Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

In the long, narrow corridor of the city hospital, the strong smell of soda water mingled with the stench of blood, making one's lungs ache.

The operating room door creaked open, and a doctor wearing a mask hurried out, his forehead covered in a fine layer of cold sweat.

"Where's Zhao Shanhe? Hasn't he returned yet?"

The doctor's tired eyes swept down the corridor, his voice sharp with tension: "We can't delay any longer! The patient's wound infection has spread rapidly, and the high fever won't subside. If we delay any longer, he'll die on the operating table!"

Da Zhuang suddenly stood up, his face pale, and his usually broad shoulders were now trembling slightly.

The gash on his left arm, grazed by a stray bullet, had soaked through his sleeve, and blood was dripping onto the ground, but he didn't even glance at it.

"Doctor, wait a little longer... wait a little longer!"

Da Zhuang's throat felt like it was stuffed with sand, his voice terribly hoarse: "Brother Shanhe will definitely come back. He's never let us down. The medicine must be on its way!"

The doctor looked at the towering man, sighed heavily, and raised his wrist to look at the old watch with its worn dial.

"Wait another five minutes at most."

The doctor's tone was filled with a desperate resolve: "If the medicine doesn't arrive in five minutes, we must amputate immediately to save his life! This is no joke. If we delay any longer, the toxins will attack his heart, and even the Emperor himself couldn't save him. I can't take that risk."

Da Zhuang looked as if his bones had been removed, swayed for a moment, but still gritted his teeth and nodded: "Okay... five minutes."

"I'll go check the main gate again!"

Jianmin, with red eyes and a sob in his voice, turned and ran wildly towards the end of the corridor.

On a wooden bench in the corridor, the old factory director, wrapped in a worn-out military overcoat, clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his flesh.

Seeing Dazhuang's dejected appearance, he comforted him in a hoarse voice:

"Dazhuang, sit down and rest for a while. Since Shanhe said he got the medicine this morning, he must be on his way back. Even if... even if he really can't make it, our factory will definitely not abandon him. This kid suffered this because of our Hongxing Factory, he's everyone's benefactor..."

"Factory manager, you don't understand."

Dazhuang stared intently at the ghastly red light in the operating room, his eyes bloodshot: "If Brother Shanhe says we can get it back, we definitely can."

five minutes.

These five minutes would normally be the time it takes to smoke two cigarettes, but now, every second felt like a dull knife grinding against everyone's bones.

"Crunch—"

The operating room door opened again right on time. The doctor took off one glove, looked at Dazhuang with a dejected expression, and gently shook his head.

"Time is up."

"We can't wait any longer."

Da Zhuang's body stiffened visibly, as if the foundation of an iron tower had been shaken.

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but looking at the doctor's tired and heavy face, and at those eyes filled with "helplessness," he couldn't bring himself to say "wait a little longer."

The doctor said in a low voice:

"Delaying any longer would be too risky. The wound has already begun to fester extensively, and if it develops sepsis, even a miracle wouldn't save it. I have to be responsible for the patient's life."

The corridor was eerily quiet, with only the faint sounds of nurses making their rounds in the distance.

Dazhuang clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned as white as pieces of dry bone from the excessive force.

After a couple of breaths, as if all his strength had been drained away, his shoulders slumped down, and he finally nodded with difficulty.

"doctor……"

"Then you must save his life. As for his arm... if you can't save it, then so be it."

When Dazhuang said this, his eyes were so red they were almost bleeding.

The doctor paused for a moment, then nodded silently through his mask:

"We will do our best."

After he finished speaking, he turned around and was about to push open the door to return to the operating room.

Just then, a series of rapid, frantic, and heavy footsteps suddenly came from the stairwell, accompanied by a hoarse voice that had lost control due to the intense running:

"Brother Shanhe!"

It was Jianmin's voice.

Da Zhuang suddenly turned his head, and because the movement was so fast, his neck even made a slight "crack" sound.

At the end of the corridor, Jianmin was half-slammed against the wall, gripping the handrail and waving frantically in this direction. His face was contorted with ecstasy, and the sound that escaped his throat was choked with sobs:

"He's back! Brother Shanhe is back! The medicine...the medicine has arrived!"

Immediately afterwards, a dark figure, carrying a chilling aura and a strong smell of gunpowder, suddenly burst into everyone's view from the stairwell.

The doctor froze, his hand still on the operating room doorknob, completely dumbfounded.

"Zhao Shanhe? Where did you get this from?"

He looked at Zhao Shanhe's face, which was cracked and scarred by the elements and even had a few dried bloodstains, and then at the mud-covered tin box. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Zhao Shanhe ignored the surprise and doubt.

He rushed to the door, his chest heaving like a broken bellows from the run, but his hands holding the tin box were frighteningly steady.

"The medicines on the list."

"They're all here."

After saying that, he put the metal box down in front of the doctor with a loud thud, which made everyone's heart skip a beat.

The doctor suddenly came to his senses, and without asking any more questions, he squatted down to open the box.

There were several layers of cotton cloth inside.

Medicine boxes, syringes, and glass bottles were neatly arranged inside, wrapped in oil paper, with some labels printed with dense foreign characters.

The doctor had been frowning, but his entire body stiffened the moment his gaze swept over the area.

He reached out and picked up a box, then picked up another syringe, his eyes gradually changing.

"this……"

He suddenly looked up at Zhao Shanhe, "You really got it?"

Zhao Shanhe stared at him, his voice low:

"Will it work?"

The doctor's Adam's apple bobbed, and instead of answering immediately, he quickly looked through several medications and examined a few injections under the light.

No one dared to speak in the corridor.

Dazhuang stood to the side, his eyes fixed on the doctor's hand.

Liang Tiejun also held his breath, the cigarette in his hand already snapped in two.

After a few breaths, the doctor slammed the lid shut, picked up the metal box, and headed into the operating room.

"Don't amputate yet! Clean the wound again! Prepare the medication! Quickly!"

The operating room door was pushed open again, and the metal box was carried inside. Da Zhuang staggered forward a step, as if he wanted to follow, but then stopped abruptly at the door.

The door slammed shut, and the corridor fell silent once more.

Dazhuang stood there, his chest heaving violently. After a long while, he turned to look at Zhao Shanhe, his voice hoarse and barely audible:

"Brother Shanhe..."

Zhao Shanhe raised his hand and patted his shoulder.

"We've done our best; let the doctor handle the rest."

Dazhuang gritted his teeth and nodded forcefully, but tears still streamed down his face.

Liang Tiejun stood beside him, staring at Zhao Shanhe's weathered appearance. His lips moved, but in the end, he only asked in a low voice:

"The journey must have been tough, right?"

Zhao Shanhe didn't answer. He just stared at the operating room door that had closed again. After a couple of breaths, he whispered:

"As long as you make it, that's fine."