The first update

"Zola!"

Garion erupted into an angry roar, and his usually docile face suddenly turned pale. He said fiercely, "I told you to find a surgeon, not a veterinarian." ”

Zola's head was covered with sweat, and in the light of the candles, his full forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat, sticking to a few wet hairs. He said very aggrievedly, "But at this point, the only thing I can help you find is a veterinarian." Rest assured, Dr. Milar is the best doctor we have here, he can heal animals and heal people. ”

The gray-bearded Miral reminded him, "Be careful with your words, you're the best veterinarian." ”

The atmosphere in the room began to become silent and awkward, and Garion glanced at Zola, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his mind. There is no time now, and the man who lies on the table slowly will die.

"Well, there's no time, put on medical gloves, dear doctor, you should have ether with you, right?"

Garion had heard of the horrific surgical procedures of the 19th century, and many patients would rather die of their illness than try hellish and gruesome surgery.

In the eyes of ordinary people, doctors, especially those who are not skilled, are no different from the butchers of hell.

"Not much, but it should be enough, what injuries did he have?"

Garion replied in a whisper, "It's a gunshot wound." ”

Miral half-narrowed his eyes, glanced at the man with a painful face vigilantly, hesitated for a moment, and finally said slowly, "I'm only responsible for making extra money, and I don't want to know anything else." ”

Garion nodded and said, "Okay, let's get started." ”

The sharp scalpel, after being sterilized, glowed chillingly in the candlelight. Dr. Miral carefully grasped the hilt of the knife and slowly cut it towards the wound on his arm, and opened the wound, carefully searching for the warhead.

"He was lucky that the bullet didn't penetrate the artery."

After the hemostat clamped the blood vessels, the forceps carefully pulled the bullet out and dropped it on the table.

A shocking warhead, showing off its might in the midst of blood and moonlight.

The mind is not afraid of the dictator's bullet, but the flesh that bears the mind is afraid.

Fortunately, smokeless gunpowder was invented thirty years later, and the backward black powder did not cause much damage to the human body.

The doctor carefully sutured the wound, the threads running over the wound, and when everything was ready, the scissors slowly cut off the threads.

He finally breathed a deep sigh of relief, sweat had penetrated the tip of his nose.

The man on the operating table was paralyzed as mud and survived a dangerous operation in a coma.

He set the scalpel aside, walked to the sink, removed his gloves, and cleaned his hands of blood. Then he turned his head to Garion, who was standing behind him, and said, "The warhead is taken out, your friend is fine, I'll prescribe him a little painkiller, and after this week, he'll be basically fine." By the way, he probably doesn't need me to remove the stitches, right? ”

Hearing Dr. Miral's words, Garion finally breathed a sigh of relief.

The flickering flames reflected the pale cheeks of the doctor after the operation, and the shadow of a moth swayed like a black stain on the gray-white wall.

Miral looked at his hand and said with a wry smile, "I didn't expect that after so many years, I would still have the opportunity to operate on people." When I was young, I always thought that studying medicine could save the French people, but then I slowly discovered that medicine can only save people's bodies, not people's ignorant souls. ”

"Are you making excuses for your lack of medical expertise?"

The veterinarian glanced at him, smiled awkwardly, waved his hand, and said in a wrenched voice, "These are the ideals of youth." Twelve years ago, during the February Revolution, I braved the heavy rain and followed the Parisian people into the streets singing "La Marseillaise" to defend the victory of the Republican Revolution and drive out Louis Philippe and Guizot. But what about the final ending? Louis Bonaparte came to power, drove out the July Dynasty, and a new emperor came. I don't have the fighting spirit I used to have, and the thriving Second Empire is so good that it even feels like a republic is no longer needed. ”

"The prosperity of the empire? It's just fertile soil watered with the blood of the people at the bottom. ”

"There used to be some idealism," said Garion, "but now in France, I don't see glamorous high society, not aristocratic ministers who come and go in Fontainebleau and talk and laugh." ”

The seeds of class hatred have been planted and are slowly becoming quietly taking root.

I saw the narrow streets of Rue Saint-Anthony, the workers who went to work in the factories by stepping on the dirty water that overflowed the stinking gutters, the children living in the shantytowns covered in patches, the people who were forced to be evicted from their homes by the police in the middle of winter because Paris was rebuilding the city, and yet the whole of Paris was still immersed in the French dream of reviving the great ambition of the First Empire, and the shamelessness of imperialism was vividly expressed! ”

Garion looked at the scarlet on his hands and said slowly, "Studying medicine can't save the French, but revolution can." ”

Miral's hand to collect the scalpel was slightly stunned, he raised his head to look at the young man in front of him, just smiled and patted him on the shoulder, and left without saying a word after taking the payment.

Zola ducked to the side, witnessing the entire operation, and his eyes were full of surprise as he looked at Garion.

This peasant from another province is calm and outrageous.

It was as if he had long been accustomed to bloody scenes.

"Excuse me, Zola."

Garion picked up the middle-aged man and whispered, "What happened tonight has become a secret between you and me, don't let the landlady know." ”

Zoramune nodded, then opened the door for Garion without saying a word.

The doctor was gone, and the hallway was quiet, empty.

With that, Garion carried the middle-aged man out of Zola's room and into his bedroom, leaving only a table full of gauze and blood that had not had time to be washed, like water droplets, constantly seeping and condensing into a puddle of stains on the floor.

Tick, tick, tick.

Like a rotating copper-shelled pocket watch.

Garion suddenly covered his mouth and rushed to the sink.

……

The middle-aged man did not know how much time had passed in his coma, and he had countless nightmares, dreaming of his previously dead comrades, cold cells, and the sound of spears, accompanied by the hideous smiles of the great nobles and capitalists - suddenly woke up.

A ray of sunlight through the window screen jumped lightly on his eyelids. Dragged him back from his heavy nightmare.

He slowly opened his eyes and waited for a moment for the white light to slowly adjust to the light in the room.

The middle-aged man finds himself lying in a completely unfamiliar environment. He touched his arm, and the sudden stinging pain told himself that none of this was a dream.

He looked at the scars on his arms and recalled the dark night when he was hunted down, injured, and escaped death, and everything was real.

"Where is this ......?"

He slowly stood up, leaning against the wall and groping his way to the oak tabletop, trying to make out where he was through the window.

A pile of manuscripts on the table suddenly caught his eye.

The middle-aged man stretched out his hand to flip through it, and as soon as he saw the title "1984", an unfamiliar and unfriendly voice suddenly sounded behind him.

"Revolutionaries, you've finally woken up."

The middle-aged man turned his head and saw a young man who was a dozen years younger than himself standing behind him, still holding a plate of bread in both hands.

Garion stopped, stood in front of him, looked at him, and said calmly, "It took a lot of work to get your bullet out, but the money was not spent in vain. Now it's your turn to answer my questions. ”

Garion placed the plate on the table, then moved his chair and sat down in front of the stumbling middle-aged man, and asked rhetorically, "Who the hell are you?" ”