Chapter Seventy-Eight: Healing the Wounds

Sorry, the internet at home was down yesterday, so I couldn't update in time. Today I'll make it up with at least four chapters.

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Faced with a whole box of medicine and medical equipment, the woman looked at Zhang Wenhao in utter astonishment for a long while. She had no idea how he had managed to get his hands on all this, nor did she know what he intended to do with it. Was she supposed to use these things to save herself, or was he going to do it for her?

To begin with, her knowledge of first aid was limited to basic survival—how to stop bleeding after being shot or stabbed, how to maintain breathing and composure, how to inject herself with the right dose of morphine. But as for real treatment, she was clueless.

She had undergone highly specialized and systematic training, yet only grasped the rudiments of emergency care. The young man before her, up until an hour ago, had been just a high school student riding his bike home with a backpack slung over his shoulders. Yet in that single hour, he had already astonished her time and again.

While she was still full of doubt, Zhang Wenhao spoke. As he took out the tools he needed, he asked without looking up, “You still haven't told me your name. Tonight, you jumped onto my bike and dragged me into this mess. It seems only fair for you to at least reveal your name, don’t you think?”

A soft, almost imperceptible laugh escaped the woman’s nostrils as she replied coolly, “Qian Ning.”

Zhang Wenhao smiled. “I saw a lot of different IDs in that hidden compartment. I’m not sure what you actually do, but I’d guess you have quite a few names and identities.”

She nodded. “My real name is Qian Ning, but this name has never been used publicly in the country. Even if you searched every Qian Ning nationwide, you wouldn’t find me.”

Zhang Wenhao shrugged. “Alright, I’ll choose to believe you for now.”

Then Zhang Wenhao looked up at her, his expression serious. “I need to cut your pants open above the wound. Is that alright with you?”

Qian Ning looked at him in surprise. “You mean, you’re going to take out the bullet for me?”

He nodded. “I’m going to clean your wound, remove the bullet, suture it, and dress it. Then I’ll help you onto the bed and put you on antibiotics.”

Qian Ning stared at him in shock, motionless for a moment before she finally nodded. “Please, find me something to bite on.”

“No need,” Zhang Wenhao replied calmly. “Before I remove the bullet, I’ll use acupuncture to anesthetize you. Your left leg will be numb for a while.”

Qian Ning was even more incredulous. “Seriously? You know acupuncture? Did you study medicine?”

“I did,” he replied casually. “But here’s the thing—your wound is very close to the top of your thigh. I’ll have to cut your pants open completely, and in the process, I’m bound to touch your body. You should be mentally prepared.”

Qian Ning glanced down at her wound, feeling her face flush with heat.

The wound was less than five centimeters below her groin. The belt Zhang Wenhao had tied above the wound was already pressing near her most private area. With the wound so high up, and since he said he would tear open her pants below the wound, what was left on her left leg wouldn’t even cover as much as a pair of shorts. And he would be doing it all by hand.

After a moment, Qian Ning nodded softly, as if steeling herself. “Do as you must.”

Zhang Wenhao gave her a gentle smile, picked up a pair of scissors with his right hand, placed his left under her knee, and bent her leg slightly. He then cut a circle around her thigh and pulled the severed pant leg up above her knee.

Her cheeks burned crimson as her thigh was now between his hands. She found this intimacy with a man extremely awkward; it was the first time in her life she had ever been in such close contact with one.

Next, Zhang Wenhao took out a box of silver needles, selected one of appropriate length, wiped it with an alcohol swab, and said, “I’ll start the acupuncture now. The first few needles will sting a little—bear with it and try not to move.”

Nervous, Qian Ning stared at the slender, gleaming needle in his hand, took a deep breath, and gritted her teeth. “Go ahead.”

The first needle went into the inner side of her thigh, near the groin. When Zhang Wenhao swabbed her inner thigh with alcohol, his hand came uncomfortably close to her body, right where her tights hugged her curves. The inner thigh was already a sensitive spot, and with a man repeatedly swabbing it with volatile alcohol, she felt an unfamiliar tingling sensation that made her body weak and numb.

Qian Ning was both embarrassed and flustered, aware that her body was reacting in ways it shouldn’t. She tried desperately to keep still, her brows furrowed in concentration. The needle was so close to her most private area that she was terrified he might touch her there by accident. If he did, she couldn’t say for sure whether she would slap him or not.

“I’m inserting the needle now,” Zhang Wenhao said quietly. At once, Qian Ning felt a sharp prick on her skin, followed by a wave of intense numbness spreading through her nerves.

Zhang Wenhao twisted the needle, as was required for proper anesthesia. The silver needle twirled between his fingers, sinking deeper with each rotation. This was the only way to achieve the desired effect.

But he was working near the main nerve path of the thigh, and the sensation was indescribable—intense numbness, mixed with an inexplicable pleasure. With every twist of the needle, she nearly moaned aloud.

“All done.” With the first needle in, Zhang Wenhao paused. “There will be four needles in total. The numbness will get lighter with each one. By the fourth, you shouldn’t feel anything at all.”

“Really?” Qian Ning was still reeling from the strange sensation, which left her limp and breathless, like a drug that numbed her to her very core.

But Zhang Wenhao was true to his word. As he inserted each needle, by the time the fourth was in, the entire leg was almost completely numb. If she didn’t focus, she could hardly tell she still had a left leg.

When he finished, Zhang Wenhao lightly tapped her inner thigh. “Any feeling?”

Blushing furiously, Qian Ning shook her head.

Relieved, Zhang Wenhao picked up a surgical scissor, disinfected it with alcohol, and explained, “I’ll cut an eight-millimeter cross in four directions at the wound to remove the necrotic tissue around it.”

Now that her left leg had lost all sensation, Qian Ning no longer doubted him. Only morphine or pethidine could have produced this effect, but this man had done it effortlessly with four needles. She had never even heard of such acupuncture skills.

Zhang Wenhao carefully cut a cross around the bullet hole, removing nearly all the torn flesh. If the necrotic tissue wasn’t removed, it would rot and fester inside, making the wound impossible to heal and leading to infection. He was exceptionally meticulous.

When he had cleaned off the outer necrotic tissue, Zhang Wenhao took out his phone, switched on the flashlight, and handed it to Qian Ning. “Hold the light on the wound so I can see inside.”

Qian Ning did as she was told. Under the bright light, Zhang Wenhao removed the last shreds of damaged tissue, then grabbed a pair of forceps and disinfected them. “I’ll take out the bullet now. Though your leg is anesthetized and your brain can’t feel pain, your nerves are still working, just not connected to your brain. So, when I touch the nerves, they’ll react instinctively—”

Qian Ning looked at him in bewilderment, but before he could finish, Zhang Wenhao moved to sit on her knee. He explained, “This is to prevent any knee-jerk reflexes; otherwise, if you jerk and tear the wound, it could get much worse.”

She had at least heard of the knee-jerk reflex, so she nodded quietly, not daring to speak.

Zhang Wenhao carefully extracted the bullet with the forceps. The bullet had struck the bone but, fortunately, had lost almost all its force by then, so her bone was spared any real damage.

With the bullet out, Zhang Wenhao let out a breath of relief. He thoroughly cleansed the wound with antiseptic, removed all the debris with the forceps, and by the time he finished, his forehead was beaded with sweat.

Next, he took out a suture kit and began to stitch the wound, comforting Qian Ning as he worked. “I’m very good at suturing. And since this is absorbable material, even if there’s a scar, it’ll be a neat, faint one—at most, you’ll just have to avoid wearing short skirts or shorts for a while.”

His well-meaning reassurance made Qian Ning’s heart flutter with embarrassment—a sensation she could hardly accept. Her training had always focused on eradicating every emotional weakness except for coldness. She hadn’t felt shy since she was twelve years old. But only now did she realize that such human emotions had never truly been erased, merely hidden away all this time.