Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL]

Withering Hyssop - II

The hideout was everything Lǐ Xīnyuàn dreaded and abhorred with passion. An unsanitary, abandoned building, dust and dirt decorating its every nook and corner.

Lǐ Xīnyuàn sneezed the moment he stepped into that place, forcefully lead through the cemented, dusty stairs leading up the incomplete building. As he observed the place, he couldn't help but shiver in disgust, roaming his eyes all over the place.

“Are you sure your leader is even alive in these... conditions?“ He inquired politely, only to feel a harsh tug at his bound wrists and a gun digging against his back. “Rude.“

The stand-in leader glared at him, warning harshly. “You are lucky that you're one of the world's top surgrons and that we need you, Dr. Lǐ. Or else...“ he sneered threateningly.

Lǐ Xīnyuàn quickly bowed his head, making a face in secret as he let them drag him around, feeling the ropes rub against his skin.

“Careful with my hands,” he muttered. The stand-in leader gave him a look.

They stopped, feet halting as Lǐ Xīnyuàn raised his head, looking curiously at the closed door.

Could it be where the injured leader was? His previous question still stood. Was that man even alive?

Lǐ Xīnyuàn blinked, trying to push away the blur in his field of vision. Damn it, he should have at least had that chocolate bar.

“Is this it?“ He asked, as the man holding his shackles pushed open the door and rudely pushed him inside. “Be careful.“ He winced, his wrists feeling raw.

A moment later, the surgeon finally became aware of his surroundings, unlike the desolate conditions of the building, this room itself looked more like an operation theatre than a terrorist hideout.

With his hands finally out of bounds, Lǐ Xīnyuàn walked closer to the lone operating table in the room where he saw the leader lying unconscious, looking ghastly pale.

The surgeon pursed his lips and turned to the stand-in leader, inquiring once more. “He's actually salvageable, right?“ Slowly, he checked the man's vitals, they were highly unstable. “At this point, a surgery is very risky,” he commented, washing and sanitizing his hands with the terrorist's help.

“And I must remind you of the state of my clothes,” he added, looking down at his clothes. “Not that you have scrubs but still...“ he shut up when the man harshly pulled the surgical gown on his head and then a tieback cap to cover his hair.

The man then helped him put on a surgical mask and latex gloves. In apparent frustration, he sanitized Lǐ Xīnyuàn's gloves, grumbling something about, 'Bastdard with long hair, fuckin' disgusting...'

Lǐ Xīnyuàn made a face under the mask, only to freeze the moment he examined his patient.

Stiffly, he demanded. “Why wasn't I informed that this man had sharpnels stuck so close to his heart??“ He turned to the stand-in leader. “Not even the heart! What is he, Tony fucking Starke?“

The terroist flinched, keeping his eyes on the scalpel in Lǐ Xīnyuàn's hand as the surgeon started doing his job in utter silence, feeling light-headed and weak as he tried to concentrate.

Truth be told, Lǐ Xīnyuàn had no desire to aid these people. But then, his Hippocratic oath stood in the way.

However, that's fine, Lǐ Xīnyuàn consoled himself as his hands moved with practiced, deadly precision, sweat forming on his brows as he frowned hard, to extricate a small bit of the shrapnel. I can always kill him and say it was inevitable.

Suddenly, his hand shook, shrapnel he pulled out using the forceps trembled. Lǐ Xīnyuàn's eyes widened as his vision blurred.

The first sign of his weak state.