American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

The man let out a scream that exploded from deep in his throat, and his whole body sprang up as if he had been electrocuted, only to be pressed back down by Sachi.

Muscle gushed out from the incision, a dark purple, almost black.

Living tissue that has been constricted for too long, excessively congested with blood, and severely lacking oxygen will bulge outward in an arc the moment the fascia opens.

Arjun leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on the gushing mass of dead flesh.

There was a perforating blood vessel at the edge of the incision, which started bleeding as the pressure dropped sharply.

Lynn's right hand was already moving.

The curved tip of the Cooley vascular clamp landed on the blood vessel, and the jaws closed.

The bleeding has stopped.

With swift movement of the hand and pliers, the landing point was precise.

Arjun took half a step forward, and as soon as her foot touched the ground, the equipment next to the cart swayed slightly.

Sachi glanced at him sideways and chuckled.

"If you want to see, come closer and take a look. Isn't Dr. Lin's technique captivating?"

Arjun ignored Sachi's sarcastic remarks and focused intently on watching.

The bulging, dark purple muscle, starting from the edge, slowly shifted towards dark red, then towards bright red, as the blood found its way back in.

Lynn pressed her thumb against the man's little fingernail bed and released it.

one second.

two seconds.

The colors are back.

"Can you feel it?"

The man's lips trembled, sweat plastering his hair to his face: "A little... it's not so swollen anymore..."

The pain of feeling like my body was being torn apart from the inside has mostly disappeared.

Lynn picked up the saline gauze and began to pack the wound.

The fascia incision wound will not be sutured for the time being.

The pressure has just been released, and the muscles are still swollen. Stitching them up now is like closing the door again.

Leave it open until the swelling subsides, then perform delayed suturing.

The operation is over.

Sachi slowly released his hands from the man, took a step back, and shook his wrist.

The basement was quiet for a while.

The man on the bed lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily.

Then, he turned his head and looked at Arjun, who was standing in the shadows.

That look in his eyes was strange. There was no gratitude, no relief at surviving, not even fear of the excruciating pain he had just experienced.

There was only a sense of self-righteous greed and a deep-seated, nauseating familiarity.

"Alright," the man said, his voice hoarse. "Give it to me."

Arjun didn't move.

"Give me!"

The man suddenly roared, and with a strength that seemed to come from nowhere, he pounded on the edge of the bed with his intact right hand.

"You see, I'm not in pain anymore! Give it to me! Now! This is what you owe me!"

A crack appeared in Arjun's calm expression, revealing a look of extreme disgust.

He pulled a small, transparent, sealed bag from his pocket and casually tossed it onto the man's chest.

That's the gesture you make to get rid of a mangy dog.

The man grabbed the bag, tore it open with his teeth, and with trembling fingers dipped in a little powder, applied it directly to his gums.

His expression instantly relaxed, like a drowning person finally surfacing.

As Lynn watched this scene, he suddenly felt that there was a resemblance between Arjun's indifferent face and the utterly hopeless drug addict on the bed.

The curve of the brow bone, the height of the bridge of the nose, and those deep-set eyes.

If you were to peel away all the needle marks, pustules, and malnourished, ashen skin from the person on the bed, their outlines would almost overlap.

"Come with me."

The poisoned dog was taken away, and the basement fell silent again.

Arjun filled a basin with water from the tap in the corner and handed it to Lynn, who then washed the blood off his hands.

The water was cold and had a rusty smell from the iron pipes.

Arjun pushed open an inconspicuous iron door at the far end of the basement.

Behind the door is a narrow corridor; turn left at the end, and the space opens up dramatically.

This is a pharmacy that is at least forty square meters in size.

The temperature and humidity were constant, and the hum of the air conditioner drowned out the dripping sound from the pipes overhead.

Six rows of steel shelves extend from the floor to the ceiling, each row with eight shelves. Medicine bottles are neatly arranged by color and size, with Devanagari labels on the sides.

It was a stark contrast to the dilapidated storefront upstairs, covered in dust and with half-empty shelves.

This is Arjun's real business.

Lynn glanced at the shelf sections: antibiotics, antihypertensive drugs, hypoglycemic drugs, anti-tuberculosis drugs, and antiretroviral drugs.

Its comprehensive selection rivals that of pharmacies at Metropolitan Hospital.

I heard soft footsteps behind me.

The two men with submachine guns came back.

Sachi was left outside in the corridor.

"Do you recognize these medicines?" Arjun asked.

Lynn walked straight to the antibiotics section and casually pulled out a bottle.

Amber-colored plastic bottle with a white cap, and a label printed in both Devanagari script and English.

He unscrewed the cap and poured out a capsule, with a red cap and a yellow body; there were no markings on the shell.

"Sipmox".

"Amoxicillin 500mg capsules, produced by Cipla Company. The red and yellow color scheme is their classic color scheme, which has remained unchanged since the factory was established in the 1970s."

He held the capsule up to the light and turned it around.

"The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) requires that the bioequivalence of generic drugs be such that the area under the AUC curve and the 90% confidence interval of the peak Cmax concentration fall between 80% and 125% of that of the original drug."

"Cipla's Cmax barely meets the standard, but its AUC confidence interval lower limit is below 80%."

"In other words, the duration of the drug's effect is shorter than that of the original drug developed by Pfizer."

He put the capsule back into the bottle, screwed the cap back on, and put it back on the shelf.

"It's sufficient for dealing with community-acquired infections. But if it's for postoperative prophylaxis, the dosage needs to be increased by 25%, and the dosing interval needs to be shortened from eight hours to six hours."

The basement was silent for a few seconds.

Ah-Jung was very satisfied.

I've confirmed that the person in front of me not only has great hands, but also a sharp mind.

Where did you learn it?

"Emergency room."

Lynn said, "Public hospital emergency rooms see all kinds of patients, and you have to know how to use all kinds of medications."

Half true, half false.

China and India are adjacent, and in his previous life, Lynn had some knowledge of Indian generic drugs.

Arjun leaned against the shelf, arms crossed over her chest.

"I've been operating in the South Bronx for eleven years. Recently, I've also been expanding to other areas."

"This area has over 30,000 people of Indian descent, and even more Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, Sri Lankans..."

"They can't afford insurance, they can't afford medical care, and they don't even dare to go to the emergency room because the bills will follow them for the rest of their lives."

He paused.

"My pharmacy covers a radius of about twelve blocks. You can get your medicine here for minor illnesses and pains, and it's half the price of those chain pharmacies."

"But I can't handle surgical emergencies. Knife wounds, gunshot wounds, fractures, abscesses—these people work in sweatshops during the day and make a living on the streets at night. They get injured more frequently than you can imagine."

Lynn understood.

Arjun wasn't complaining; he was stating the size of the market.

"What are your terms?"

"At least twice a week. My staff will send you the patient information in advance. You come, we do the procedure, and you leave."

Arjun held up three fingers: "Prices are tiered by difficulty. Simple debridement and suturing, 500. Complex orthopedic procedures, 3000. Open chest and abdomen, starting from 5000."

Lynn went through it in her mind.

The number of cases reported by Miller was significantly higher, but it also meant that the patients' conditions were more severe and the risks were greater.