Chapter Eight: The Emerging Power of Medical Mastery

Everything that followed unfolded so naturally. After seeking permission from the prison guard, Zhong Shenxiu was led back to the infirmary by Dr. Jinsa, who pressed a piece of gauze tightly against his wound to stop the bleeding.

At such close range, Zhong Shenxiu could even catch the faint scent that lingered on Dr. Jinsa. She had long, golden hair, pale skin, and sharp features—a textbook example of Western beauty. Though not strikingly attractive, her figure was exquisitely proportioned. Even under the loose white coat, the perfect curves were subtly visible.

No wonder she was so popular among the inmates.

After sizing her up, Zhong Shenxiu couldn’t help but remark inwardly.

He then cast his gaze over the infirmary. The interior was even larger than he had expected, with all kinds of medical equipment neatly arranged. Every available bed was occupied by the wounded, and even the chairs were filled with patients awaiting treatment.

The young interns were busy performing the simplest tasks: stopping bleeding and disinfecting wounds.

In terms of numbers, the wounded here were but a fraction of those injured throughout the prison. There were simply too many casualties. Most inmates with minor injuries were left in their cells, given some disinfectant and bandages, expected to tend to themselves. Only those whose wounds worsened or who developed fevers from infection were sent here immediately.

The rest would have to wait their turn, and by then, many would likely have healed on their own...

There was no other way. The sheer volume of the injured was overwhelming, and this small infirmary could not possibly keep up.

That was precisely why Zhong Shenxiu had chosen to stage his little performance at the infirmary’s door. If he wanted to approach Dr. Jinsa at this moment, this was the only method. Unless he were to sever a leg and put himself in mortal danger—then perhaps he would be rushed here for emergency care.

But that would be genuinely risking his life, far too dangerous.

Zhong Shenxiu considered his plan at the door—a shallow cut to the radial artery branch—as a low-risk investment, yet one that could achieve his goal.

At least, he was now inside the infirmary, face to face with Dr. Jinsa.

That counted as success.

“Did you just cut yourself?” Dr. Jinsa asked quietly as she bandaged the pad of Zhong Shenxiu’s left thumb, leaning in closer.

Zhong Shenxiu’s expression remained unchanged. “How could that be? I have no tendency toward self-harm.”

“Is that so—” Dr. Jinsa’s emerald eyes swept over him, pausing for a brief moment on his refined, mixed-race features.

Then she explained seriously, “If your wound really dates back to the early hours of this morning, then about fifteen hours have passed. In that time, the tissue around the injury would inevitably swell.”

“But when I was bandaging you just now, I saw that the area around the wound was spotless—clean as if it had just been cut.”

Hearing this, Zhong Shenxiu’s opinion of Dr. Jinsa improved significantly. But he had anticipated this variable, and smoothly replied,

“You’re remarkable, Doctor, to have noticed that. In truth, I went to such lengths to reach the infirmary because I have something to ask of you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Dr. Jinsa stepped back and sat in her chair, crossing her legs. The silky black stockings flashed beneath her white coat.

She was actually very busy now.

But the request of this inmate, who had gone so far as to harm himself to see her, suddenly piqued her interest. And, besides, he was quite handsome...which was not insignificant.

“It’s like this—” Zhong Shenxiu put on an air of nostalgia, delivering the speech he had rehearsed many times in his mind:

“Since childhood, I’ve dreamed of becoming a doctor. But my grades were poor, and I never made it to medical school. I gave up, and eventually landed myself in prison.”

“I regret it bitterly. Seeing how busy the infirmary is, I imagine you’re short-staffed. Let me help out here, let me make a final contribution to the world.”

He knew these words wouldn’t be enough.

Negotiation, he understood, was like a game of cards; you probe with the small ones and wait for the right moment to play your trump.

You can’t throw your highest card at the start, or you’ll have little left to secure victory.

As expected, Dr. Jinsa refused, “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t allow an untrained outsider to treat patients.”

“I know how to bandage and heal. My grandfather was a doctor—I grew up studying medicine under him, and I have some experience.”

Zhong Shenxiu responded with feigned excitement to her refusal.

“Just because you say so doesn’t make it true. I’ve seen plenty like you recently—just trying to get close to Dr. Jinsa,” a young male intern interjected, mocking Zhong Shenxiu.

Being the only woman in the prison, Dr. Jinsa was the subject of endless schemes from the inmates, each conjuring elaborate excuses to approach her.

Clearly, Zhong Shenxiu’s excuse was nothing new.

But he maintained his fervor, patting his chest. “I’m telling the truth! You can test me as much as you like.”

This was his first burst.

With his expertise in medicine, he feared no test.

“Fine, then tell me the bones that make up the wrist joint,” the intern challenged, treating Zhong Shenxiu’s claim as a provocation.

“Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitate, and hamate,” Zhong Shenxiu rattled off without hesitation.

Both the intern and Dr. Jinsa’s expressions shifted slightly.

Perhaps Zhong Shenxiu really had studied medicine; such anatomical knowledge was rarely memorized outside the field.

“Name the common types of fractures,” the intern pressed on, clearly preparing for his certification and sticking to basic questions.

For Zhong Shenxiu, these were laughably simple. He answered without delay, “Transverse, oblique, spiral, impacted, comminuted, compression, stellate, and greenstick fractures.”

Every answer was spot on!

The young intern stared in disbelief, quickly following up, “Then the standard treatments for these fractures are...”

“That’s enough, Hal,” Dr. Jinsa interrupted, then walked over to a patient whose leg bore a bloody gash, addressing Zhong Shenxiu:

“Treat his wound.”

“Alright,” Zhong Shenxiu replied, stepping forward.

Hal protested, “Dr. Jinsa, how can you let a layman treat a patient?”

Truth be told, Dr. Jinsa herself was a bit bewildered by her own decision.

Those basic anatomy questions were but a drop in the ocean of medicine; anyone could learn them with some study, even without formal training.

But...the calm confidence Zhong Shenxiu had displayed intrigued her deeply.

She was very interested in this handsome prisoner...

When Dr. Jinsa didn’t reply, Hal was about to object further, but fell silent as Zhong Shenxiu began his procedure with deft hands.

He placed the bits of gravel aside, took up the scalpel and suture needle, and started treating the inmate’s bloody wound.

Disinfection, removal of necrotic tissue, stitching, and even the final butterfly knot on the bandage—all performed with flawless, fluid precision.

Despite his injured left hand.

Within minutes, Zhong Shenxiu had fully addressed the patient’s wound.

Such speed and skill—even Dr. Jinsa herself might not match it.

The interns and Dr. Jinsa were stunned. None of them had expected Zhong Shenxiu’s words to be true!

Turning to Dr. Jinsa, Zhong Shenxiu asked, “May I stay and help, Doctor?”

Dr. Jinsa hesitated, “I’ll need to report this to my superiors...”

But to Zhong Shenxiu, this was a clear sign:

There was hope!

His heart soared, and then—

He was ready to play his trump card.