Wounded

The battle in the mountain stronghold did not last long.

The bandits of Black Wind Stronghold numbered only about a hundred, and their rampage was made possible by their terrain and the rolling stones.

Once their most relied-upon method of rolling stones was broken and the gates were breached, the resistance quickly crumbled in the face of the regular army's onslaught. Most of the bandits knelt and begged for mercy, while the few who stubbornly resisted were killed on the spot.

Zhou Heng sat slumped on the rocky slope for an unknown amount of time until Wang Laowu came over and kicked his foot.

"Get up, Brother Zhou. All done."

Zhou Heng raised his head blankly, his ears still ringing, mixed with the gradually subsiding shouts of battle and the groans of the wounded.

He leaned on the stone, his legs went weak, and stood up, following Wang Laowu toward the mountain village.

Scattered on the open ground were corpses and wounded soldiers, mostly from the Ding-character battalion, but also some from the Xuan-character battalion.

The stench of blood was overwhelming. Several medical officers and auxiliary soldiers were hurriedly moving among them, carrying out the initial treatment—or rather, screening.

Those with severe injuries are often only glanced at, sighed, and then moved on to the next one.

Zhou Heng looked at a young soldier whose abdomen had been slashed open. The soldier's eyes were still open, and he tried in vain to cover the wound with his hands, with dark red blood and other substances constantly oozing from between his fingers.

A medical officer walked over, touched the side of his neck, shook his head, and whispered something to the auxiliary soldier next to him. The auxiliary soldier then dragged down the still convulsing body.

Zhou Heng felt a churning in his stomach and suddenly bent over to dry heave, but only managed to vomit a little bit of acidic fluid.

"It's always like this the first time." Old Wang patted his back, his tone eerily calm. "You'll get used to it after a while."

Zhang Tiezhu and Li Gou'er followed.

Zhang Tiezhu had a cut on his arm, grazed by a stray arrow, leaving a shallow wound. He was hastily covering it with a dirty cloth, the fabric already soaked with blood.

Li Gou'er was unharmed, but his face was as white as paper, and he was a little unsteady on his feet.

"Brother Zhang, you..." Zhou Heng saw Zhang Tiezhu's injury and subconsciously reached for the clean strip of cloth in his arms.

"It's just a minor injury, I won't die." Zhang Tiezhu grinned, though the smile was a little stiff. "Brother Zhou, it's all thanks to your idea. I saw the rock stop rolling down and that's when the brothers from the Xuanzi Battalion rushed forward."

Zhou Heng shook his head, unsure what to say. He was simply afraid of dying, afraid that the stones would fall on him.

They followed the crowd through the village gate.

The place was a mess; some of the wooden huts were still burning, and the ground was littered with debris, weapons, and bloodstains. The prisoners were gathered and held in an open area, their faces ashen. Soldiers were searching for the remaining items and taking stock of the spoils.

Zhao Heita was reporting something to Captain Sun when he saw Zhou Heng and the others enter. His gaze lingered on Zhou Heng for a moment, but he didn't say anything before turning away.

The mission was accomplished, but the atmosphere was far from relaxed. The casualty count quickly came out: eleven men were killed in action, seven were seriously wounded and incapacitated, and more than twenty were slightly wounded.

The Xuanzi Battalion suffered fewer casualties, but still a few. For a bandit stronghold of about a hundred men, this was no small loss.

After a short rest, Captain Sun ordered his men to take the prisoners and spoils, along with the wounded soldiers, and descend the mountain immediately. No one wanted to linger in this bloody place.

The descent was more difficult than the ascent, burdened by the added number of wounded and spoils. The lightly wounded helped each other, while the seriously wounded were carried on makeshift stretchers, groaning all the way.

Zhou Heng silently followed in the group, his mind still somewhat blank. The life-or-death struggle and chaos he had just experienced seemed detached from reality, as if separated by a veil.

Only the lingering smell of blood and the painful cries of the wounded reminded him of what had just happened.

Zhang Tiezhu's arm wound healed somewhat after being simply bandaged, but blood loss and exhaustion made his steps unsteady. Zhou Heng walked beside him, occasionally helping him up.

"Thanks, Brother Zhou," Zhang Tiezhu said in a hoarse voice.

Zhou Heng shook his head, his gaze falling on Zhang Tiezhu's bandage, which was a mess of blood and dust. His brows furrowed involuntarily. That dirty cloth... it definitely wasn't clean.

But he didn't say anything. He didn't know where he had lost his own strip of cloth when he was hiding from arrows on the rocky slope.

The team slowly made its way to a slightly calmer stream halfway up the mountain. Captain Sun ordered a short rest to fetch water and treat the wounded.

The exhausted soldiers sat scattered on the rocks by the stream, many having taken off their shoes and socks, their feet covered in blisters and bloodstains. The medic and a few veterans with some bandaging knowledge began to re-treat the more seriously wounded soldiers.

Zhou Heng also walked to the stream, wanting to wash his face. The stream water was clear and icy cold; he scooped up some water and splashed it on his face, feeling slightly refreshed.

Looking down, I saw that there was a cut on the outside of my left calf, on the coarse cloth trouser leg, with dark bloodstains around the edge.

He carefully rolled up his trouser leg. A not-very-long but quite deep cut was exposed, the skin turned outwards, and the edges were covered with dirt and grass clippings.

It was probably from being cut by sharp rocks while rolling and crawling on the rocky slope. I wasn't even aware of the pain because I was under a lot of tension, but now that I've relaxed, I feel a burning, stinging pain.

He frowned, enduring the pain, and carefully rinsed his wound with the stream water. The icy water stung him, making him grimace, but at least it washed away some of the obvious dirt.

After rinsing, the wound looked clearer and was still slowly bleeding.

What should he use to wrap himself? He looked at himself; his clothes were already filthy. The clean strip of cloth he had been carrying was gone.

Just as I was in a dilemma, a hoarse voice came from the side: "Use this."

Zhou Heng looked up and saw Wang Laowu. He handed him a relatively clean strip of cloth. Although it was also gray, it had obviously been washed and was much cleaner than what Zhou Heng was wearing.

"Brother Wang, this..."

"You threw away those fancy strips of cloth you had on you, didn't you?" Old Wang sat down next to him and began checking himself for a few minor scrapes. "Use this for now. It's better than nothing."

Zhou Heng took the strip of cloth, feeling grateful: "Thank you, Brother Wang."

"No need to thank me." Wang Laowu watched as he continued to carefully wash the wound with stream water, then clumsily but meticulously wrapped and bandaged it with strips of cloth. Although his technique was awkward, he was exceptionally earnest, striving for a smooth and fitting bandage. "Where... did you learn this from? Do you have a doctor at home?"

Zhou Heng paused in bandaging his hands. "No... I just feel that it's more comfortable to be bandaged like this, and it helps heal faster." He didn't dare say he was afraid of getting infected.

Wang Laowu didn't ask any further questions, but just watched him try to keep the wound clean and bandaged even in this situation, a complex look flashing in his eyes.

Not far away, Zhang Tiezhu was grimacing as an old soldier re-bandaged his arm.

The old soldier took a dirty-looking strip of cloth that he had torn from somewhere and pressed it tightly against the not-yet-cleaned wound. Zhang Tiezhu groaned in pain, sweat beading on his forehead.

Zhou Heng's eyelids twitched as he looked at it, and he couldn't help but whisper to Wang Laowu, "Brother Zhang's wound...shouldn't it be washed again?"

Wang Laowu glanced at it: "There's not enough water, and there are too many people. The physicians are overwhelmed. It'll be good enough if they can stop the bleeding. Don't worry, Tiezhu is strong and can handle it."

Zhou Heng fell silent. He knew Wang Laowu was right; under these circumstances, survival was the priority, and nothing else mattered. But he still felt uneasy, extremely uneasy.

That instinctive aversion to "uncleanliness" and "irregularity" seems so out of place, even ridiculous, in this environment.