Chapter Sixty: Rescue and Healing

Although the threat of the wolf pack was gone, their troubles had only just begun. Upon returning to the camp, Liu Ji and the others first had to confront the ever-present scourges of wounds, illness—and death.

“Commander, deputy, Old Wu… he’s not going to make it.”

As soon as they entered the camp, a Sogdian man known as Kang the Fourth, whose full name was Kang Huaishun, brought them dire news.

Zhang Wuji, hearing this, didn’t waste a word. He hurried to follow Kang, with Liu Ji trailing a step behind, handing his unfamiliar sword to a passing soldier. They soon arrived at a snow sledge.

Old Wu was a sturdy man from Hexi, about the same height as Zhang Wuji. During the previous battle, he had single-handedly held a passage, slaying more than a dozen snow wolves, but had been bitten in several places. The most fatal wound was on his chest—not a bite, but five sharp claw marks.

With just a glance, Liu Ji understood. Even if they had a helicopter to carry him to a hospital, Old Wu could not be saved. His chest was nearly torn to shreds, and the blood flowed uncontrollably.

“Old Zhang… my… boy…”

Perhaps clinging to his last breath, Old Wu managed, upon seeing Zhang Wuji, to utter a broken sentence and clutched his hand, staring fixedly into his eyes.

“They’re all in my care!” Zhang Wuji shouted, fearing Old Wu might not hear. The dying man’s eyes remained motionless, the light within slowly fading as life slipped away.

Zhang Wuji stared for a moment, then gently closed Old Wu’s eyelids and stood up, his face expressionless.

“What’s the toll?” he asked.

Kang the Fourth shook his head. “We lost four swordsmen, five spearmen, and one unlucky archer whose neck was bitten through by a wolf.”

He paused, then continued, “Only eleven made it through unscathed. Fourteen are lightly wounded and can still move; fifteen need bandaging, among them two with broken arms and one with a shattered leg.”

In other words, nearly four-fifths were casualties; a fifth were dead, and a quarter more had uncertain wounds.

Liu Ji’s spirits plummeted. The joy of victory vanished before the grim scene and the cries of the wounded. His face was shadowed with sorrow.

He found Zhang Wuji, Kang the Fourth, and the others looking to him. Steadying himself, Liu Ji spoke, his tone uncertain.

“We’ve only marched a day. If we turn back now, perhaps…”

Before he could finish, Zhang Wuji cut him off. “Kang, take some men and help.”

Once the others had dispersed, Zhang Wuji lowered his voice. “Anyone who follows you on this path knows there’s no safety. Whether you die by wolf, by cold, by hunger, or in battle—what’s the difference? If we turn back now, wouldn’t their deaths be for nothing?”

“But the wounded?” Liu Ji protested. He knew the logic, but couldn’t steel his heart. In the world he came from, the creed was to never abandon or give up a comrade. Many of the wounded might yet be saved.

“Let fate decide. The ones who are meant to die will die even if we send them back; those meant to live will survive. Do you know why Old Wu couldn’t close his eyes? He needed this battle’s merit, the reward to feed his family. Leading us to victory, to claim first honors, that’s what you should focus on.”

Liu Ji said no more, unwilling to argue further. In this, Zhang Wuji was not wrong—completing the mission was what mattered most.

“Put those who can’t move onto the sledges. If I’m right, there’s a cave ahead where we can rest for the night.”

“The rest of the able-bodied, go skin the wolves—take as many hides as we can. Tonight, those hides will be our warmth. Try to cut them whole. Take some meat too, especially leg meat.”

His plan relied on relative positioning; in his former world, even with advanced navigation, instruments often failed in harsh climates. Sometimes, old-fashioned methods were crucial. He used the distant peaks as reference, calculating the bearing to estimate their location. The error might be large, but in this era, half a day’s accuracy was a luxury.

Under his command, they unloaded nonessential supplies and placed the immobile soldiers onto the sledges, each drawn by an uninjured man. Liu Ji was no exception.

After marching for half an hour, they neared a mountain. Liu Ji set down his sledge and went ahead to scout. Confirming it was the ridge he sought, he found—just as he’d hoped—a natural cave at the mountain’s base, little different from those of his own time.

“Hurry, get them inside!”

He ran back to bring the remaining sledges to the cave. Once he’d checked inside for danger, they carried the wounded in, one by one.

“Kang, take someone and guard the entrance. If any wild beasts come, fire a signal arrow.” Once everyone was settled, Liu Ji strapped on the empty sledge and prepared to leave again. Kang caught him anxiously.

“Commander, where are you going?”

“To fetch the rest and bring Old Wu and the others here for burial. If left outside, the snow wolves will eat them.”

Kang released him, watching their figures fade into the distance. He slung his sword from his back and stood guard at the cave mouth, a silent sentinel.

Even in a foreign land, none wish to be denied a proper burial.

He waited until nightfall. Anxious, he fired several signal arrows, until at last a dark mass appeared on the horizon.

“Who goes there?” He knew beasts would not answer, but still called out.

“We’re back,” came Zhang Wuji’s reply.

The voice nearly brought tears to the tall man’s eyes.

Twenty-five sledges, each piled high with wolf pelts and meat, even the iron cauldrons brimming with wolf blood, and of course, the ten fallen brothers.

Zhang Wuji took men to dig graves, while the rest gathered firewood from the mountain. The cave was large enough to hold dozens of people and sledges without feeling crowded.

Leaving his men to their tasks, Liu Ji went to check each of the gravely wounded himself. The results weighed heavily on his heart. Though not a doctor, every soldier on the battlefield knew something of trauma care. Infection had already set in among more than ten men. Without antibiotics, their fate was in the hands of the gods. The wound powder they carried, in Liu Ji’s eyes, was little more than a simple blood-stopper.

“Don’t move. This will hurt. Endure it, and you might live,” Liu Ji said, stuffing a wad of cloth into the patient’s mouth as he prepared to act himself.

He had no choice—he couldn’t just watch them die. Taking out a short knife, just as he had at the inn days ago, Liu Ji planned to use heat sterilization to try to save a few.

He had anticipated such a day before setting out. He’d brought plenty of needles and thread. Throwing the needles into boiling water, he held the knife over the fire. He began with a swordsman whose wounds on back and leg were deep enough to expose bone.

“Aaah!”

The wound, already numbed, screamed anew as the hot knife cut in. The injured man howled like a pig to slaughter, and Zhang Wuji, holding him down, frowned.

“Chen Jin, you fool, you didn’t cry fighting wolves or getting wounded, but a little hot knife and you wail like your mother just died. Who are you crying for?”

“My mother is long dead,” Chen Jin muttered through the cloth, but made no further sound.

Liu Ji ignored their banter. Sweat beaded on his forehead, as though he himself were being cut and sewn. By the time he finished with Chen Jin, the man was lying exhausted on the mat, only able to groan.

“Don’t sleep yet. Give him a bowl of the boiled meat broth and some blood clots to eat. If he sweats and has no fever by morning, he’ll live.”

Without another word, Liu Ji moved to the next. By the time he’d finished treating all the seriously wounded, night was deep. Yet he couldn’t rest—he had to wake the lightly wounded too.

“Wolf fangs are poisonous and may be fatal. Bear with it, do as I did just now—pair up and stitch each other’s wounds. Heat the knives over the fire, don’t fear the pain. Even if you’re not poisoned, the wounds will heal faster.”

His words were law, and for their own good. The lightly wounded obeyed without complaint, treating each other’s wounds under his guidance. The method was simple; soon, all a dozen or so were sewn up. Liu Ji was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Go rest, I napped earlier. I’ll take the night watch,” Zhang Wuji said.

Hearing this, Liu Ji grunted contentedly and stumbled into a corner, wrapping himself in a heap of wolf pelts.