Hot flashes

After resting, the group continued their descent. Zhou Heng's leg wound ached as he walked, but he gritted his teeth and endured the pain.

Along the way, he saw that the bandages of more than one wounded soldier were shockingly rudimentary. Some wounds were clearly not cleaned properly, and some strips of cloth were soaked with pus and blood but no one had replaced them.

A faint, almost imperceptible odor of decay seemed to begin to permeate the air.

Fear crept up his spine again, this time not from swords, but from the fear of infection, high fever, decay, and death that followed.

He had only seen it in books and movies before, but now it felt so close.

As evening fell, the group finally dragged their weary steps back to the camp.

The wounded soldiers were concentrated and sent to the rear camp, where there were assigned medical officers and slightly better conditions—though still only marginally better.

Because of his leg injury, Zhou Heng was also classified as a lightly wounded soldier who needed further treatment. He then limped towards the camp area filled with the strong smell of medicine and groans.

He never imagined that his disheveled appearance and his "inappropriate" insistence in the wounded soldiers' camp would be observed by another pair of eyes.

---

The study of Marquis Xiao Jue of Zhenbei was brightly lit.

He had just finished listening to Captain Sun's detailed report on the annihilation of Black Wind Stronghold. The results were acceptable; they had removed a thorn in their side and captured some supplies, but the cost was not small, especially the casualties of the T-shaped battalion.

"...That's how the battle unfolded," Captain Sun reported, his hands clasped at his sides. "The bandit leader has been killed, and 103 accomplices have been captured. What should be done with them, Your Excellency?"

Xiao Jue tapped his fingers lightly on the table, not immediately answering the prisoner's question, but instead asking, "How did the Ding-character Battalion perform this time?"

After a moment's consideration, Captain Sun said, "New recruits are bound to be flustered when they first see blood. When the mountain road was blocked in the early stages, there was some unrest in the ranks, but fortunately it was quelled in time."

During the initial engagement, they lacked courage but obeyed orders and avoided a large-scale rout. "Among them..." he paused, "a new recruit, during a flanking attack, pointed out the weakness of the bandits' boulders and suggested destroying them with falling rocks. The squad leader adopted his suggestion, and after it was implemented, it indeed alleviated the pressure on the front and proved quite helpful."

"Oh?" Xiao Jue raised his eyes. "Who is this soldier? Does he have any record of merit?"

"His name is Zhou Heng. According to the law, if his strategy is effective, he should be credited with a 'meritorious service in offering advice' and rewarded with 500 coins. His squad leader, Zhao Heita, has already reported it," Captain Sun replied.

Offering advice wasn't a major achievement, but for a new recruit, it was a welcome improvement.

"Zhou Heng..." Xiao Jue repeated the name, but it didn't ring a bell. With thousands of men in the Ding-character battalion, the name of a new recruit wouldn't naturally reach him. "Is there anything else unusual about him?"

Captain Sun recalled for a moment: "According to Zhao Heita, this soldier's daily training... was somewhat sluggish, and his physique was not strong, but he seemed to know a few words, and was somewhat... too particular. When pointing out the trenches on the battlefield, he spoke urgently, and his observations were quite meticulous."

Too particular?

"I understand." Xiao Jue did not pursue the matter further. "Regarding the prisoners, proceed according to the old rules. Those who are willing to surrender and serve as auxiliary troops shall be kept under strict guard. Those who remain obstinate shall be publicly executed outside the gate tomorrow as a warning to others. The fallen soldiers shall be generously compensated. Those who have rendered meritorious service shall be rewarded according to the law."

"yes!"

After Captain Sun withdrew, Xiao Jue dealt with a few urgent military matters and rubbed his temples. Night had fallen outside the window. He stood up and said to Chen Zhen, who was standing beside him, "Come with me to the wounded soldiers' camp."

This was his habit. After a major battle, he would personally visit the wounded soldiers' camp, both to comfort the soldiers and to directly assess the casualties and medical conditions.

Chen Zhen immediately prepared lanterns to lead the way.

The wounded soldiers' camp was located in a relatively secluded area at the rear of the military camp, consisting of dozens of tents of varying sizes and several rows of simple wooden houses.

Even before getting close, the pungent smell of blood, herbs, and an indescribable stench assaulted the senses. Suppressed groans, painful coughs, and occasional wails drifted faintly on the night breeze.

Xiao Jue remained expressionless and slowly walked into the camp. The medic and auxiliary soldiers on duty hurriedly saluted when they saw him. He waved his hand to stop them, indicating that there was no need to disturb them.

He walked through several tents, checking on the wounded. A lack of medical supplies was the norm, and the survival rate for the seriously wounded was pitifully low.

The lightly wounded were crammed onto shared bunks in rudimentary conditions. He frowned slightly, knowing that this was the norm in the chaotic army, and it couldn't be changed overnight.

Just as he was about to leave, an unusual noise from a smaller wooden shack ahead, which was specifically for the lightly wounded, caught his attention.

"...Brother, please, please have mercy, I really need this hot water urgently!" A young voice, filled with helplessness and pleading, said.

"Urgent? Who isn't in a hurry? The seriously injured brothers over there are waiting to have their wounds cleaned! You only have a minor cut, what are you fussing about? Hurry up, take the medicine back and apply it yourself!" came an impatient voice, sounding like a medical apprentice.

Xiao Jue paused slightly, signaling Chen Zhen to wait, and then walked towards the window of the wooden house.

Through the half-open, dilapidated wooden window, he saw a young soldier standing on one leg under the light of an oil lamp inside. His left calf was wrapped in a dirty strip of cloth, and he was holding a chipped earthenware pot. He was struggling with a man who looked like an apprentice wearing a dirty apron.

The young soldier looked haggard, but there was something incongruous with his surroundings... how to put it, a stubborn clarity? Or perhaps, a kind of uncompromising "discipline".

"I'm not being picky!" The young soldier—it was Zhou Heng—was sweating profusely, but he didn't dare to raise his voice. "Look at this strip of cloth, it's so dirty. Wrapping it around the wound will... will make things worse! I just want to scald it with hot water and then re-wrap it, just once! I have my own cloth!" He pointed with his other hand to a small roll of relatively clean coarse cloth placed on the wooden bed next to him.

The apprentice snatched the earthenware pot away: "I said no! Hot water is for the seriously wounded and for dissolving wound medicine! Do you think this is your home? Take the medicine and leave now! If you keep arguing, I'll have the patrolmen throw you out!"

Zhou Heng looked at the clay pot that had been taken away, then at the dirty bandage on his leg, and then at the simple and filthy environment around him, his face showing frustration.

He gritted his teeth and, surprisingly, limped to a stove inside the room—where a large pot of hot water was warming, clearly for the physician's use.

While the apprentice turned to get the medicine, he swiftly scooped up half a ladle of hot water from a broken gourd and poured it into a leather water pouch he carried with him. He then quickly plugged it, put it in his pocket, and pretended nothing had happened.

The movements were quick and cunning.

The apprentice returned with the powder, saw Zhou Heng standing obediently to one side, snorted, and shoved a small packet of powder into his hand: "Here! Crush it up and apply it! Hurry up and go!"

Zhou Heng took the powder, thanked him in a low voice, clutched the water pouch tightly to his chest, and limped quickly out of the wooden house, as if afraid that the other party would change their mind.

He walked to a relatively quiet corner outside the house and sat down against the woodpile. He looked around cautiously before carefully taking out his water bag and the rolled-up clean strip of cloth.

He untied the dirty bandage on his leg, revealing a red and swollen wound underneath.

By the light of the moon and the distant campfire, he carefully poured the still-warm water from his water pouch onto his wound, washing away the remaining dirt and the medicine powder he had haphazardly applied earlier.

He gasped in pain while being cleaned, but he tried to be as gentle and careful as possible.

After washing the wound, he did not immediately apply new medicine powder. Instead, he poured the remaining hot water into a broken bowl, then tore off a suitable strip from the clean cloth, soaked it in the hot water, and then took it out and carefully wrung it until it was half dry.

Then, he did something that made Xiao Jue, who was in the shadows outside the window, squint slightly—he didn't wrap the cloth directly, but instead took the cloth and held it over the embers in the nearby woodpile that hadn't completely died down, carefully warming it until a faint steam rose from the cloth before quickly removing it.

He was using hot air to disinfect the area.

After doing all this, he gently sprinkled the new medicine powder onto the cleaned wound, then carefully wrapped it up with the treated, still warm, clean cloth strips, layer by layer, and finally tied a neat knot.

After doing all this, he finally let out a long sigh of relief, as if he had accomplished something of paramount importance. Leaning against the woodpile, he wearily closed his eyes, still clutching the empty hot water bottle tightly in his arms.

In the shadows outside the window, Xiao Jue watched silently.

He saw the not-so-serious wound on the new recruit's leg, and he also saw the recruit's stubborn attempt to wash it with hot water and even try to "disinfect" the bandage. This was not just a matter of making do.

In an era when most soldiers could only hastily treat their wounds with dirty cloths, river water, or even mud, this new recruit named Zhou Heng demonstrated an almost instinctive awareness of proper wound care and risk assessment.

He knew that dirty cloth could cause "bad things," he knew that hot water might be better than cold water, and he even vaguely knew that high temperatures might "clean" the cloth.

This is not the kind of knowledge and habit that an ordinary migrant or poor farmer would have.

This requires a certain amount of knowledge transmission, or... a long-term habit of being extremely concerned about one's own health.

A few sparks quietly gathered in Xiao Jue's deep eyes.

"Chen Zhen," he said softly.

"My lord."

"Make a note of that new recruit. Zhou Heng." Xiao Jue's voice was calm and even. "Bring him to see me tomorrow."

"Yes."

Xiao Jue glanced one last time at Zhou Heng, who seemed to be asleep by the woodpile, then turned and left, his dark cloak fluttering slightly in the night breeze.