet entered from the front of the abdomen and exited through the lower back. Below the left collarbone, there's an irregular burn scar, not large, but the healed skin texture is half a shade different from the surrounding skin tone. On the outside of the right forearm, there's a thin, long knife wound extending from the wrist to the elbow, appearing older than the others, the scar already whitish.

Not many. Five or six places in total.

But each scar landed near a vital spot, each possessing a sharp, captivating edge. Knife wounds were from close combat, gunshot wounds from a frontal assault, and burns from an explosion. Each scar was like a resume etched into the skin—concise, ruthless, and utterly succinct.

In his past life, Bai Ye had encountered two types of veterans. One type constantly talked about their scars, each one capable of being recounted in ten different versions. The other never mentioned them, but the scars themselves spoke volumes. Li Mo belonged to the second type.

Li Mo felt that Bai Ye's gaze lingered on him for too long. He turned his head slightly, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly, but it was more of an awkward curve than a smile.

"What's wrong? Are you scared?"

Bai Ye shook his head. He walked over and took the sterile cotton balls and tweezers from the military doctor. The military doctor glanced at Li Mo, who nodded slightly. The military doctor then stepped aside to prepare the needles and thread for suturing.

Bai Ye stood beside Li Mo. The bullet hole was located behind his right shoulder, on the upper edge of the trapezius muscle, close to the scapula. After the bullet entered, it didn't remain inside the body, but tore an irregular opening in the muscle tissue, with the exit slightly larger than the entry point on the back of the shoulder. Fortunately, it didn't damage the bone.

He placed a sterile cotton ball on the tweezers and first cleaned the blood and gunpowder residue around the wound. Iodine solution produced tiny white foam upon contact with the wound, emitting a pungent odor. Li Mo's muscles instinctively tensed for a moment at Bai Ye's touch, then he forced himself to relax.

The infirmary was quiet. The military doctor was preparing sutures, and the clanging of instruments on the metal tray could be clearly heard.

Bai Ye's movements were swift and efficient. Cleaning, disinfecting, and stopping the bleeding—every step was performed with fluid grace.

"Why did you—" Bai Ye suddenly spoke, her voice not loud, but every word was clear in the quiet infirmary.

Li Mo remained silent for a while.

"What?" he said.

"You're a class monitor, nothing more." Bai Ye tossed the blood-soaked gauze into the tray, his voice flat. "Taking a bullet for me wasn't part of your job. Why did you risk your life to save mine?"

Li Mo remained silent for a long time.

The military doctor lowered his head to thread the needle, pretending that he hadn't heard anything.

"I made a promise to someone," Li Mo said. His voice was low, as if he weighed the weight of each word before letting it out.

Bai Ye's hand stopped. The tweezers hovered above the wound, pausing for a moment in mid-air.

"who."

"Your brother."