Chapter Sixty-Five: Effusion

At this moment, Zhang Wuji was in even worse condition than before; his face had taken on a faint bluish hue, a sign of insufficient oxygen in his blood. As soon as Liu Ji entered the room, he quickened his pace.

The reed was hollow, but not quite sturdy enough. Yet there was no other option now, so he had to make do. Liu Ji selected the best stalk, burning it over the brazier in the room. This would not only sterilize it but also harden it somewhat.

“Dip it in water and wipe his chest,” he instructed.

Two soldiers held Zhang Wuji by the shoulders, while Old Kang personally stepped forward. With a piece of fine linen soaked in hot water, he scrubbed Zhang’s chest repeatedly.

“All right, lay him flat and hold his hands and feet.”

Once the reed stalk was sufficiently hardened, Liu Ji picked up his short knife and cut it at an angle, revealing a sharp tip. With his tools prepared, he approached Zhang Wuji’s chest, probing carefully, his fingers occasionally encountering a hard mass—his body’s natural defense. This muscle, tough as iron, would normally be the last barrier against injury, but at this moment it was an obstacle to treatment. He was searching for a channel through which to insert the reed into the chest cavity, needing to avoid muscle, sternum, and lung. Without instruments, he could only rely on experience—a gamble.

The front was all sternum, the sides much the same, but at the upper edge, near the scapula, there was a spot that gave slightly under pressure. Liu Ji pressed again and again, his brow furrowing deeply.

He’d read about emergency battlefield procedures to drain fluid from the chest, but had never performed them himself. He had no confidence that he would succeed, but there was no time for further hesitation.

Liu Ji took a deep breath, letting his fingers linger over the chosen spot. With his right hand, he gripped the hardened reed, clearing his mind of all distractions, focusing his will. Suddenly, he withdrew his fingers and, in a flash, drove the reed into the flesh.

A soft sound followed.

The soldiers holding Zhang, Old Kang among them, watched his every move. By the time they registered what had happened, only a short length of the reed remained visible outside—it had gone straight in!

The body beneath their hands barely moved before settling again.

Liu Ji focused completely, feeling for any response through his hand. It felt as if the reed had entered a bowl filled with thin porridge—a faint sense of resistance rippling away.

He had pierced skin, fat, and peritoneum, doing his best to avoid blood vessels, but the body’s inner workings were far too complex. Until the outcome revealed itself, how could he be certain all was well?

After gauging the position, he gently lifted his thumb from the opening at the end of the reed. A pale yellow fluid, tinged with blood, began to flow out.

“Bring a bowl.”

At his command, Old Kang released his grip, found a bowl in the room, scalded it with boiling water, wiped it with linen, and handed it over.

Liu Ji held the bowl at an angle, letting the fluid trickle in from the reed. The liquid shifted from pale yellow to milky white, from thin to thick. As he collected it, he pressed gently on the chest, watching Zhang Wuji’s response.

Zhang Wuji lay with eyes closed, his breathing erratic. His face had a waxen pallor that chilled anyone who looked upon it. In this state, Liu Ji couldn’t tell if he was growing better or worse; he could only comfort himself that, at the very least, there was change.

After a while, when the bowl was more than half full, the fluid thinned out again. Liu Ji stopped at once, set the bowl aside, and swiftly withdrew the reed.

The wound was small and soon stopped oozing. Liu Ji examined it carefully, then, exhausted, gestured with his hand.

“Pull the sleds in from outside and rotate the men for rest.”

As for what to do next, he had no answer. Everything depended on Zhang Wuji’s own strength. In this era, survival often hinged on fate alone.

The night passed uneventfully. Zhang’s condition neither improved nor deteriorated. When Liu Ji stepped outside, the small village was filled with his men. Led by Old Kang and others, they all waited for news from within.

“He hasn’t woken yet. If you want to look in, don’t all crowd in at once,” Liu Ji said, leaving them with these words as he walked toward the village outskirts. At the entrance, he spotted Chen Jin.

“Any movement outside?” he asked.

Chen Jin shook his head. “No one’s escaped, and no one’s headed this way.”

It was all so strange, eerily so. Liu Ji gazed in the direction of the rattan bridge, silent. The village was over fifty li from there. If the people there noticed that no villagers were coming to the military camp, would they become suspicious? Should he press forward at once? Yet with the enemy’s strength unknown, how great were the risks?

These were Tibetans, not undisciplined snow-wolves.

“Should I lead some men ahead to scout?” Chen Jin suggested.

It had to be admitted—an old soldier like Chen Jin was perceptive, immediately grasping Liu Ji’s worry.

“This can’t last,” Liu Ji replied. “We can’t stay here. We must think of a plan. Tell me, if the men in the village knew their families were in our hands, would they still serve the Tibetans so loyally?”

Chen Jin hesitated. “If my family were captured, I don’t think I could.”

He didn’t say what he couldn’t do, but Liu Ji understood. It was a low tactic, but effective. Clearly, Chen Jin had no qualms about how the enemy’s families might be treated. Soldiers passing through could be as ruthless as bandits—what could bandits not do?

“Should we send a message?” Chen Jin asked, catching on.

It was the best solution for now. With hostages, Liu Ji believed the Tibetans wouldn’t turn on them immediately. At worst, they might flee to the ice fields, but in such an environment, no matter how many people they had, what use would it be? Moreover, if they could lure the Tibetans away from the bridge, the Tang army’s objective would be met.

“Send that girl from yesterday. You follow her with a team, in secret.”

So be it, Liu Ji decided in a heartbeat.

Chen Jin understood the gravity of the situation. He showed no excitement, merely nodded and left. With the plan set, preparations had to begin at once. Liu Ji turned to return to the village and gather his men. Just then, a figure came running toward him, shouting loudly.

“Commander! Bad news, Deputy Zhang—he’s not going to make it!”

Old Kang’s words made Liu Ji’s expression darken. Was fate truly so merciless, giving them no chance at all?