Upon hearing the sound, Luo Qingrou immediately put down the medicine bowl in her hand and rushed to the innermost bunk. There she saw a burly soldier with his eyes rolled back, making a terrible "hoarse" sound from his throat. His face was bluish-purple, and his chest was heaving violently, but he couldn't take in much air. He was about to suffocate.

A scruffy old military doctor with hands covered in medicine stains was sweating profusely nearby, patting his back and pinching his philtrum, but to no avail: "Oh no! It sounds like laryngitis! This...this is a life-threatening emergency! Where are the needles? Quickly, get my needles!" He frantically searched for his needle pouch.

Luo Qingrou glanced at it, and her pupils constricted sharply! This was no ordinary throat wind! She had seen it described in ancient books in her father's study—it was a sign of impending death when the airway was blocked by a foreign object! Without a second thought, and disregarding the taboos between men and women or the risk of revealing her identity, she lunged behind the soldier, her arms passing under his armpits, her fingers interlaced, and with a sharp, precise pull, she tightened her grip on the area below his scalpel, using all her strength to pull upwards!

"Ugh—whoosh!" A chilling sound of vomiting rang out! A thick, sticky phlegm mixed with blood and undigested food residue was suddenly sprayed from the soldier's mouth!

"Hoh—hoh—" The soldier, like a dying fish returning to water, gasped for breath greedily. His purplish-blue face quickly faded, and his eyes gradually regained focus.

The entire medical tent fell silent instantly. Everyone stared in disbelief at the scene that had unfolded in the blink of an eye, watching the thin "Luo Qing" release her grip, letting the soldier collapse and gasp for breath, while she herself breathed slightly, raising her hand to wipe the splattered dirt from her forehead with her sleeve, her movements carrying an unusual calmness.