Chapter Fifty-One: Hero

Inside the ambulance, Su Ruoan sat beside Zhang Wenhao. Since she had boarded just before him, his right side was pressed close to hers. She wanted to check the wound on his left arm, to see if it was still bleeding, but the angle made it impossible. With reddened eyes, she asked, “How is your arm? Does it hurt?”

“It would be a lie to say it doesn’t hurt.” Zhang Wenhao managed a faint smile. “There’s some bleeding, but my life isn’t in danger. The wound just needs to be stitched and disinfected. It’s not serious.”

Su Ruoan’s nose tingled and tears began to fall. Overcome with guilt, she said, “The bullet went right through you, and you say it’s nothing?” Then, still shaken, she scolded him, “You knew he had a gun, and he’d already shot two people, so why did you run over? The bullet hit your arm, but it was so close to your heart.”

Zhang Wenhao knew all too well the risk he had taken. The assailant had been aiming for his heart; only his anticipation had let him shift enough so the bullet struck his left arm instead.

Gently, Zhang Wenhao reached out and wiped away her tears, his hand lingering to softly caress her cheek. “If I hadn’t rushed over, what would have happened if he’d taken you away?”

“That doesn’t mean you had to take such a risk.” As Zhang Wenhao’s hand was about to leave her face, Su Ruoan suddenly grabbed it with both hands, turning it so his palm rested against her cheek. Her tears flowed freely as she choked out, “Zhang Wenhao, am I some kind of jinx? You’ve suffered so much for my sake, time and again.”

He smiled reassuringly. “Silly girl, why do you always blame yourself? What did I tell you last time? This kind of thinking will only wear you out.”

She shook her head in silence, but clung tightly to his hand, unwilling to let go for even a moment. In her heart, Zhang Wenhao had become her anchor, and she couldn’t bear to be parted from him.

The ambulance roared towards Ren’ai Hospital, the largest in the high-tech district, stopping directly at the emergency room entrance. The hospital’s top emergency doctors were already waiting. As soon as Chen Feng and Xiao Si were taken off the ambulance, they were rushed into the ER.

A doctor who had earlier exchanged some sharp words with Zhang Wenhao now removed his mask and approached, a little ashamed. “Young man, I misjudged you before. Without your efforts, that wounded man might not have survived.”

Zhang Wenhao shook his head lightly. “I was only doing what was right. He was injured because of us.”

The doctor glanced at Zhang Wenhao’s left arm, which was simply bandaged with torn clothing. “Come with me. I’ll clean your wound and stitch it up, so you don’t risk infection.”

Zhang Wenhao nodded and followed him into a consulting room, Su Ruoan still clutching his right hand as they entered together.

“A through-and-through!” the doctor exclaimed when he saw the wound. “I thought it was just a graze. It’s far worse! And still you managed to save someone—remarkable.”

Zhang Wenhao smiled faintly. “It’s not that serious. Just disinfect it and stitch me up.”

“You’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” the doctor said. “I’ll give you a tetanus shot and some antibiotics. As long as you don’t develop a fever or an infection in the next couple of days, you’ll be fine.”

Zhang Wenhao did not object. The doctor was right: while the wound itself wasn’t severe, infection could cause irreversible tissue damage, possibly even requiring amputation.

Meanwhile, in the ER, three doctors worked over Chen Feng, using hemostatic forceps to clamp his artery as they marveled at the emergency care he’d received. A sixty-year-old physician exclaimed, “Who performed this first aid? It’s textbook battlefield medicine—no equipment, just a pen, and they saved his life. Incredible!”

“Dr. Yan,” a doctor in his thirties said, “this patient is in critical condition. I’m not sure we can save him.”

“We can,” Dr. Yan replied without hesitation. “The main threat isn’t the lung but the severed artery. Without timely intervention, he’d have died in three minutes. Whoever performed the first aid stopped the blood loss in time—that’s the first point. Second, massive blood loss caused complications—hemothorax, increased thoracic pressure, compressed lungs, and respiratory distress. Add a lung injury and his life was hanging by a thread. He could have suffocated within two minutes, but the pen inserted between his ribs saved him.”

He sighed. “The first aid was timely and crucial. If I can’t save him now, I’d be letting down that exemplary emergency care.”

Another doctor asked, “Dr. Yan, you used to be a battlefield medic, didn’t you?”

Dr. Yan nodded. “From ’79 to ’84, I served on the southwestern front. But compared to whoever did this, I’m far behind. I’d like to meet this remarkable person.”

He sighed again. “Enough chatter. Xiao Wu, get ready to suture the artery.”

Within an hour, Zhang Wenhao’s wound was treated. Sixteen stitches closed the front and back of his left arm, and the bleeding was stopped. The doctor dressed the wound with sterile gauze. “A nurse will give you a tetanus shot and find you a bed for an IV drip. Rest well.”

Su Ruoan anxiously asked, “Doctor, will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor reassured her with a smile. “He brought someone back from the brink of death—this is nothing. Rest a few days and the wound will heal, though he’ll have a scar.”

Only then did Su Ruoan finally relax. After the tetanus shot, Zhang Wenhao lay on a hospital bed with an IV drip. The room had six beds, all occupied, and Su Ruoan pulled up a stool to sit by his side, quietly holding his right hand, as docile as a kitten.

“Ruoan,” Zhang Wenhao said, “could you get my phone? I can’t reach it with this IV.”

She quickly fetched it from his pocket. “Call my dad for me,” he added.

He had been out all day, and it was already past ten at night. If he didn’t call, his parents would worry.

Su Ruoan dialed his father’s number. When Zhang Xingping heard his son had been hurt, he and Song Huafang quickly took a cab to the hospital. The moment they arrived, they hurried to Zhang Wenhao’s bedside, faces tense with anxiety.

“Wenhao, what happened?” Zhang Xingping asked in shock. “I saw a lot of police outside. How did you hurt your arm?”

“A bullet wound,” Zhang Wenhao said. Seeing his parents’ stunned faces, he quickly reassured them, “Don’t worry, it went through cleanly, no damage to blood vessels or nerves.”

Terrified, Song Huafang asked, “Son, what happened? How were you shot? You’re going to scare us to death!”

Su Ruoan, silent until now, stood and bowed deeply to his parents, guilt-ridden. “Uncle, Auntie, I’m so sorry—it’s all my fault Zhang Wenhao was hurt.”

Zhang Wenhao briefly explained what had happened. His parents listened, hearts pounding, while the other patients and their families listened as if to a story, clicking their tongues in disbelief. Many found it hard to believe, more thrilling than a movie.

At that moment, three police officers entered. One spoke politely, “Are you Zhang Wenhao? We’ve received reports that it was you who subdued Li Chunyang and his accomplices tonight. We’d like to ask you a few questions and take a brief statement. Is this a good time?”

Zhang Wenhao retold the events. This time, those around him began to murmur in admiration. No one, not even his parents, had imagined that Zhang Wenhao could subdue eight fierce criminals alone—especially the infamous Li Chunyang.

The officers praised and thanked him. While the credit belonged to Zhang Wenhao, once it reached higher authorities, it would be shared by the entire district bureau, even the whole city and province. Capturing Li Chunyang and his gang was a major victory for law enforcement across the province.

One officer suddenly recalled something. “Mr. Zhang, we found five spent casings at the scene. You were shot once, and the other two wounded as well. One bullet struck the cement floor, but we haven’t found the last one. Do you know where it went?”

“Into the air,” Zhang Wenhao replied evenly. “I fired that shot to force the remaining three to surrender.”

The officer paused, then asked, “And the gun?”

“Here.” Zhang Wenhao, with his right hand still hooked to the IV, reached under his blanket and drew a warm handgun from his waistband.

A chorus of gasps came from the watching patients and their families.

The officer quickly took the gun, relieved to see the hammer was down. He removed the magazine and ejected the remaining round from the chamber. “Xiao Hu, take this to the provincial lab for ballistic testing. See if it matches the gun used by Li Chunyang in previous crimes!”

Xiao Hu took the weapon and magazine and hurried out.

Zhang Wenhao’s parents were even more astonished, especially Zhang Xingping, who sat at the bedside, asking for details. Not wanting to disturb the family, Su Ruoan quietly left the room and made a phone call.

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