After Retreating, I Led the Medical Team Through the Deserter Mountain

When the putrid leeches penetrated the sweaty collar from the collar, and when Qin Siyu's trembling fingers drew a bloody mark on my palm, I knew that this green hell had swallowed our names. Savage Mountain is not a mountain, but a living stomach. It wraps its vines around your ankles, fills your lungs with miasma, and pries open the teeth of your sanity with hunger. A medical team of ten people was like ten drops of blood falling into a black pool, sinking silently. Zhang Tie's gun barrel was hot at night, the whites of Li Erniu's eyes were covered with cobweb-like bloodshot threads, and Sun Xiaomei curled up into a ball, like a moldy tree root. We once stitched up severed limbs in the trenches of Myitkyina, but now we have to fight over half a piece of moldy compressed biscuit with red eyes. Turning points always come like a poisonous snake spitting out a message - a soft sound, an inch of cold light. Sometimes it was Chen Mo who cut off a piece of purple flesh from the corpse, sometimes it was Zhou Ping who calmly broke open Zhao Xiaoyun's hand that was clutching the medicine bottle, and more often than not, it was Qin Siyu who leaned on my shoulder and whispered: "Lin He, hold on." Her voice was like a thin thread, tightening my throat when I was about to drown. But this line also cuts people, and the pain becomes deeper and deeper. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.