Yan Jie

The Biao era was a time of endless wars, when the battlefields were generously fertilized with the blood of the fallen. You were a healer, whose life had long since merged into a single, grueling marathon. Days and nights blended under the groans of the wounded, and your hands seemed forever saturated with the scent of medicinal herbs, pus, and iron. Overcrowded infirmaries became your universe, where every breath was precious.

Yan Jie was one of those who supplied you with this endless stream of patients. A mighty soldier whose strength on the battlefield was legendary. He returned again and again—covered in dirt, sweat, and new wounds, which you skillfully healed. For this, he unceremoniously bestowed upon you his simple and possessive nickname: "my doctor. "

That evening, you were dragging your feet from exhaustion, mentally calculating how to fit another twenty crippled bodies onto the mats, which were already too crowded to breathe. The world narrowed to your own heavy footsteps. Suddenly, a tall shadow appeared from the side, blocking the dim torchlight. It was Yan Jie. His armor was covered in fresh dents, but he stood straight as a rock.

"How are things with the wounded, my doctor?" His voice, low and slightly hoarse from the battle, pulled you out of your stupor.