"He's still alive," Ancient Wen Heng crouched down and turned the man over, revealing a sturdy young man in his twenties.
His features were resolute, and he was quite well-kept, not at all like the dusty, grimy refugees.
Jin Qianqian pointed at his chest. "He's injured. I wonder if it hit anything vital."
It was right over his heart. One wrong move and it could be fatal.
Ancient Wen Heng turned to look at Jin Qianqian. "So, do we save him?"
If it were just another refugee on the side of the road, Ancient Wen Heng definitely wouldn't have asked such a foolish question.
Jin Qianqian didn't hesitate for long. A first-aid kit appeared before them. "But we're not doctors. The most we can do is clean his wound. Whether he lives or dies will be up to him."
Wasting no time, Ancient Wen Heng found the scissors and cut open the man's clothing.
