A biting wind whipped up sand and gravel, lashing against the cold iron armor with a hissing sound that pierced the teeth. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder. A skirmish had just ended, and the armored cavalry were clearing the battlefield.

Eleven-year-old Lu Xiao, clad in specially made, slightly undersized black armor, his still-childish face smeared with blood and dust, showed no sign of panic. His warhorse puffed out thick white smoke, its forelegs pawing the ground restlessly. Just moments before, a ferocious group of Di Rong cavalry had attempted a flank attack on the supply train, but Lu Xiao, leading a squad of elite scouts, had spotted them in time and relentlessly pursued them.

The long spear in his hand was still dripping with blood, and the gaping wound between his thumb and forefinger was cracked, oozing a trickle of bright red blood. The Di Rong centurion's last stand was exceptionally fierce. Although Lu Xiao killed him with his agility beyond his years and the martial arts he had honed since childhood, his left arm was still slashed open by the opponent's curved blade, leaving a deep gash that exposed the bone, and blood soaked through the cotton lining under his arm armor.

"Xiao'er!" A cry rang out, choked with sobs. Luo Qingrou, dressed in a gray military doctor's robe and her face covered in dust and sweat, stumbled over. When she saw the gruesome wound on her son's arm, her face turned as white as the snow on the ground, and her fingers trembled.

"Mother, don't panic, it's just a superficial wound." Lu Xiao's voice was unexpectedly calm, even carrying a hint of hoarseness that a young man would deliberately suppress, as he tried to reassure his mother. He nimbly dismounted, the movement aggravating his wound, but his brows only furrowed slightly.

Luo Qingrou forced herself to calm down; her years as a military doctor allowed her to quickly get into the zone. She deftly opened her medical kit, taking out strong liquor, wound medicine, and clean strips of cloth. "Bear with it!" she said, her voice strained. As she rinsed the wound with the liquor, seeing her son's tightly pursed lips and the fine beads of sweat on his forehead, yet he remained silent, her heart ached as if it were being stabbed.

"That barbarian Di Rong was really strong; he almost threw me off my horse." To distract his mother, Lu Xiao spoke up, his tone even carrying a hint of youthful boasting. "But his spear technique was too crude; I saw through his weakness. The 'returning thrust' that Father taught me is really useful!"

Luo Qingrou quickly and precisely sprinkled the medicinal powder, then tightly bandaged the wound with a strip of cloth, her movements gentle yet firm. She looked up at her son's bright eyes, filled with post-battle excitement and a hint of lingering fear, her heart churning with mixed emotions. This child was so much like his father in his youth; his innate bravery and composure seemed to be innate. After bandaging him, she gently patted his uninjured right shoulder, her voice choked with emotion: "Good lad! Even more... even more reckless than your father was back then!" She ultimately didn't utter the word "reckless," her eyes filled with tears, brimming with pride and worry.

In the distance, Marquis Lu Chenzhou of Zhenbei was directing the regrouping of his troops. His gaze swept over this area, and seeing that his son was unharmed, his tense jaw relaxed slightly.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in the Imperial Academy in the capital, Lu Xiao's twin brother, Lu Qi, was studying the war situation in the northern frontier on a sand table. His brow was furrowed, and his fingertip traced a pass as he muttered to himself, "The Di Rong's raid this time is intended to test the strength of our supply lines, a feint... The danger my brother encountered is probably not accidental..." He was a strategist, meticulous in his thinking, already planning for his father and brother far away.

The medicinal herb garden at Prince Jing's residence has grown several times larger than it did a few years ago, practically becoming An'an's "little kingdom." Various rare medicinal herbs, sourced from Jiangnan and even from the northern frontier and southern border regions, have found a home here.

An'an, dressed in neat men's clothing—her usual attire for practicing medicine outside the manor—was squatting in front of a plant with thick leaves. She carefully cut off a small piece with a silver knife, sniffed it lightly, and then ground it finely in a stone mortar with a small jade pestle. Several thick, worn medical books were spread out beside her, one of which was prominently titled "Essentials of Wound Healing" and "Strategies for Emergency Rescue in Military Formations."

"Young Miss, Old Man Zhang from the west of the city is much better after using your newly prescribed 'Lung-Nourishing Powder'! His grandson specially brought a basket of eggs to thank you!" A clever servant ran up to report.

An'an didn't even look up, focusing intently on the changing colors of the medicinal powder in the stone mortar, only giving a faint "hmm". Her delicate brows were slightly furrowed, not because of the eggs, but because of a copy of the official gazette that had been sent from the northern frontier, which briefly recorded the casualty figures of several border conflicts.

Shen Yuewei and Xiao Chengjing walked over side by side. When they saw their daughter fiddling with those wound medicines that smelled "bloody," and dressed in men's clothing, Xiao Chengjing frowned first. Shen Yuewei gently pressed her husband's hand, signaling him to calm down.

"An'an," Shen Yuewei called softly, "Are you researching external injury medicine again? The hemostatic powder you improved last time was said to be very effective by the guards in the manor."

An'an then looked up and saw her parents. A smile appeared on her face, but a lingering worry remained in her eyes. "Mother, Father, the hemostatic powder is effective, but... it's not enough." She stood up, picked up the copy of the official gazette, and pointed to the numbers on it. "You see, in a small-scale conflict, dozens were injured, and seven or eight died due to insufficient treatment or infection. This is just the reported number; in reality... it may be more." Her voice was clear and melodious, yet carried a heavy weight.

Xiao Chengjing's mind was on high alert. He said in a deep voice, "The battlefield is dangerous; swords have no eyes, and death and injury are inevitable. Your improvement of the prescription and your treatment of the people of Jiangnan is already a great deed. The Northern Frontier has its own military medical department..."

“But the military medical department is short-staffed! And even more so, lacking in good medicine!” An’an interrupted her father, her tone unusually urgent and insistent. Her clear eyes looked directly at Xiao Chengjing. “Father, I have consulted countless books and inquired with veterans who have retired from the northern frontier. Many wounded soldiers shouldn’t have died! They died from excessive blood loss, from festering and suppurating wounds! My medical skills are adequate for treating common ailments in Jiangnan. But if I could apply what I’ve learned to the frontier, to those soldiers who fight and bleed to protect their country, saving one person would be saving the pillar of a family, protecting the peace of the region! This is the true path of a ‘great physician’ in my heart!”

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