He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The stench of blood mingled with gunpowder smoke, permeating the dilapidated temple of the makeshift aid station. When He Yuyang lifted the straw curtain, a strong herbal scent wafted out, but it couldn't mask the pungent, throat-tightening smell of blood. Dry grass covered the ground, upon which lay a dozen or so seriously wounded men, some with broken legs, others with blood-soaked bandages wrapped around their chests, their groans cutting like dull knives into one's ears.

"Squad Leader He, you've finally arrived!" Medic Xiao Li greeted him with red eyes. His white coat was already soaked in blood, turning dark red. "The medicine... the medicine is really gone! The bandages are all used up too, the seriously wounded..." He choked up before he could finish speaking.

The battle was incredibly fierce. To cover the main force's crossing of the river, their company held their position on the riverbank for two days and two nights, with enemy shells raining down on the position as if they were free. Although they finally succeeded in covering the main force's withdrawal, the entire company suffered more than half its casualties. Seventeen seriously wounded soldiers were carried down, five of whom were barely breathing and on the verge of death.

He Yuyang's gaze swept over the wounded soldiers on the ground, and his heart clenched as if something had grabbed it. The old soldier with the broken leg had been laughing and telling the new recruits stories of fighting the Japanese just yesterday; the young soldier with the chest wound was from the same hometown as Sun Erzhu, and before setting off, he had said he would go home to get married after the battle…

"How much usable medicine is left?" he asked in a deep voice.

Xiao Li wiped his face, dragged an empty medicine box from the corner of the wall, rummaged through it for a while, and only found a small half-packet of hemostatic powder and a few rolls of tattered bandages: "That's all, we're even out of disinfectant alcohol. The third platoon leader was in a lot of pain just now, I... I really had no choice but to give him a painkiller, that was the last one."

He Yuyang crouched down and looked at the wounded soldier closest to him. It was a new recruit of about seventeen or eighteen years old, with a large gash in his stomach from shrapnel. The area around the wound had turned black, his lips were dry and chapped, and his breathing was as weak as a candle flickering in the wind. He reached out and touched the other man's forehead; it was alarmingly hot—it was infected, and if left untreated, even a miracle wouldn't save him.

"Brother, what do we do?" Zhao Dayong stood beside him, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "We can't just stand by and watch them..."

He Yuyang remained silent, her mind racing. The herb garden in her spatial dimension still held many herbs—ginseng, notoginseng, angelica… all irrigated with spiritual spring water, their medicinal effects more than ten times stronger than ordinary herbs. And then there was the spiritual spring water itself; last time, Zhao Dayong drank it and it calmed his mind. If it were used to heal injuries…

"Xiao Li," he suddenly stood up, "are there any medicinal herbs on the nearby mountains? I'll go and collect some."

Xiao Li paused for a moment, then gave a wry smile: "What good medicine could we find in this desolate wilderness? Besides, it's getting dark, and it's not safe in the mountains..."

"We have to give it a try." He Yuyang interrupted him, her eyes unusually firm. "You take good care of the wounded, I'll be right back." He turned to Zhao Dayong and said, "Keep an eye on the third shift, don't let anyone follow me."

Although Zhao Dayong was puzzled, he nodded emphatically: "Brother, be careful!"

He Yuyang grabbed the sickle from the corner of the wall, turned, and disappeared into the dense forest behind the temple. It was already dusk, and the forest was dimly lit, with branches casting jagged shadows on the ground. He had no interest in finding herbs; he quickly walked to a secluded ravine, and after confirming that no one was around, he slipped into the spiritual spring space.

The lights in the small villa were still on, their warm yellow light streaming through the windows, creating a world apart from the bloody battlefield outside. He went straight into the pharmacy—a room he had specially created, filled with a stone mill for making medicine, medicine pots, and rows of glass bottles. Freshly picked herbs from the herb garden were piled in the corner, still damp with the scent of the spiritual spring water.

"There's no time to slowly simmer it." He Yuyang gritted his teeth and scooped a bowl of spiritual spring water from the well. This water couldn't be drunk directly; the concentration was too high. Last time, Zhao Dayong only drank a few drops diluted with water and saw a noticeable effect. Drinking it directly might cause problems. He found several empty bottles, poured half a bottle of spiritual spring water into each, then mixed it with ordinary spring water, shook it well, and added some ground Panax notoginseng powder and Angelica sinensis powder to each bottle—these are excellent medicines for stopping bleeding and reducing inflammation. Soaking them in spiritual spring water doubled their efficacy.

He packed the prepared medicine into his satchel, then grabbed a handful of dried herbs and stuffed them in as a cover before leaving the space and heading back. The wind in the woods was colder, chilling the back of his neck, but a fire burned in his heart, and his steps became lighter.

Back at the dilapidated temple, the atmosphere was even more somber. The new recruit who had been wounded in the stomach was now silent, and Xiao Li was squatting beside him, wiping his face with a cloth, his shoulders trembling.

"Squad Leader He, you're back!" a soldier shouted, his voice filled with hope.

He Yuyang didn't speak, but went directly to a seriously wounded soldier who was still breathing—the very third platoon leader Xiao Li had mentioned. The third platoon leader's leg had been injured by a shell; the wound was infected and festering, his entire leg swollen like a purple eggplant. He was delirious with fever, incoherently shouting, "Fire! Fire!"

"Xiao Li, bring me a bowl." He Yuyang took out a bottle of medicine.

Xiao Li quickly handed over a chipped, rough porcelain bowl. Seeing the clear liquid in the bottle, he asked in confusion, "What... what kind of medicine is this? It doesn't look like herbal medicine."

"A special medicine gathered from the deep mountains," He Yuyang made up an excuse, poured half a bowl of medicine, and said, "Quick, force it down his throat."

The third man clenched his teeth, and it took Xiao Li a lot of effort to pry open his mouth and feed him the medicine little by little. Not long after he finished feeding him, a miracle happened—the color gradually faded from his previously flushed face, his breathing became more steady, and he stopped shouting incoherently.

"This...this medicine really works?" Xiao Li's eyes widened in surprise.

He Yuyang didn't speak, but took out another bottle of medicine and walked to another soldier with a chest wound. The soldier's bandages were soaked with blood, and he grimaced in pain with every breath. Seeing the medicine in He Yuyang's hand, he weakly shook his head: "No...don't waste it...give it to the living..."

"Shut up and drink your medicine properly." He Yuyang's voice brooked no argument as she personally fed him the medicine.

This time the effect was even faster. In less than fifteen minutes, the bleeding from the soldier's chest stopped, his previously painful expression eased considerably, and he was even able to speak in a low voice: "Water...give me some water..."

"Quick! Give him some water!" Little Li hurriedly handed over the water bottle, his eyes wide as saucers. "Amazing! Absolutely amazing! What kind of medicine is this?"

He Yuyang didn't answer, but continued to feed the other seriously injured patients their medication. He carefully controlled the dosage, giving more to those who were more severely injured. By the middle of the night, the five seriously injured patients who had been on the verge of death were out of danger, and some were even able to sit up and talk, though they were still very weak.

"Sergeant He, this medicine of yours..." An old military doctor, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally couldn't help but speak up. In his decades of medical practice, he had never seen such a miraculous medicine. "Could I take a look?"

He Yuyang handed him the empty bottle, with some dregs of medicine remaining at the bottom. The old military doctor poured some out, smelled it, and then rubbed it between his fingers, his brows furrowing. "This smell... it's a bit like angelica and notoginseng, but how can the medicinal effect be so strong? And..." He looked at He Yuyang with suspicion, "there seems to be a special kind of spiritual energy in this medicine, I can't quite put my finger on it..."

He Yuyang's heart tightened, afraid that he would see through something, and she quickly said, "This is a folk remedy from my hometown, made with spring water from the deep mountains. I don't know exactly how it's made; it was passed down from my great-grandfather."

The old military doctor nodded and didn't ask any further questions. He just sighed, "No matter where it came from, it's life-saving medicine! Thanks to you today, otherwise these kids..." He wiped his eyes, his voice choked with emotion.

As dawn approached, He Yuyang called Zhao Dayong and Xiao Li outside the temple, his expression serious: "You two witnessed what happened today."

Zhao Dayong quickly said, "Brother, I understand! I won't say a word about this medicine!"

Xiao Li nodded repeatedly: "Don't worry, Squad Leader He, I know what's important and I will never cause trouble for the troops."

"It's not about causing trouble." He Yuyang gazed at the distant morning mist, his voice low. "This medicine is too conspicuous. If the enemy finds out, or if it's targeted by someone with ulterior motives, not only will I be in danger, but the troops will also be dragged down." He paused, looking into the eyes of the two men. "Just think of it as... a miracle created by revolutionary faith. These wounded soldiers survived because they had something to protect, a battle not yet finished, so even God helped them."

Zhao Dayong nodded, seemingly understanding, "I remember, it's a miracle!"

Xiao Li seemed to be deep in thought. Looking at He Yuyang's young face, he suddenly understood something and solemnly saluted: "Yes! A miracle created by revolutionary faith! I will explain it to all the wounded and tell them to keep quiet."

He Yuyang breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this wasn't a long-term solution. While the spiritual spring water was miraculous, it couldn't be used indefinitely, and the more it was used, the greater the risk of exposure. But he had no choice; he couldn't stand idly by and watch those young lives slip away before his eyes.

When they returned to the dilapidated temple, many of the wounded had regained consciousness. The new recruit with the stomach injury, though not fully awake, was breathing on his own and looked better. The third platoon leader, leaning against a haystack, was directing the lightly wounded to pack their belongings. Seeing He Yuyang, he grinned, "Squad Leader He, your 'miracle drug' is truly amazing! When I'm better, I'll treat you to drinks!"

"Let him recover first." He Yuyang went over and tucked him in. "The doctor said you'll have to stay in bed for another two weeks."

"Half a month? That won't do!" the third platoon leader exclaimed anxiously. "The troops are waiting for me!"

"What's the rush?" a soldier with a broken arm said with a smile. "Your life was saved by Sergeant He, so you have to listen to the doctor. Besides, with Sergeant He around, how can we not win the battle?"

Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere in the dilapidated temple finally relaxed a bit. He Yuyang looked at the renewed hope on their faces, but his heart was filled with mixed feelings. He knew that behind this "miracle" was the power of the spiritual spring water, a secret he could not tell.

He walked to the temple gate and gazed at the rising sun. Sunlight pierced through the morning mist, spilling onto the blood-stained ground and the winding mountain road in the distance. The troops had already set off; those of them carrying the wounded had to proceed more slowly, hoping to catch up with the main force within three days.

"Brother, what are you spacing out for?" Zhao Dayong handed over a piece of dry food. "Eat something, you haven't eaten all day."

He Yuyang took the dry rations but had no appetite. He touched the tin box in his arms, which contained Liu Yan's letter and the peace lock for Yushui. He suddenly remembered what the letter said: He Zhu had won a battle at the county martial arts school and protected the neighbors, driving away the soldiers who were robbing grain.

It turns out he wasn't the only one fighting. Back home, in the rear, countless others were protecting this land and each other in their own ways.

"Dayong," he said, breaking off half of his dry rations and handing it to Zhao Dayong, "what do you think we can do after this battle is over?"

Zhao Dayong ate his dry rations, thought for a moment, and said, "I want to go home, farm, get married, have two kids, and never have to fight again." He paused, looked at He Yuyang, and asked, "Brother, what about you?"

"I want to go home and see the world." He Yuyang gazed at the rising sun with tender eyes. "I want to see the sauerkraut dumplings my mother makes, see how my brother braids my sister's hair, see... if the moon is rounder at home than here."

Zhao Dayong laughed: "It'll definitely be round! After the war, I'll go back with you to see it!"

He Yuyang smiled too. He knew that the road ahead was long, there would be many more tough battles to fight, and many more lives that needed his "miracle" to save. But he wasn't afraid, because he wasn't fighting alone.

He has the secret weapon of the Spirit Spring Space, the trustworthy brothers around him, the concern of his family far away, and countless warriors like them, fighting for peace.

"Let's go," he patted Zhao Dayong on the shoulder, "we need to catch up quickly, or we'll keep the main group waiting."

The two walked into the temple, their shadows stretched long by the sunlight. Laughter from the wounded mingled with the morning birdsong, echoing from the dilapidated temple, a testament to the resilience of life.

He Yuyang gripped the rifle tightly; the bloodstains on the butt had dried and turned dark red. He knew that the power of his cheat ability shouldn't be abused, but at this moment, in front of these warriors fighting for their beliefs, he had to use it wisely.

Because every life deserves to be protected. Every miracle should be created for the sake of peace.

They must win this battle. For those who survived, for those who didn't, and for those waiting for them to come home.