Chapter Four: Shedding the Golden Cocoon

Countless possibilities flashed through Zhou Yi’s mind, but there was no time to consider how to respond. Running away was out of the question. Forcing himself to remain calm, he turned around. The one who had tapped his shoulder was Alderson.

Zhou Yi adjusted his glasses with the back of his hand, feigning composure as he asked, “What is it?”

Alderson lowered the hand that had been clutching his forehead, revealing a wound. “Doctor, could you help me with this injury?”

Zhou Yi let out a silent sigh of relief, slipped on his gloves, and examined Alderson’s forehead. He frowned slightly. “The wound is deep and needs suturing. You should really go to the hospital to have it treated properly. It looks like a metal object caused it—you’ll need a tetanus shot.”

Alderson shook his head and gestured toward the dining hall. “I can’t leave right now. Just give me a quick stitch-up, and I’ll head to the hospital when things here settle down.”

Zhou Yi shrugged and didn’t argue. The less he spoke, the less likely he’d make a mistake. Even though he was trying to control his voice, there was no telling if he could keep it up for long. He needed to move the doctor whose identity he’d assumed as quickly as possible—the longer he stayed, the greater the risk.

He hurriedly tapped the paramedic at his side, took a patient chart, scribbled down some notes, and signed with a name in an indecipherable scrawl.

“This patient needs to be sent to St. Martin’s Hospital immediately—cervical spine injury, ruptured left eye.”

The paramedic hesitated. “Aren’t you coming with us, doctor?”

Zhou Yi pointed inside. “Too many casualties, not enough staff to spare. Quit wasting time—you’ll have to come back for another run. Speed and professionalism are what matter now. Saving lives is the priority.”

The paramedic didn’t argue further—the instructions were clear. He quickly closed the ambulance doors, and the siren wailed as the vehicle sped away.

Zhou Yi turned, opened the medical kit, and prepared the necessary instruments. He had Alderson sit in the passenger seat of a nearby car and began disinfecting the wound.

After administering a local anesthetic, he quickly stitched up the injury, applied a dressing, and tore off his gloves. “The wound is taken care of, but you must get a tetanus shot within twenty-four hours. Tetanus can be extremely dangerous if it sets in.”

Alderson hopped out of the car, checked his forehead in the ambulance’s side mirror, and offered Zhou Yi a small smile. “Thank you. Excellent work—it didn’t hurt a bit. Are you Asian?”

Zhou Yi nodded. “To be precise, I’m Korean. My mother’s from Korea.”

Alderson’s gaze dropped to Zhou Yi’s chest. With his badge missing and no hospital insignia on his clothing, Alderson’s expression turned slightly suspicious. “I didn’t catch your name. Which hospital are you from?”

Panic surged within Zhou Yi, but he acted as if he’d just remembered, patting his chest. “Oh, damn—when did my badge fall off? My name’s Owen Lee. I work in the emergency department at St. Martin’s Hospital. If you need that shot later, you can find me there.”

This was a question Zhou Yi had anticipated, so he answered without a flicker of unease. Owen Lee did indeed work at St. Martin’s emergency department and was of Korean descent; Zhou Yi had seen him at medical conferences, though they weren’t acquainted. As for appearance, it’s as difficult for Westerners to distinguish between Asians as it is vice versa—without distinctive features, one could only rely on skin and hair color. With a mask and glasses, Zhou Yi was hardly recognizable.

Seeing Zhou Yi respond so calmly, Alderson patted him on the shoulder. “Alright, thanks. I’ll come find you later!”

Zhou Yi merely nodded slightly without another word.

Just then, a prisoner was carried out, his body convulsing, blood frothing from his mouth with every spasm. Zhou Yi grabbed his stethoscope and rushed to the stretcher, flipping the man’s eyelids, shining a light into his eyes, and turning the man’s head to the side, his gaze falling to a gunshot wound in the left chest.

“Open pneumothorax—he doesn’t have much time. Get him onto the ambulance; he needs a sealed chest drain!”

The paramedic hesitated, panic flickering in his eyes. He glanced around; the remaining ambulances were old models, and none had the necessary equipment.

“But we don’t have the right supplies. These old ambulances are practically antiques—no sealed drainage bottles.”

The nearby prison guards tensed, and Alderson stepped closer. Seeing this, Zhou Yi quickly waved him off. Now was not the time to linger; the longer he stayed, the greater the risk.

“Get him on the ambulance. I’ll improvise a sealed drainage device. Move, move, move!”

His crisp, commanding tone was both brusque and reassuring—the hallmark of an emergency physician. The urgency snapped the paramedic out of his daze, and he leapt into action.

With collective effort, they loaded the man onto the ambulance. Zhou Yi grabbed the paramedic’s hand, pressed gauze to the wound, and yelled to the prison guard at the back door, “Don’t just stand there—close the door! Where’s the driver? Get moving! Floor it, as fast as you can!”

He snatched a length of IV tubing, cut it, attached it to a saline bottle, and, using a syringe, pumped air in until liquid spurted from the tube, spraying out of the window. In moments, half the bottle was emptied.

Seeing Zhou Yi’s urgent actions, the guards hurried to help close the doors, and the ambulance roared away.

A prison guard, standing in the small square, picked up a medical kit and approached Alderson. “Warden, it looks like the doctor left this behind.”

Alderson glanced at the kit and nodded toward the entrance. “Put it in my car. I’ll return it to him later—I know which hospital he’s from.”

…

16:32

Inside the ambulance.

Zhou Yi braced himself with his feet, keeping his balance as he finished assembling a makeshift sealed drainage bottle—one end in the patient’s lung, the other submerged in the bottle beneath the stretcher. He’d applied a pressure dressing to the wound. The paramedic watched the heart monitor and blood pressure readings, finally relaxing a little.

“Good, his blood pressure’s stabilized. Is there anything else we can do?”

Zhou Yi shook his head. Even with all the emergency measures, he knew the man’s chances were slim.

“We’ve done all we can. Getting to the hospital for surgery is critical now. If you’re worried, now’s the time to pray.”

Watching the police car clearing a path ahead, Zhou Yi’s mind was in turmoil. Though there were no officers with them in the ambulance, security would be tight at the hospital. He just hoped nothing would go wrong en route.

As he was thinking, the paramedic leaned toward him. “Dr. Owen, which hospital are we headed to?”

Hearing the name he’d just used, Zhou Yi paused, his mind flashing to the real doctor he’d incapacitated, and replied instinctively, “Metropolis Medical College Affiliated Hospital. Their thoracic surgery department is more advanced—he’ll have a better chance there.”

The paramedic was surprised—he’d overheard Zhou Yi’s earlier conversation with Alderson and hadn’t expected him to choose a farther hospital over St. Martin’s. Still, Metropolis Medical College’s thoracic department was renowned; he quickly accepted the decision.

He patted the driver’s shoulder, relayed the destination, and the ambulance signaled for a turn. The lead police car, understanding their intention, veered off onto a side road.

…

17:40

Metropolis Prison, Block B.

The rescue continued. The first ambulances had begun returning. Some casualties remained from the dining hall, but none were in immediate danger, and all had been moved to the small square as the hall was cleaned.

Alderson hung up the phone, strode out to the square, spat on the ground, and glanced at the ominous sky. He pulled off his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. The anesthesia had worn off, and the pain grew sharper with the sweat.

He’d just reported in, only to be berated by Prison Management—a barrage of criticism. With several guards gravely injured and prisoners dead or hurt in large numbers, he bore heavy responsibility.

As he brooded, more doctors rushed over to check the lightly wounded—some received simple bandages, others were sent straight to ambulances. Alderson stepped aside to give them room.

Nearby, a paramedic shouted to the group, “Dr. Owen, we’re out of splints—will this do?”

A tall, thin, dark-haired doctor stood up and waved. “Bring it here—it’ll have to do!”

At that, Alderson froze. Wasn’t Dr. Owen the one who just treated his wound? Was this his second trip back already? But the voice sounded different.

Alderson strode over and grabbed the “Dr. Owen” by the shoulder. The man turned, looking at him in confusion.

“Sir, do you need help?”