Chapter 3

As the young priest cheered, the sound of exhalation echoed around Wu Zhou one after another.

The young man kneeling on his knees, holding the intestines of the injured, immediately lowered his head. He raised his hands a little higher and murmured softly,

"By the War God!"

"By the War God!" On the other side, the red-haired archer, who was holding the injured person's arm, echoed. Then, leaning in, he sincerely praised,

"Little Gret, you're amazing!"

However, Wu Zhou had no intention of being happy. All his focus was on his fingers: the liver is extremely fragile; if the force is too light, the bleeding won't stop, and if the force is too strong, the liver could tear, leading to massive bleeding. The control of force relies entirely on the experience and intuition of a surgeon.

Moreover, even if the bleeding was temporarily stopped, it was just the first step of a long journey; there was still a lot to do!

Footsteps echoed from behind. The warrior whom Wu Zhou had sent to boil water passed by, praying, "By the War God!" Then, hesitantly and anxiously, he asked,

"Little Gret, will this... be enough?"

Enough?

Don't even think about it!

Wu Zhou frowned deeply. Under normal temperature, the liver's blood flow can be blocked for no more than 30 minutes, or the liver will necrotize.

In other words, he had to solve the problem within 30 minutes!

But he had nothing!

No blood transfusion, no gauze, gelatin sponge, or hemostatic powder for hemostasis, no sutures for stitching!

He didn't even have a single hemostat!

A huge wave of anxiety and fear suddenly surged. It belonged to Wu Zhou, and to the original owner of this body.

Wu Zhou lifted his head and stared intently at the young priest, his eyes already bloodshot.

"You!" He almost shouted,

"Cast a healing spell on my hand! On this liver! Hurry!"

The young priest trembled at his shout. His originally flushed face had turned pale, and his freckles had become more transparent, looking particularly pitiful. When he replied to Wu Zhou, his voice trembled, almost on the verge of tears,

"I, I really can't... I've used up all my healing spells..."

"Then what else do you have!"

"Only a bottle of minor healing potion..."

What the hell?

What is a minor healing potion?

This is not what I need at all!

Wu Zhou really wanted to vent a thousand complaints. If anyone else, even the hospital director or the head nurse of the operating room, had said this, he would have sprayed them against the wall.

Bro, I'm stitching a liver! Can you be a little more reliable!

Does this healing potion meet GMP certification? Does it have a drug approval number? Has it expired?

He wanted surgical instruments, sutures, and lidocaine anesthesia. At the very least, give him some iodine to disinfect!

In the emergency, and with the lack of supplies in the wilderness, he hadn't even washed his hands before reaching into the injured person's abdomen!

Why did he get a minor healing potion?

But a mysterious memory immediately flooded his mind. Several images flashed rapidly before his eyes: a small glass bottle in his hand, the light golden liquid inside, and the wound rapidly healing and disappearing...

Wu Zhou took a deep breath. He held the injured person's liver with his right hand, and extended his left hand, saying firmly,

"Give it to me!"

Perhaps it was his determined tone, or perhaps the others had run out of options. The young priest tentatively released the injured person's right arm, looked at the wound, and seeing that the bleeding had stopped, began to rummage through his pockets. A moment later, he handed over a small bottle of healing potion.

The bottle was only an inch and a half tall, as thick as a thumb, and the glass was crystal clear. While muttering, "Shouldn't this be in a brown glass bottle?" Wu Zhou bit off the cork, turned the bottle upside down, and poured the liquid directly onto the ruptured liver.

Then, a miraculous healing process unfolded again.

The ruptured liver began to gently move. Granulation tissue grew, the crack disappeared, and the peritoneum spread...

After one or two breaths, what lay in Wu Zhou's field of vision was a completely intact, undamaged liver.

Wu Zhou cautiously released his fingers. The blood vessels under his fingertips gently pulsed, and the liver's surface visibly turned from pale to rosy.

Great!

The blood vessels are well connected, and the blood flow is normal!

This liver is alive!

"Wow..."

A small exclamation sounded. Wu Zhou glanced up and saw the young priest stretching his neck, his eyes and mouth forming three perfect "O" shapes, staring at the liver in his hand in amazement:

"Can you save people like this?"

"No..."

Wu Zhou lazily retorted. Facing the young priest's half-disappointed, half-accusatory gaze, he explained calmly,

"Pouring a healing potion on a wound takes just a blink; judging where the bleeding is and knowing how to open the abdomen to expose the wound..."

With each word, the young priest's head drooped a little more, and his freckles darkened. Finally, in Wu Zhou's deliberately drawn-out tone, he dejectedly replied,

"I know, it takes ten years."

...Indeed, it takes ten years. Five or seven years of study, residency, and various internships and certifications. Wu Zhou stopped talking. He refocused on the injured person: the life was saved, and now it was time to deal with the intestines and other external injuries!

He turned to look at the healing potion in his hand. The small bottle was almost empty, with only a few drops, about a quarter of the original amount, left. The pale golden liquid flickered and expanded, as if breathing.

The effect was truly outstanding.

But relying on these few drops to heal all the other injuries was just a dream.

Time to deal with the intestines properly!

Wu Zhou gently withdrew his right hand from under the injured person's liver. He took two steps back, looked around, and began issuing a series of commands:

"Do you have soap?—What, only soap nuts? Never mind, give them to me, I'll go wash my hands!"

"Do you have boiled water?... Only this bag? Not enough! Go boil more!—By the way, put the needle and thread in to boil too!"

"Do you have strong alcohol?... You actually do? Great! Give it to me!"

The red-haired archer and the blond warrior, who had been busy boiling and fetching water, were hustled into a flurry of activity. The young priest's eyes darted around, curious, and asked,

"Why are you washing your hands again?"

"—That was emergency hemostasis, bro! Any slower, and the person would have died!"

In a life-or-death situation, there's no time for formalities—though if it were in a hospital, at least he would have grabbed some iodine. Now that the critical bleeding was stopped, it was time to deal with the intestines, and he couldn't proceed without properly washing his hands. As a surgeon, Wu Zhou's professionalism wouldn't allow it.

He washed his hands with the water in the wooden bucket brought by the red-haired archer, using soap nuts. While washing, he tried hard not to look at the stains on the side of the bucket. To call them "stains" was generous; the sides and rim were black, and it was unclear when it had last been washed—maybe never since it was made?

As for how dirty the water was compared to tap water and how many microorganisms it contained, Wu Zhou didn't dare to think about it.