At this moment!
Zhao Feng glanced around, his expression changed slightly, a look of surprise appearing on his face.
"Hey, military doctor, you're not even tempering your blades in fire to disinfect them, or using strong alcohol?"
Zhao Feng saw the military doctor next to him preparing to cut open the flesh of an elite soldier impaled by an arrow to extract it, and immediately asked in surprise.
Just now, when he removed his own arrow, it didn't go too deep, so he hadn't needed to cut any flesh.
"What do you mean by tempering in fire to disinfect? What strong alcohol?"
The military doctor beside him heard Zhao Feng's words and looked astonished.
"Huh?"
Hearing this retort, Zhao Feng was left confused.
Such basic medical knowledge—even children in the later generations knew it.
And yet the military doctors of this era didn't?
"Strong alcohol is for drinking. If you get drunk, the pain isn't so bad."
"As for tempering in fire to disinfect, that is nonsense. What is your intent?"
"Just rest well now that you've had your wound treated." The military doctor spoke, apparently a bit annoyed at having his medical skill questioned by Zhao Feng.
"Mr. Zhao."
"This military doctor is famous in our army as a miracle healer. His name is Master Chen, and his medical skills are inherited from a great physician."
"It's because we have Doctor Chen stationed in the Lantian Camp's Wounded Soldier Camp that so many brothers escaped from the Ghost Gate."
The soldier sitting next to Zhao Feng said in a low voice.
Judging by his attire, he wasn't from the Logistics Army, but was a real elite soldier.
By now, word had spread throughout the camp—Zhao Feng had slain Bao Yuan, so naturally many elite soldiers knew about him.
"He can't even disinfect; this so-called miracle doctor doesn't live up to his name."
"Or maybe this era doesn't even know the concept of disinfection. No wonder so many in the camp get tetanus—without disinfecting, how could they not?" Zhao Feng thought to himself.
"Brother, what's the survival rate in the Wounded Soldier Camp?" Zhao Feng looked at the elite soldier beside him and asked.
"What do you mean by survival rate?" The elite soldier asked, confused.
"Uh…" Zhao Feng froze, realizing his question was a bit ahead of its time. After a moment's thought, he said, "I mean, out of ten people who enter the Wounded Soldier Camp, how many live?"
"That depends on Heaven's will. If they don't catch the seven-day wind, and aren't bleeding too much, their chances are good. But once someone gets the seven-day wind, they're doomed. And if their internal organs are injured and can't stop the bleeding, death is certain."
"Minor injuries don't count, but for serious wounds affecting the internal organs, if one out of ten survives, that's considered good. If miracle doctor Chen himself treats them, the chances of survival can go up by several percent." The elite soldier thought for a moment and replied.
"Brother, you really know a lot." Zhao Feng said.
"Sigh."
"I've been in the Wounded Soldier Camp a few times. Heaven protected me; Ghost Gate didn't claim me." The elite soldier sighed and gave a bitter smile.
"Are we just supposed to stand by and watch them die from the seven-day wind?"
Zhao Feng looked at the constant wails from the wounded soldiers in the camp, feeling a bit uneasy in his heart.
If he didn't know these things, maybe Zhao Feng wouldn't feel much psychological pressure. But he knew the consequences of failing to disinfect.
"Now, I serve as a Qin soldier, even if in the Logistics Army, I am still a soldier. If I just stand by and watch my brothers die, I can't do it."
Thinking this,
Zhao Feng made up his mind.
He slowly stood up from his couch.
And walked toward Doctor Chen, who was not far away.
"Doctor Chen."
"I know you are taught by the masters and your medical skill is exceptional."
"But since it concerns the lives of my fellow soldiers, I must offer a few suggestions." Zhao Feng said, face stern.
"Go ahead."
Master Chen paused what he was doing, looking at Zhao Feng with suspicion.
"First, the blade used to cut flesh must be disinfected by fire. This will burn away the filthy poison of the seven-day wind clinging to it. After treating one soldier, the blade must be cleaned and burned again before treating the next. That way, you prevent spreading the seven-day wind between soldiers."
"Second, rinse the wound with strong alcohol. It also removes the poison of the seven-day wind."
"If you follow this method, survival chances among soldiers in the camp could increase by at least thirty percent."
"Of course, the current strong alcohol isn't truly strong, but it'll do for now." Zhao Feng said, face grave.
Master Chen pondered for a moment, then stared at Zhao Feng: "You're skilled in medicine?"
"Not truly skilled, but my mother was a top physician. I was influenced as a child, so I know a bit about medicine." Zhao Feng replied.
"I've never heard of disinfecting blades with fire or rinsing wounds with strong alcohol. If I really try this method and something goes wrong, it won't just be my responsibility—you'll share it."
"Are you sure you want me to use this method?" Master Chen said solemnly.
Zhao Feng glanced at the moaning soldiers around, some barely clinging to life.
"If my method works, countless brothers can be saved. If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility." Zhao Feng replied, unwavering.
Seeing such resolve,
Master Chen's eyes flashed with a hint of admiration.
"Someone!"
"Prepare fire, prepare strong alcohol." Master Chen immediately ordered his men.
Before long,
A subordinate brought over a brazier, and strong alcohol was set aside.
"Tell me what to do—I will treat the wounded soldiers." Master Chen looked at Zhao Feng.
"Let me do it."
Zhao Feng directly took the small knife from Master Chen's hand.
He first held the knife over the fire, roasting it thoroughly. Once it was well-heated,
Zhao Feng walked over to a seriously wounded, unconscious soldier.
"Heaven help me."
With his basic medical training, extracting an arrow like this was easy, but it was Zhao Feng's first time doing it himself, so he was still a bit nervous.
After calming himself for a moment,
He looked at the arrow embedded deep in the flesh and made his move.
He poured strong alcohol over the wound, then sliced through the flesh with the knife, extracting the arrow. As the arrowhead came out, blood flowed endlessly.
"Needle and thread."
Zhao Feng called immediately.
"Needle and thread?" Master Chen asked, surprised.
"To stitch the wound!" Zhao Feng replied without turning his head.
But as soon as he finished speaking,
Zhao Feng suddenly turned around: "You don't stitch wounded soldiers' wounds?"
"After taking the arrowhead out, we just apply a hemostatic powder. What use is stitching?" Master Chen looked astonished.
"No wonder the survival rate's so low."
"Medical skills of this era are truly lacking."
"Right, it seems suturing surgery only appears in the Western Han. It doesn't exist in this era yet." Zhao Feng thought to himself for a moment.
Then, after fumbling in his pocket—really, from his panel's space—he took out needle and thread.
Under Master Chen's surprised gaze,
Zhao Feng stitched up the soldier's wound.
Once sutured, the blood flow nearly stopped. Zhao Feng immediately took the hemostatic powder from the side and applied it.
With Zhao Feng's first successful treatment,
The panel suddenly popped up: "You have treated one person, earned 1 Merit Point."
"Saving people earns Merit Points?"
Seeing this notification suddenly appear, Zhao Feng was somewhat stunned—he hadn't expected it.
"What use are these Merit Points?" Zhao Feng immediately tried to communicate.
...