Yan Ye tightly gripped the knife in his hand and lunged forward, fiercely slashing at the wrist of the man holding the gun.
The blade cut directly through his artery, and blood sprayed out in an instant.
"Ah!" The man cried out in pain, releasing his grip, and the handgun fell to the ground. As Yan Ye bent down to grab the gun, a loud bang erupted—the bullet pierced his right wrist.
"Ah!" Yan Ye screamed in pain, clutching his injured wrist tightly with his left hand to stem the flow of blood.
The gunshot stunned An Hao.
At that moment, the bullet had embedded itself in Yan Ye's right wrist—the very hand he used to wield a surgical scalpel. If the bullet merely injured his tendons and bones, it might be salvageable. But if it damaged his nerves, wouldn't Yan Ye's perfect hands be completely ruined?
A surgeon who can no longer hold a scalpel—how could he still be called a surgeon?
