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

Lin Yanzhou walked to the low table, opened the outermost layer of his travel bag, and took things out one by one.

A pair of latex gloves, individually packaged, made a soft "ripping" sound when torn open. A bottle of iodine solution, the dark brown liquid sloshing in a clear bottle, the bottle printed with fine white instructions. A large box of alcohol wipes, five packs of sterile gauze, two boxes of sutures, a pair of stainless steel surgical forceps, and a pair of surgical scissors.

He arranged these things in a row on the low table, and the light of the oil lamp fell on the white, transparent, and silvery reflective objects.

Qin Zhongnian stood by, watching in disbelief as he pulled these items from an inconspicuous cloth bag, one after another, each one something he had never seen before in his entire life. His eyes widened, his lips parted slightly, and his voice tightened: "Grand Preceptor... what are these?"

Lin Yanzhou picked up the iodine solution, unscrewed the cap, and poured some onto a cotton pad. The moment the dark brown liquid soaked into the cotton, a crisp and unfamiliar scent wafted out, unlike any herb he knew.

"Iodine solution, used to disinfect the princess's wound."

He picked up the surgical forceps again. The silver stainless steel gleamed coldly under the oil lamp. The jaws of the forceps were precisely and tightly closed, fitting together seamlessly. Qin Zhongnian reached out to touch them, but then withdrew his hand, as if afraid of damaging some extremely precious object.

"Surgical forceps, used to remove foreign objects."

Then came the stitching. The needle was extremely fine, even finer than the gold needles he usually used, its tip so sharp it reflected light. The thread was transparent, so fine it was almost invisible, but when Lin Yanzhou tugged at it, it didn't budge.

"This thread... is thinner than silk thread, yet stronger." Qin Zhongnian leaned closer to examine it. "And what is this?"

"It's nylon, no stitches needed."

Qin Zhongnian didn't press the matter further. In his forty-plus years of medical practice, he had seen no fewer than a hundred different wound-healing prescriptions and treated countless external injuries, yet he had never seen anyone treat wounds in this way. The tools and techniques before him were beyond his comprehension, beyond what he dared not question further. He could only obediently follow orders, like a novice apprentice.

"I will listen to the Imperial Advisor."

Lin Yanzhou bent down and used scissors to cut open the sleeve of Zhao Lingxi's left shoulder. The fabric was cut along the shoulder line, revealing the entire shoulder and the skin above her collarbone. Her shoulder was thinner and slender than he had imagined, and her collarbone cast a faint shadow in the dim light. The skin was very white, almost transparent, with deep red marks left by the edges of the strips of cloth wrapped around it.

Lin Yanzhou didn't pause. He wiped the edges of the cloth strips with an alcohol swab, then peeled off the layers of blood-soaked old cloth one by one. The bottom layer was stuck to the wound, and he carefully peeled it off. Zhao Lingxi's brows furrowed sharply in her unconscious state.

Lin Yanzhou took a high-powered light out of his bag and handed it to Qin Zhongnian. "Shine it on my wound. Hold it steady. I need to see it more clearly."

Qin Zhongnian stood beside him, holding the lamp with a hand so steady it seemed nailed to the air, but sweat was trickling down his temples. "What is this, Grand Preceptor? Perhaps I should bring a few more oil lamps to increase the light?"

Damn, I forgot I was in Xuan Shuo. People in ancient times wouldn't use these modern gadgets. I'll just have to make do for now, since the oil lamp's light is really limited. Then I turned on the high-powered light.

The entire tent was suddenly illuminated as if it were daytime; a blinding light appeared, and even the unconscious Zhao Lingxi's eyes twitched. Qin Zhongnian was so startled that he shuddered, probably thinking, "Holy crap!"

The wound was completely exposed.

It was more serious than Qin Zhongnian had initially suspected—the area of ​​ulceration around the wound was larger than he had estimated, the dark red edges of the necrotic flesh had spread to the outside of the collarbone, and purplish-red lines extended upwards along the sternocleidomastoid muscle, signs that the infection was spreading along the lymphatic and blood vessel pathways. The pus deep inside the wound was more abundant than before, carrying a pungent, fishy odor.

The black tip of the arrowhead was buried deep in the wound, surrounded by a layer of dark red granulation tissue, a mixture of necrotic and fresh tissue, as if the body was trying to push the foreign object away in its own way, but three days had allowed the tissue and the metal to grow together.

Qin Zhongnian saw this scene, his hand remained steady, but the light in his eyes dimmed for a moment. He dared not make a sound, afraid of disturbing the Grand Preceptor's hand, no, afraid of disturbing the immortal's hand.

Lin Yanzhou thoroughly cleaned the area around the wound with iodine-soaked cotton pads. As the iodine flowed over the edges of the wound, dark red pus and blood were washed away, revealing the fresh wound underneath. Qin Zhongnian saw that after the wound edges were washed with the medicine, they were beginning to show a slight hint of normal flesh color—better and faster than when he cleaned it with herbs for an hour. Even the stench from the dark brown medicine had faded considerably from the area it had been washed with.

His lips were slightly parted, and his hand holding the lamp remained motionless, but a very soft, trembling inhale came from his throat.

"This medicine..." he murmured, almost to himself, "can so quickly... cleanse and heal wounds..."

Lin Yanzhou didn't reply. He bent down to examine the internal structure of the wound cavity. The arrowhead's barb was hooked on both sides and deeply adhered to the soft tissue inside the wound cavity, especially the one at the bottom near the artery, where the edge of the barb was almost touching the vessel wall. Any deviation at any angle could tear that dark red vessel wall.

He mentally reviewed the key steps from the video on his phone—first, separate the soft tissue; then, rotate the arrowhead to detach the barb from its adhesions; finally, pull it out vertically. The order, the angle, and the force must all be correct.

"Physician Qin, use this gauze to press on both sides of the wound." He handed over a piece of dry gauze. "When I remove the arrowhead, please press it firmly to prevent the wound from widening."

Qin Zhongnian freed one hand to take the gauze, while still holding the lamp in the other. He took a deep breath and pressed on both sides of the wound.

Lin Yanzhou picked up the surgical forceps. The silver jaws probed into the wound, entering from the side of the arrowhead, avoiding the pulsating dark red blood vessel. He held his breath, the jaws finding the tip of the arrowhead near the apex, closing and clamping tightly.

Then he rotated his wrist very slightly.

He felt the soft tissue deep inside the wound being slowly peeled away by the jaws of the clamps. The granulation tissue that had grown onto the metal was being separated little by little from the arrowhead, and a slight tearing sensation traveled through the clamp handles to his fingertips. The tip of the barb hooked onto the last layer of fascia during the peeling process. He paused for a moment, adjusted to a smaller angle, and with a gentle pull, the fascia slipped off the hook tip.

Qin Zhongnian applied the gauze very steadily, and held the lamp very steadily as well. But Lin Yanzhou noticed that his shoulders were trembling slightly—the old doctor's reason told him that this was impossible to succeed, but his eyes were seeing something he couldn't explain happening.

Lin Yanzhou slightly raised his wrist and pulled the arrow outward with even force. The sound of the arrowhead rubbing against the bone was particularly clear in the silent tent—a dull, muffled sound of bone slowly sliding against metal, like metal dragging across a stone surface.

One inch. Two inches. The moment the last barbed tip of the arrowhead slid out of the flesh, there was a soft "plop"—the entire arrowhead was pulled out intact.

The arrowhead was covered with dark red bits of flesh and blood, and the two barbs were perfectly hooked into the fine fascia tissue, without a single one broken.

When Qin Zhongnian saw the black arrowhead being completely removed, his hand holding the lamp finally trembled slightly. The lamp flame flickered and then steadied. He stared at the bloodstained arrowhead for three seconds, then looked down at the wound—the clean area of ​​the wound was tinged with a clean blood color. There was no large amount of blood spurting out as he had expected after the artery ruptured, no dark, foul blood gushing out. Only a thin layer of fresh blood slowly seeped from the wound wall, as if the wound itself was beginning to breathe again.

"It's completely removed...the barb wasn't broken..." His voice was hoarse beyond recognition. "This...such medical skill is something ordinary people simply cannot do."

Lin Yanzhou put down the surgical forceps. He picked up iodine and rinsed the wound again. The dark brown liquid flowed out of the wound cavity, carrying away the last traces of fine blood and putrefied tissue. He moved closer to make sure there were no metal fragments left in the wound cavity, and then took the suture needle and thread.

When the first needle pierced the edge of his skin, Qin Zhongnian almost held his breath. He saw the silver needle, thinner than a finger, cut into the edge of the flesh at an extremely precise angle, emerge from the opposite side, and bring out a transparent thread. As the knot was tightened, the two ends of the wound slowly came together, fitting together perfectly, neither too loose nor too tight.

One stitch. Two stitches. Three stitches. Four stitches. Five stitches.

Holding the lamp, Qin Zhongnian saw every detail. The thin, transparent thread barely damaged the surrounding flesh as it passed through the skin, and there were no signs of tearing at the edge of the needle hole. The knot was buried under the skin, leaving only an extremely fine thread on the surface—he had seen the most skilled embroiderers in the palace doing mending, and even their stitches weren't this dense, even, or smooth.

He had practiced medicine for most of his life, performing countless sutures on external wounds—using hemp thread, silk thread, and horsehair. Each time he sutured, the thread would tear open a new wound as it passed through the skin, and the area around the stitches would swell for several days. The knots would be exposed, and once the wound healed, they would have to be untied, injuring him again each time.

But this thing in front of me seemed to have healed itself, just like a wound.

Lin Yanzhou finished the last stitch and cut the thread.

Qin Zhongnian remained silent for a long time. He gently placed the oil lamp back on the low table, straightened up, and took a half step back. Then he slowly bowed, clasped his hands in front of him, and spoke in a low, hoarse voice:

"Imperial Preceptor, I have practiced medicine for forty-three years and have seen half of the world's injuries and illnesses. What I have witnessed today is a miracle I have never seen before. When you performed the procedure just now, every step was beyond my comprehension—the medicinal solution cleansed the wound in a moment, which was better than half a day of herbal medicine; the silver forceps removed the arrowhead without damaging the slightest tendon or vein; and the fine thread sutured the wound without any swelling at the needle holes."

"May I be so bold as to ask—are you an immortal?"

Lin Yanzhou put the used surgical forceps and scissors into an empty copper basin, glanced at him, and said, "This immortal—well, not in the sense of magic—just knows some things you don't know."

Qin Zhongnian remained silent for a while, then, as if he had made up his mind, he bowed again: "From now on, whenever the Imperial Preceptor practices medicine, I will not ask any questions, speak any more, or impart any more information. I only ask that when the Imperial Preceptor practices medicine, I may watch from the side and learn as much as I can."

Lin Yanzhou glanced at him, not wanting to tease the old doctor any further, and simply nodded.

He stood up, walked to the tent entrance, and lifted the curtain to let the night wind in. The chill of the northern autumn night dispersed the smell of iodine and blood. He took several deep breaths, and the sweat on his back felt cool in the night wind.

A very faint, hoarse sound came from behind.

"Lin Yanzhou".

He turned around. Zhao Lingxi's eyes were half-open, her face still pale, but the hazy mist in her eyes was slowly dissipating. Her gaze fell on the clean white gauze on her left shoulder, then on the bloodstained black arrowhead on the low table, and finally on Lin Yanzhou's face.

"You did this for me?"

"Um."

She fell silent. Her gaze swept over the objects on the low table—the residual iodine in the bottle glistening under the lamp, the used cotton pads piled in the copper basin, a trace of blood still stained the silver surgical forceps—then over the cut sleeve of her left sleeve and her exposed shoulder. She wasn't unaware of what she had experienced while unconscious, nor was she unaware of what the location of that arrow meant. The imperial advisor had not only taken her arrow, but had also seen her body.

"How much did you see?"

"I've seen everything I needed to see," Lin Yanzhou said. "But don't worry, I've been focused on treating my injuries the whole time and haven't thought about anything else."

Zhao Lingxi closed her eyes briefly. The flame of the oil lamp cast a small, flickering light on her eyelashes. When she opened them again, the weakness in her eyes had faded somewhat, replaced by a deeper, more somber expression befitting her status.

"According to the rules of Xuan Shuo," she said, her voice low but each word seeming to have been drawn from some profound decision, "a woman's skin can only be seen by her husband and a doctor. Since you are a doctor, then—"

She stopped, without finishing her sentence.

Lin Yanzhou stood at the tent entrance for a moment, then walked back to the bedside, sat down on the stool next to the low table, and looked down at her. Her face held a complex expression—embarrassment, weakness, resentment, and a resigned acceptance of her fate.

"Focus on recovering first. The arrowhead has been removed, but the risk of infection remains. You'll only be truly out of danger if you don't have a fever within three days. As for other things—" He paused, "we'll talk about them after you've healed."

Zhao Lingxi looked at him, pursed her lips, and finally just turned her head to one side and whispered, "Then you stay here and don't go."

"If you don't leave, I will give you and your brother an explanation, quell this hopeless battle, and when our army is strong and well-equipped, I will avenge you."

She closed her eyes, her breathing gradually calming down. Lin Yanzhou sat beside her, while Qin Zhongnian had quietly retreated to the tent entrance, his back to them, turning himself into a silent wooden stake.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered in the night wind. In the distance outside the tent, the footsteps of changing shifts and the crackling of the campfire could be heard, and everything fell silent in the night.

Lin Yanzhou leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He knew tonight was just the first step; starting tomorrow, there would be much bigger moves to be made.