harleyscars Chapter 24 Old Zhong's Test
Chapter 24 Old Zhong's Test
Li Ranmo leaned against the headboard. The wound on his left arm had been re-bandaged; the bandage was clean, and the medication had been changed. The fever had subsided, and his mind was much clearer, but he still felt weak.
The man who changed his dressing was in his forties, wearing a faded gray cotton long gown, with a thin face and bright eyes. He didn't talk much, but his movements were steady and quick; he removed the old gauze, cleaned the wound, applied medicine, and bandaged it all in one smooth motion. Li Ranmo had seen many top surgeons in his previous life, and this man's technique clearly indicated he had received systematic training and was highly experienced.
"Old Zhong, Shen Qiushui called him." The man finished bandaging the wound and spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "She said your wound is infected, and you have a high fever and are delirious."
Li Ranmo looked at him and said, "Dr. Zhong, thank you for your help."
Old Zhong didn't respond to that. He was tidying up the used gauze and medicine bottles, but his eyes were on Li Ranmo: "Last night, you talked in your sleep. You mentioned a few words, 'blue stone bridge,' and 'three long and two short.'"
Li Ranmo's heart skipped a beat. This was the first half of an old-fashioned rendezvous code he had learned during his undercover training in his previous life. The second half was "flowing water without intention."
Old Zhong stared at him: "This code hasn't been used for three years. Those who know it are either old-timers among our own people, or... people on the cleanup list."
The air in the room seemed to suddenly become heavier.
Li Ranmo's face remained expressionless as he looked at Lao Zhong's hands. The fingers were long and slender, but there were thin calluses on the base of the thumb and the inside of the index finger. These weren't from rough work, but from long-term use of surgical instruments, especially needle holders and surgical scissors.
"Dr. Zhong has been a surgeon for many years, hasn't he?" Li Ranmo said slowly. "His debridement technique is a modified version of the German standard, but when ligating small blood vessels, he likes to use a reverse-handed suture wrapping. This is a habit brought on by a French professor at Shanghai Guangci Hospital, and it's not widely practiced. The sulfanilamide powder you just used is very pure and can't be found on the market at all. It's a special supply for the military, or... it can only be obtained through certain special channels."
Old Zhong narrowed his eyes.
Li Ranmo continued, "You have a very shallow old scar on your left little finger, which was cut by a scalpel and has healed. It's located on the side of the fingertip. This usually happens when an assistant accidentally touches it during deep chest or abdominal surgery when the field of vision is limited. You are a doctor who often performs surgery in rudimentary or even dangerous conditions. You're not a doctor who sits in a large hospital."
Old Zhong didn't say anything. He put the medicine bottle into an old leather suitcase and slammed it shut.
"Comrade Shen Qiushui trusts you." Old Zhong turned around and looked at Li Ranmo. "She called you 'the scalpel.' But the organization has its own discipline. Nanjing has been quite turbulent lately. Two of our drug supply lines have been shut down, and three liaison officers have gone missing. The higher-ups suspect there's a mole, or... someone's being watched without even realizing it."
He spoke calmly, but his meaning was clear. He suspected that Li Ranmo was the source of his "unease," or perhaps even a decoy.
"I am 'The Scalpel'," Li Ranmo admitted directly. "My mission is to investigate clues about Wang Qingnian's treason and germ warfare supplies. Now we have the materials, but we can't get out. Wang Qingnian has launched a city-wide manhunt, sealing off both land and water routes."
"Where is the stuff?" Old Zhong asked.
"It's hidden well with Shen Qiushui," Li Ranmo said. "Ten improved strains of typhoid bacillus, code B-7, and a receipt document signed and stamped by Wang Qingnian. Ironclad evidence."
Old Zhong remained silent for a few seconds.
"Having evidence but not being able to send it out is worthless," he said. "Wang Qingnian is like a mad dog now, going into any hole he sees. Don't even think about using conventional evacuation routes."
"You have a way?" Li Ranmo understood the meaning behind his words.
Old Zhong walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain to look outside, and then lowered it again.
"The organization has a line of communication in Nanjing." He turned around, lowering his voice even further. "It doesn't go through the docks, nor through land checkpoints. It goes through the 'sick' route."
Li Ranmo looked at him.
"Every so often, there would be some patients with severe infectious diseases who needed to be urgently transferred to isolation hospitals in the Shanghai International Settlement," Lao Zhong said. "The Department of Health had special permits, and the inspection teams generally didn't check them, nor did they dare to check them carefully. The transport was done in sealed ambulances, and the drivers and caregivers were all our people. This route has always been very safe."
Li Ranmo immediately understood. Using vehicles transporting infectious disease patients as cover was indeed an excellent method. No matter how ruthless Wang Qingnian's men were, they wouldn't dare to easily approach a vehicle that might be carrying cholera or typhoid patients.
"But this line can't be moved easily." Old Zhong changed the subject. "Every time we move it, the risk increases. And we can only send 'patients' and 'medical supplies.' You want to send those evidence bottles out? Fine, mix them in with the medical supplies. You want to send people out? Fine, pretend they're patients or caregivers. But—"
He paused, looking at Li Ranmo: "Activating this line requires approval from above. And I need to confirm two things. First, just how capable you are, Li Ranmo, and whether the organization is worth taking this risk for. Second, can you truly obey orders? We don't welcome 'lone wolves' who don't follow orders here."
Just then, the outer door made three soft knocks, two short and one long.
Old Zhong went to open the door. Shen Qiushui slipped in, her forehead covered in sweat, her face tense.
"Found it." She closed the door and said immediately, "We've pinpointed the location of Wang Qingnian's secret meeting with the Japanese. It's in the innermost private room on the second floor of the 'Yuebin Teahouse' in the south of the city, every Wednesday and Friday night at nine o'clock. The intelligence was spot on."
Li Ran asked silently, "Can we get closer?"
Shen Qiushui shook her head: "It's difficult. There have been quite a few unfamiliar faces on the streets in front of and behind the teahouse these past two days—cigarette vendors, shoe shiners—and their eyes don't look right. They must be plainclothes officers sent by Wang Qingnian. Even if we can sneak in and get more concrete evidence, or... take action, getting out will be difficult. That street is a maze of roads, but at several key intersections, there are people loitering day and night, making it impossible to leave."
Old Zhong interjected, "That's the reality. You know where he's doing bad things, but you can't get close enough to him. Even if you did, you couldn't escape. The whole city is under his watchful eye."
He looked at Li Ranmo: "So, that 'illness' route may be your only way out now, and your only chance to send the evidence out. But as I said, there are conditions for using this route."
Shen Qiushui looked at Li Ranmo with a questioning look in her eyes.
Li Ranmo didn't hesitate: "What are your conditions?"
"First, prove your surgical skills, now, immediately." Old Zhong pointed to the outer room. "Han Xiuyun brought in a brother this morning. He was shot in the leg while hiding from the inspection team; the bullet is lodged near his femur. He's lost a lot of blood and is semi-conscious. You see our conditions here. We don't have operating lights, we don't have a full set of instruments, and our only sterilization methods are boiled saline and high-proof liquor. Do you dare to perform this surgery? Can you save him?"
Li Ranmo threw back the covers and got out of bed. He stumbled as his feet touched the ground, and Shen Qiushui quickly steadied him.
"Where is he?" Li Ran asked silently, his voice steady.
A glint flashed in Lao Zhong's eyes: "Outside, on a makeshift bed."
"Get ready," Li Ranmo said. "Equipment, lighting, manpower. Qiushui, you help me."
Shen Qiushui nodded vigorously: "Okay."
The outer room was even darker than the bedroom, with only a single, dimly lit lamp hanging from the beam. Lying on the plank bed was a burly man, his face ashen, his trousers cut open, and strips of cloth haphazardly wrapped around his thighs, the seeping blood staining the cloth black.
Old Zhong had already brought over a small, boiled iron plate containing several simple scalpels, hemostats, and tweezers. Another basin contained boiled saline solution. There was also half a bottle of baijiu (Chinese liquor).
The conditions were extremely rudimentary.
Li Ranmo washed his hands and wiped them with white wine. He picked up a scalpel and tested the blade.
"Lights," he said.
Shen Qiushui immediately held up a kerosene lamp with a shade over the wound.
Li Ranmo bent down, his face still pale from illness, but his hand holding the knife was as steady as if it were made of iron. He cut open the skin and muscle around the wound with precision, avoiding major blood vessels and nerves.
Blood gushed out.
Old Zhong immediately pressed gauze around the wound, while Shen Qiushui helped by using pliers to open the incision.
The lights were dim, and visibility was poor. The bullet had penetrated very deep and was lodged in the bone.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Li Ranmo's forehead, but his breathing remained steady. He used the smallest tweezers to probe inside, relying on his sense of touch to search for the metallic object among the flesh and bone fragments.
Time passed second by second.
Old Zhong stared intently at Li Ranmo's hands. Under such harsh conditions, every movement of those hands was steady, effective, and without the slightest excess. This was not the level of a typical military medic, nor even that of a general surgical expert. It required extremely rich experience in battlefield first aid and extreme surgery.
Finally, the tweezers caught something.
Li Ranmo slowly and steadily lifted his wrist outwards.
A deformed bullet, along with bone fragments, was removed and fell into the iron plate with a clatter.
"We've found the bullet, Qiushui. Prepare to rinse and suture it." Li Ranmo's voice remained steady.
Shen Qiushui immediately handed over the salt water for rinsing and the needle and thread.
Cleaning, stopping the bleeding, suturing. Li Ranmo's movements were quick yet efficient, with each stitch spaced almost uniformly in both distance and depth. Finally, she tied a knot and cut the thread.
After doing all this, he straightened up, let out a long breath, and swayed slightly.
Shen Qiushui helped him up.
The man on the bed began to breathe more steadily. Although he was still not awake, the deathly gray on his face had faded considerably.
Old Zhong stared at the bullets in the iron tray, then at the neat stitches on the wounded man's leg on the bed, and remained silent for a long time.
After a while, he raised his head and looked at Li Ranmo with a completely different expression.
"I'm impressed," Old Zhong said. "With your skills, you can't find many like you, not just in Nanjing, but also in Shanghai and Beijing. You're a treasure, and a sharp knife."
He paused. "You've passed the first one. Now let's talk about the second one."
Li Ranmo wiped his sweat and said, "Go on."
"I can apply to activate that 'disease' route," Old Zhong said seriously. "We can arrange for you and Shen Qiushui to disguise yourselves as doctors and nurses escorting critically ill typhoid patients to Shanghai, smuggling evidence out with the medicine. At the same time, we can use this transfer to set a trap—during Wang Qingnian's secret meeting at the Yuebin Teahouse, we can create an 'emergency' that forces him to leave the teahouse, or even Nanjing. For example, his shady 'special goods' could 'run into trouble' again on the way, and the incident could become a big deal, involving his Japanese masters. This would force him to transfer or investigate in a panic, and you could take advantage of the chaos to escape from the teahouse, get directly into our ambulance, and leave the city."
Li Ranmo and Shen Qiushui exchanged a glance. The plan was risky, but it sounded feasible. A feint to the east while attacking the west, operating on two fronts.
"However," Old Zhong emphasized, "you must completely obey my arrangements from beginning to end for this plan. When to move, how to move, who to meet, what to say, even how to deal with checks along the way, everything must be done according to our plan. You cannot act on your own initiative, and you cannot change it at the last minute. This line is too important; there can be no mistakes."
He looked at Li Ranmo: "I know you're capable and resourceful. But this time, you either choose to trust the organization and obey orders, and we'll take a gamble together. Or you can think of another way to break through Wang Qingnian's inescapable trap."
The room fell silent.
The only sounds were the heavy breathing of the wounded and the occasional crackling of the kerosene lamp wick.
Li Ranmo looked into Lao Zhong's unquestionable eyes.
He knew this was more than just an invitation to collaborate.
This is a pledge of allegiance, and also a true test of belonging.
He handed over his life and the deadly evidence he carried in his arms in exchange for a ticket that might allow him to escape.
However, at the same time, he also relinquished control of his actions.