"Quickly, save them!"

Gu Zhixing urged.

The doctor sighed and instructed the apprentice, "Go prepare some hemostatic powder and brew a bowl of ginseng soup to keep her alive."

Gu Zhixing knelt by the bed, watching the doctor clean and bandage Shen Jintang's wounds. Every minute and every second felt like being cut by a dull knife.

Her bleeding stopped, but she remained unconscious. The old doctor said that whether she would live or die depended on fate.

"What do you mean?" Gu Zhixing pressed.

"The bleeding has been stopped temporarily, but the head injury..." the old doctor shook his head, "It's hard to say, it could be fatal."

Gu Zhixing's heart sank, and he grabbed the old doctor's wrist: "What do you mean 'it's hard to say'?! You must cure her!"

The old doctor winced as he was pinched, wincing as he shook him off. "Why are you being so fierce! Her injury needs the best medicine to heal it, which my little clinic doesn't have at all! And even if it did, you couldn't afford it!"

Gu Zhixing's chest heaved violently, his fingernails digging deeply into his palms.

He knew the old doctor was right—he was penniless and didn't even have a decent set of clothes. Even if he tried to rob someone, he might not be able to bring the medicine back alive.

Gu Zhixing's chest heaved violently, his nails digging deep into his palms. He stared intently at the old doctor's wrinkled face, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

The old doctor felt uneasy under his gaze and subconsciously took two steps back towards the medicine cabinet.

"You...you mustn't do anything rash!" The old doctor's voice trembled, his fingers stealthily reaching for the brass bell under the counter. "This girl's wound is in a vital spot; even if you kill me..."

Before he could finish speaking, Gu Zhixing suddenly raised his hand.

The old doctor was startled, but then saw him simply wipe his face vigorously.

The fierce look in those bloodshot eyes gradually faded, replaced by something deeper and more profound.

The old doctor was stunned.

He saw the young man's hands trembling—not from fear, but from some kind of exhaustion pushed to the limit.

Gu Zhixing looked down at the unconscious Shen Jintang. Her pale face still had traces of river water on it, and her eyelashes cast dappled shadows under the oil lamp.

"I..." Gu Zhixing began, his voice hoarse.

He suddenly remembered Shen Jintang clinging to him tightly when they fell off the cliff, and the strands of her hair scattered in the rushing water. Now her life was in the hands of this old man, while he was now stranded in this small town, penniless, powerless, and with nothing. He couldn't learn to be a scholar or poet, nor could he be a shrewd and decisive official. All he had was his strength to do manual labor.

The old doctor noticed his knees trembling slightly, as if bearing an invisible weight. The next second, this young man, who had just looked so fierce, knelt down straight. The bluestone floor echoed with a dull thud.

"Please," Gu Zhixing said, his forehead pressed against the cold floor tiles, his voice muffled, "save her."

After a moment of silence, he suddenly knelt down with a thud.

"Doctor, I beg you." His voice was hoarse as he slammed his forehead against the ground. "Save her first. I'll figure out how to pay... I'll do anything for you, as long as you save her."

The old doctor was stunned.

He had lived most of his life and had seen people act tough and people beg, but he had never seen someone who was fierce and threatening to kill one moment and then immediately kneeling down and kowtowing the next.

He stared at Gu Zhixing for a long time, then suddenly noticed his injuries—the arrow wound on his shoulder was white from being soaked in water, and there was a hideous knife wound on his waist and abdomen. The scabs had softened from being soaked in water and started to bleed again.

"You're about to die yourself, why are you still worried about others?" the old doctor frowned.

Gu Zhixing didn't even look up: "It doesn't matter whether I live or die, but she can't die."

The old doctor was silent for a while, then finally sighed: "Alright, I'll stabilize her injuries first, but you'll have to figure out the medicine yourself."

He paused, then added, "Also, from today onwards, you will work for me to pay off your debt—carrying water, chopping wood, grinding medicine, you can't do any of it less."

Gu Zhixing kowtowed deeply: "Thank you."

The old doctor waved his hand and turned to prepare the medicine.

Gu Zhixing knelt on the ground and only slowly straightened up after hearing Shen Jintang's faint breathing gradually become steady.

He turned to look out the window—it was already dark, and the distant sound of the night watchman's clapper could be faintly heard.

Nothing else matters, as long as Shen Jintang can survive!

In the blink of an eye, half a month has passed.

For the past two weeks, his life has been very monotonous. Apart from working like a walking corpse, he has only a faint hope that Shen Jintang will wake up.

However, the doctor also said that Shen Jintang was hit on the back of the head by a heavy object, and it was very likely that she would never wake up again. He advised Gu Zhixing to make plans as soon as possible, since the daily cost of medicine was not a small amount.

He didn't believe it, and he was determined not to give up.

The next day, just as dawn was breaking, Gu Zhixing was awakened by the medicine boy poking him with a broom handle.

"Get up! The water vat is almost empty, why aren't you going to fetch some water?" The young apprentice stood with his hands on his hips, arrogantly kicking the straw mat he was curled up in.

Gu Zhixing opened his eyes, the wound on his shoulder burning with pain.

He silently got up, picked up the bucket, and walked outside.

The well water was icy cold in the early morning. He had to draw more than a dozen buckets to fill the clinic's large water vat, and his palms were rubbed raw and bloody by the hemp rope.

Just as he put down the bucket, the old doctor's apprentice threw him an axe: "We're running out of firewood, go chop some in the backyard."

Gu Zhixing wiped his sweat and walked silently to the backyard.

As the axe rose and fell, the knife wound on his waist and abdomen reopened, and blood seeped out, staining his coarse cloth clothes red.

But he seemed oblivious to the pain, continuing to chop away, ignoring the wood chips that flew onto his face.

The people at the clinic were initially wary of him—after all, he had been able to crack the examination table with one hand that day, and his eyes were so fierce they could eat people alive.

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