The nurse glanced at the focused father-in-law but couldn't bring herself to ask for his help again, even when the life at stake was that of her own husband, the father-in-law's only son.
The injured was one of the doctors rushing to the front line, his abdomen slashed open by bomb fragments, with intestines spilling out. It seemed there were fragments still lodged inside. Without timely surgery, he would certainly die.
A doctor's benevolence, for Doctor Song, meant that every patient lying here was teetering on the line between life and death. At this moment, he was just a doctor, bound to fulfill his responsibilities as one. Only then was he a father.
The daughter-in-law was merely a nurse, unfamiliar with surgeries. Yet, right now, all the doctors were engaged in emergency treatment of the wounded, with many more still in line, while her husband could only lie on a stretcher outside the ward, waiting for an available doctor.
"Where is the injured? Let me have a look…"
