Chapter 682: 672 Not Fighting Alone

In the cramped space, air circulation was poor, making it somewhat stuffy.

Zheng Ren's every move was steady; the patient was semi-conscious, so no communication was needed—just the appropriate anti-shock treatment would suffice.

Prepare the sterile pack and interventional supplies.

The staff preparing supplies at the rear likely didn't know what Zheng Ren needed, and couldn't ask, so they brought him a variety of tubes and medicines.

Zheng Ren selected the supplies he would use and brought them over; after getting ready, he suddenly felt the floor shake a little.

No choice—Zheng Ren smiled faintly and began a simple, rough disinfection of the cramped space.

He opened the outer layer of the sterile pack, Zheng Ren didn't scrub his hands, and directly put on sterile gloves.

In such a rudimentary environment, with no conditions, he could only strive to maintain aseptic technique.

The floor shook more and more violently; Zheng Ren seemed to hear a subterranean howl coming from beneath his feet.

He had no thought of fleeing at all. In this situation, minor tremors don't require running, and major ones can't be outrun.

Everything, leave it to fate.

Race against time to finish the surgery and stop the relentless bleeding—that's what matters. The patient's retroperitoneal pressure is extremely high, small vessels keep oozing blood, and there's currently no condition for transfusion.

Perform interventional hemostasis, then transfer this severely wounded soldier to Rongcheng as soon as possible—whether to Huaxi or the Provincial Hospital, as long as it can be properly treated, everything will… Zheng Ren couldn't say whether it's in time or not; for now, what he's doing is merely gambling on a hope.

Like a speck of light appearing on a dark horizon, it signifies hope.

Local disinfection, lay sterile drapes, puncture.

Suddenly, Zheng Ren swayed a bit.

The subterranean howl from beneath the floor grew louder; obviously those outside also sensed it, Su Yun and Zhao Yunlong began shouting loudly outside, urging Zheng Ren to come out first.

Zheng Ren ignored them, holding an emergency flashlight in his mouth, and continued the operation by its light.

The aftershock's intensity could only be rated as moderate, not comparable to the previous one.

The floor shook more and more, yet Zheng Ren's hand remained extremely steady, without a tremor.

In less than thirty seconds, the microguidewire reached its position.

He turned on the gastrointestinal machine; a very blurry image appeared before his eyes. Zheng Ren's posture was odd—head slightly lowered so the light from the flashlight in his mouth wouldn't fall on the machine's screen. Yet he strained his eyes upward, trying to see the blurry image.

Performing surgery alone, how lonely.

Performing surgery alone in a quake zone, especially lonely.

Performing surgery alone in a collapsed building in the quake zone, loneliness to the bone.

One person, braving aftershocks, flashlight in mouth, operating in a place that has already collapsed… and will soon collapse further, burying oneself inside—this is no longer mere loneliness.

This is a race against the god of death.

Outside, a figure lay down, trying to crawl in, but others grabbed him and dragged him away from the most dangerous spot, lest the perilous building collapse outright and bury everyone outside within a certain radius.

Zhao Yunlong is reliable; Zheng Ren narrowed his eyes, staring at the image, carefully distinguishing the various branches of the internal iliac artery while thinking to himself.

What the hell is Su Yun doing coming in? If the building collapses, will he die together with me?

Nonsense.

Better to survive, or better yet, have one more person live. All this melodrama, Zheng Ren doesn't like such a plot.

In the blurry image, Zheng Ren relied on feeling to distinguish arterial branches. This is inherently an extremely difficult surgery; even if an interventional physician manages it, it usually takes at least three to five hours.

But in Zheng Ren's hands, even using only the gastrointestinal machine, the surgery becomes extremely simple.

It seems no different from the dual C-arm machine in Hai Cheng's emergency operating room; equipment worth hundreds of thousands and tens of millions have the same effect.

The microguidewire went all the way down—super-selective, drug injection, embolization, angiography—all done in one smooth flow.

The floor undulated, the subterranean howl incessant, as if countless evil spirits and ghost soldiers were threatening and intimidating Zheng Ren.

Yet none of this made his hand tremble, as if he were on the hybrid operating table in Hai Cheng's emergency room, with Chu Yanran and Chu Yan zhi outside, watching the monitor's numbers.

Xie Yiren sat in a corner waiting, either ready to rush in for rescue at any moment, or, if the surgery succeeded, to come in and tidy up.

Such a life, thinking about it now, really is wonderful.

Zheng Ren tried to imagine this cramped space as his most familiar hybrid operating table; he wasn't alone—if he spoke, countless people outside would surely rush in.

Hmm, yes, not fighting alone.

This isn't self-consolation; if needed, even if it's more dangerous, a single shout will surely bring many unfamiliar Liberation Army soldiers rushing in, even if this place collapses the next second.

Not lonely at all, not in the slightest.

Second, third…

In dire straits, Zheng Ren burst forth with unparalleled focus.

His surgical skill approached the heavens; he didn't notice that in the system space, that already luxuriant skill tree went wild, growing savagely, a lush green expanse.

He didn't notice the earthquake's undulations.

Unconsciously, Zheng Ren's movements and the floor's undulations coordinated, as if playing a beautiful melody, the sound vast, distant, solemn and magnificent.

Even Zheng Ren forgot the danger, immersed in a wonderful rhythm.

Striving against Heaven,

Striving against Earth,

Striving against injury and illness.

Battle,

Endless.

Unnoticed, the aftershocks faded; the subterranean howl from deep within the earth withdrew helplessly, as if that monster had grown tired, weary, and fallen asleep.

Zheng Ren still hadn't noticed any of this; he relaxed his whole body, sensed all movements, and by exerting force through his wrist and fingers, controlled the microguidewire to achieve his goal.

Six vascular branches in total, 25 minutes, all embolized.

When the final angiography showed no more large-scale leakage of contrast agent, Zheng Ren finally exhaled and withdrew the microguidewire.

The surgery completed, Zheng Ren also emerged from that mysterious state.

How strange...... Zheng Ren only realized then that, he seemed...... he seemed...... to have made progress again?

At the level of Gao Shaojie and Professor Rudolf Wagner, Progress is already difficult, let alone my own level.

But Zheng Ren indeed sensed Progress; he had no time to check the System Space, the Microguidewire was pulled out, and he didn't even have time to apply pressure to stop bleeding—after applying a pressure bandage, he shouted for someone to lift the patient out.

Two young Faction soldiers immediately rushed in, using their shoulders, heads, and any body part they could to hold up the stretcher, until the people outside pulled the makeshift stretcher out.

Zheng Ren made a gesture, indicating they should go out first, and he would follow.

But the young Faction soldiers didn't move; they both saluted simultaneously, forming a human bridge, indicating Zheng Ren should step up.

At the sight of the salute, Zheng Ren remained Calm, yet tears streamed down his face.