Chapter 60 — Why Aren't You Dead Yet?

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"Injured? How did you get hurt?" Wei Zhao asked.

"Back then, after we returned from North Africa, I received a new assignment - tracking an international drug kingpin. But I never expected that some of them were skilled fighters. I was injured by one of them..." At this point, Yang Huaijun gave a bitter smile. "I suppose I was lucky. When they saw me go down, they thought I was dead and stopped beating me. But Pangolin and the others..."

"Pangolin? What happened to him?" Wei Zhao's heart lurched, and he asked hastily.

"Pangolin... he sacrificed himself..." Yang Huaijun's voice was heavy and somber.

"What?" Wei Zhao's face went terrifyingly dark in an instant. Pangolin - that small, wiry young man, always wearing a brilliant smile... He never imagined that a comrade who had fought alongside him just two years ago would be gone like this.

Seeing Wei Zhao's expression, Yang Huaijun understood that feeling all too well. Pangolin had been Wei Zhao's comrade, yes - but he had been Yang Huaijun's comrade too. When Yang Huaijun had first received the news of Pangolin's death, he, a grown man, had wept uncontrollably.

"Perhaps... he didn't die after all," Yang Huaijun offered, anxious about Wei Zhao's grief.

"They never found the body?" A flicker of hope crossed Wei Zhao's eyes. Pangolin was a sharp and resourceful young man - perhaps, just perhaps, he had escaped.

"The drug lords threw the bodies into the drug refinement furnaces... I only learned of that afterward." Yang Huaijun sighed. "When I came to, the pain in my body was unbearable, and I had no thought for anything else. I found a concealed spot to hide in, and later lost consciousness entirely - until someone rescued me."

"Son of a bitch!" Wei Zhao slammed his fist down on the coffee table in front of him. The finely crafted solid-wood table instantly shattered into a pile of splinters.

Yang Huaijun clicked his tongue inwardly. As expected of Eagle - still that ferocious. He admitted he could never have done the same himself.

"I'm sorry. I was injured too severely at the time to go check on how the others were doing..." Whenever Yang Huaijun thought back to this, guilt flooded his heart.

"I don't blame you," Wei Zhao shook his head. In that situation, it was perfectly clear - if Yang Huaijun had charged in, he would only have been sending himself to his death. The only right move was to preserve his strength. "Your injuries were that serious?"

"My whole body was covered in wounds... It took over half a year to recover. Once I was better, I retired from active duty." Yang Huaijun sighed. "Western medicine calls it having lasting sequelae. Traditional Chinese medicine says every meridian in the body was severed. I can't allow myself to get emotionally agitated, I can't engage in sustained high-intensity work, and I have to take medication daily just to keep things under control."

Wei Zhao set aside the matter of Pangolin for the moment and began studying Yang Huaijun closely. "Give me your hand."

"What are you going to do?" Yang Huaijun asked, somewhat puzzled, but he extended his hand all the same.

"Taking your pulse," Wei Zhao said, settling his fingers on Yang Huaijun's wrist. His expression slowly grew grave.

"You know how to take a pulse? Come on, Eagle. I thought you were only deadly with a gun - you can heal people too?" Yang Huaijun stared at Wei Zhao in surprise - this comrade who had lived and died with him through hailstorms of bullets.

"There's a great deal about me you don't know yet," Wei Zhao smiled. "What, you don't believe me?"

"Don't believe you?" Yang Huaijun's eyes went wide. "If there's anyone in this world I trust, it's you. Back on the battlefield, I could hand you my back without a second thought."

"Don't be so sentimental." Though Wei Zhao's words were light, his heart was growing heavier by the moment. Yang Huaijun's pulse was wretched. He could feel it plainly - though the outer wounds had healed, the internal injuries were severe. Multiple organs had not fully recovered, and there were even signs of continuing decline.

"Well? My body's still in decent shape, right?" Yang Huaijun noticed that Wei Zhao was genuinely taking his pulse and asked curiously.

"You've been using nothing but painkillers to manage your problems?" Wei Zhao's reply had nothing to do with the question.

"Yes - is something wrong?" Yang Huaijun asked.

"Then why aren't you dead yet?" Wei Zhao frowned.

"..." Yang Huaijun was momentarily speechless. "What the hell, you're cursing me to die?"

"I'm not cursing you. The fact is, your condition is very bad. The injuries from last time never fully healed - they've been deteriorating ever since. I don't know how you've managed to hold on this long on painkillers, but ordinarily, another man would have died of the agony long ago." Wei Zhao's expression was grave. He was not trying to scare anyone; he was simply stating a fact. And with a man like Yang Huaijun, there was no need to deceive him. Men who had been to the battlefield had long since set life and death aside. Even if Wei Zhao told him he would die tomorrow, Yang Huaijun would hardly bat an eye.

"An old Chinese medicine doctor told me the same thing once - said I wouldn't last half a year. And look at me, alive and well, aren't I?" Sure enough, Yang Huaijun's mood was unshaken by Wei Zhao's words. He stretched his arms and legs with an easy air.

"He was right. Half a year was flattering you," Wei Zhao said with a nod.

"Hawk, can you not jinx me? Do I look like a dying man?" Yang Huaijun glared at Wei Zhao, somewhat displeased.

"My name is Wei Zhao. Stop calling me Hawk." Wei Zhao glanced at Yang Huaijun and went on: "So you see, surviving to this day is a miracle - probably thanks to your tenacious willpower."

"And what's wrong with that?" Yang Huaijun pressed.

"For now you can still use painkillers to ease your physical suffering, but in the future... it will only get worse," Wei Zhao said. "You may have noticed already - the frequency and dosage of your medication are both higher than before."

"You... you really do know medicine?" Wei Zhao had hit the mark on his condition, and Yang Huaijun could not help but be astonished.

"What do you think?" Wei Zhao released Yang Huaijun's hand; he had by now gained a rough understanding of the man's condition. Yang Huaijun's case was highly complex. As the saying goes, every medicine is three parts poison - every herb does more or less damage to the organs. That is to say, if Wei Zhao prescribed medicine to treat the heart, it might affect Yang Huaijun's spleen or liver; but if he treated the liver, it might affect the heart or kidneys. In short, no matter which part he treated, there would be side effects on the other organs. In that case, treatment would be worse than none at all - it would only hasten his death.

Seeing Wei Zhao sink into thought, Yang Huaijun could not help asking, "What's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

"Your condition." Wei Zhao sighed softly. "It's very complex. With conventional Chinese herbal therapy, any treatment will affect the other organs. It might be effective for one organ in isolation, but it would accelerate the failure of the others. Treat them all at once, and it amounts to no treatment at all - or death by poisoning outright."