Li Tong hurried out of the grand hall, causing the four or five officials standing beneath the colonnade to pause their conversation.

"Junior Official Li, His Highness..." an older official asked in a low voice.

Li Tong waved his hand dismissively and shook his head.

They understood instantly: His Majesty was not in a good mood.

"Junior Official Li, you have worked hard," they murmured, thanking him for the warning.

Knowing the Emperor's current disposition allowed them to gauge what could and could not be said, lest a single misspoken word ruin everything.

This was why one should never underestimate the warning conveyed by even a mere glance.

Once, a high official had offended a chamberlain, was misled by him, spoke a single word he shouldn't have, and was summarily kicked out of the capital by the Emperor, stripped of his third-rank post.

Li Tong bowed respectfully and took his leave.

Watching him depart, their faces showed a mixture of admiration and envy.

The Old Li family was truly fortunate; this young, steady man had somehow earned the Emperor's favor.

A few coughs sounded from within the hall.

Everyone quickly composed their expressions.

The palace doors opened again shortly after.

"Gentlemen, please enter," a eunuch announced.

Compared to Li Tong, his demeanor was much colder.

The officials filed in one by one.

On the high Dragon Throne, the Emperor appeared outwardly calm, a faint smile playing on his lips, engrossed in the documents in his hands, seemingly oblivious to their entrance.

Knowing His Majesty was displeased, none dared to speak, standing silently and respectfully with bowed heads.

"Look, you all look! Bai Liu Pass has actually fallen... Are the men I raise all good-for-nothings?..."

After a long silence, the Emperor's voice drifted down from above.

Though the tone was light, everyone present felt an immense weight press down on them.

"This servant deserves ten thousand deaths..." they all hurriedly bowed and said.

Before they could finish, there was a sharp smack.

The documents had been flung to the floor by the Emperor, skidding to a stop at their feet.

"No need to rush, and no grabbing. Those derelict in duty, those who lost the battle, all deserve death. One by one," the Emperor stated coldly.

The officials below immediately broke out in a cold sweat.

News of the border conflict and the Emperor's fury spread quickly, leaving officials in every department apprehensive, desperate not to incur the Emperor's wrath at such a time.

Dong Lin happily poured himself a cup of wine.

"Why are you so pleased, Master?" Wu Shan asked cautiously.

Dong Lin’s face instantly darkened.

"Who says I'm pleased? Where am I pleased!" he snapped, his face grim.

This boy truly had no sense; the Emperor was unhappy, yet he claims I'm happy—isn't he wishing misfortune upon me?

Wu Shan jumped, realizing his blunder, and quickly withdrew with a mumbled apology, head bowed.

It was time to get rid of this boy, Dong Lin sighed irritably, his gaze settling on the memorials piled on his desk.

In a few more days, I'll submit these...

See? See? Even Heaven cannot bear to watch this anymore.

Dong Lin couldn't suppress a slight smile, but he quickly masked it, downing the wine in one gulp.

Watching the dust billow outside the city gates, the soldiers on the ramparts erupted in cheers.

"General Chang's reinforcements are here!"

The defending troops rushed out to greet the arriving army, their eyes shining with excitement upon seeing the heavy carts of grain and provisions following close behind.

Chang Yuncheng rode forward, surrounded by his personal guards. His armor was dull, his handsome face haggard. Seeing the crowd bowing before him, he dismounted quickly.

"Enough pleasantries, quickly set up the command tent," he said bluntly.

The throng in the streets dispersed. The officers who had come to receive them noticed that besides the grain and materiel, four carts followed behind. These occupants wore no military attire, only simple white robes, appearing quite strange. As they watched, the curtain on the foremost cart was lifted, and a figure—also in white, but clearly a woman—leapt down.

A woman!

The common folk in the city had already retreated. There were no others here except soldiers, let alone a woman!

Before anyone could voice surprise or ask questions, a gong sounded.

"The Tartars are here!"

Everyone surged toward the danger, paying them no further heed.

"Erect the tents!" Qi Yue shouted loudly.

Amidst chaotic responses, several support staff rapidly pulled stakes, ropes, and canvas from the carts. After several drills, what was once chaotic had become organized haste, and in the blink of an eye, three large camps stood in the open space within the city, their white canvas marked with bold, conspicuous red characters.

Simultaneously, other support staff rushed into the houses lining the streets.

"Wounded personnel accommodation requisitioned!" they yelled.

They quickly planted small flags marked with the character for 'Medicine' by the doorways.

While the tents were being raised, fifteen disciples had already strapped on their medical kits, their arms and waists densely wrapped with various strips of cloth. Behind them, more than a dozen support staff lifted stretchers.

"Quickly, quickly," Hu San shouted.

"Be careful!" Qi Yue called out.

The disciples responded in unison and formed ranks, heading toward the city gate.

"The operating theater is ready," Ah Hao called out, raising his voice.

Qi Yue withdrew her gaze from the direction the disciples had gone and raised her hand.

"Prepare for surgery," she said, entering one of the tents marked prominently with the large red character for 'Medicine'.

Zhang Tong and Liu Pucheng had already donned gloves and masks.

"Master, let me handle the level-two wounds this time," Zhang Tong called out.

Liu Pucheng glanced at him, nodded, and entered the tent marked with a green medical symbol.

Arrows rained down like hail.

Four or five support staff charged forward bearing shields, pulling two wounded soldiers back.

Qiao Minghua rushed over, swiftly cutting away the injured soldiers' clothing. He knew these arrow wounds intimately: the large, heavy arrowheads, grooved with multiple blood channels, were lodged deep in the soldiers' bodies. Wounds this large couldn't even be sutured. His movements were rapid as he sprinkled medicinal powder; the blood instantly washed it away. Qiao Minghua grabbed a blade and swiftly cut around the wound, accompanied by the soldier’s deafening screams as he writhed on the ground.

This pain was a hundred times worse than the arrow wound itself.

The support staff and field medics were too busy to spare anyone to restrain the patient. Qiao Minghua was accustomed to his treatment being interrupted; without a word, he pressed on again, pulling out the arrowhead and wrapping the wound with cloth.

The blood still gushed out.

"Carry him away," Qiao Minghua commanded.

Another wounded soldier had just been brought in.

As for the soldier still bleeding, his treatment was considered complete; whether he lived or died after being carried away was up to fate.

Just then, something shifted nearby.

A wounded soldier was dragged down. As Qiao Minghua prepared to move, someone else rushed forward first.

Qiao Minghua turned his head and froze.

This was not one of his familiar comrades, but a strange young man. He wore a conspicuous white uniform, a red band tied around his arm, and his mouth and nose were covered with white cloth. His eyes were intensely focused, and his movements were swift. He did what Qiao Minghua did, yet differently.

He also stemmed the bleeding and bandaged the wound, but he did not pull out the arrowhead. Instead, he took a pot with a spout and sprayed water, quickly tied the wound, wrapped it with wide, dense white cloth, and finally secured it with a strange wooden stick, twisting it hard twice. The spraying blood immediately lessened.

The young man finally pulled a yellow strip of cloth from his waist and tied it around the soldier’s arm before rushing to the next patient.

Support staff immediately followed, lifting the soldier and walking away.

This was...

Qiao Minghua stared blankly.

"Sir, who are these people?" a medic asked in astonishment. "Are they doctors requisitioned from the city?"

Qiao Minghua remained silent, a dawning realization making his eyes widen with surprise. He slowly stood up and then saw, along the length of the city wall, numerous men just like the first one had gathered around him.

They were easy to identify: all wore white uniforms and red armbands.

"Official Zhou, Official Zhou, look, look," a soldier called out loudly.

Zhou Maochun, who had also been fitted with armor, snapped back irritably.

"Look at what? Look at how that scoundrel ruined my daughter?" he shouted, then glared at the soldier, "Go down now and bring my daughter up!"

The soldier ignored him, only staring at the area below the city wall.

"Sir, they save people so beautifully," the soldier murmured.

Zhou Maochun was even angrier.

Beautifully?!

When was saving people ever beautiful?

What was there to look at? Seeing this for the past few times had infuriated him!

Chaos and commotion, a total mess—how could they be any better than those field medics! Utterly shameful! And useless! What was so special about these battlefield injuries! Any doctor, no, any person could do this!

A waste of time! And they’d waste their lives too!

Zhou Maochun watched resentfully, and slowly, he paused.

One after another, the white figures moved with incredible speed; their bandaging was fast, their carrying away was fast—the pace was so quick it made one's eyes blur, almost suffocating.

How was this different from the previous times?

How could it be this fast!

How could it change this quickly?!

The general guarding the city wall also noticed.

"Who are those people?" he asked, momentarily distracted.

"They are the doctors General Chang brought," the personal guards replied.

"Doctors?" the general frowned. "Why do they look so peculiar..."

As he spoke, his gaze dropped. Looking down from the height of the wall, his expression gradually shifted to amazement.

How did the movements of these doctors seem so...

Familiar...

It was the disciplined movement of those who had undergone specific training, like battle formations—chaotic on the surface, yet intensely methodical...

Others might not see it, but as a commanding officer, he recognized it instantly.

Doctors? He had never seen military medical staff treat casualties like this...

Were they not treating these wounded soldiers at all? Just touching them and carrying them away?

But as the support staff hurried past with stretchers, everyone noticed that the wounded soldiers on the stretchers had been bandaged. Looking further away, they could see the stretchers converging like flowing water towards a single direction—where three brightly marked camps stood—and these stretchers, despite appearing disorganized, entered different tents in an ordered manner.

The busy soldiers and doctors within couldn't perceive it, but standing high on the wall, looking down, one could clearly discern the scene these white-clad figures were creating.

They were not like people! They were like flowing water! Water that flowed everywhere! Rapidly flowing water! Water flowing behind the battlefield, ceaselessly moving, carrying the wounded, the passing lives, toward the hope of survival!

"Sir, Sir, look!" several medics were stunned, forgetting their duties, staring blankly at the white figures beside them and calling out involuntarily.

Qiao Minghua also stared dazedly at these people.

When did that seemingly chaotic drill turn into this?

Or rather, how could those ridiculous drills prove so effective on the battlefield?

Hypnotizing!

That rhythm, that coordination, that smoothness!

It seemed no matter how many wounded there were, they could treat them with ease!

In this brutal, bloody moment, a strange, inappropriate word surfaced in Qiao Minghua’s rationally numb mind.

Fluid grace!

Qiao Minghua’s body trembled, his pores dilated.

Look!

Look!

All of you, look!

Updates will now be around 2 PM, with potential extra updates in the evening. RS