"Thank God, it seems the Goddess of Fate has not only not abandoned me, but even wants to buy me a drink."
Alice and the curly-haired uncle, Banner, were running back, panting, tightly clutching the sewing kit and razor blade they had painstakingly found, when they suddenly heard the long-faced man in the suit ahead let out an exclamation full of surprise, one that could even be called somewhat exaggerated.
The two stopped in their tracks and saw that Mr. Strange, who claimed to be a neurosurgeon, was standing on the messy sandy ground, holding a silver rectangular object in his hand, examining it repeatedly against the sunlight, with a smile on his face like a child receiving a Christmas present.
It was an iPod Classic.
In this plane crash site filled with corpses and wails of misery, the music player he held looked so out of place.
Strange shook the trophy in his hand at the two, his eyes, which had originally been full of criticism from surveying the crude environment, were now sparkling: "Look at this, a classic iPod, and a pair of Sennheiser in-ear headphones that look like they have good sound quality. The most amazing thing is, not only are they not broken, but they still have half their battery."
"Is that all you found?"
Alice's mouth twitched slightly, feeling a bit confused.
Could it be that this great Doctor had been rummaging around over there for half a day, not looking for hemostats or bandages, but for electronic products?
"Not only that."
Strange elegantly straightened out the headphone cord, as professionally as if he were fiddling with a stethoscope, and then squinted his eyes, saying with a look of intoxication.
"I just browsed the playlist, and it's full of 70s funk and jazz that I love listening to. Earth, Wind & Fire, Chuck Mangione, my God, this is simply fate; today is truly my lucky day."
"Your lucky day?"
Alice glanced at the burning wreckage around her, then at the few corpses in the distance being battered by the waves, feeling that using this word here was simply an insult to the dead.
"Of course."
Strange seemed to have completely blocked out the tragic scene around him, or perhaps this was a psychological defense mechanism of his as a top surgeon.
Stripping away emotions and focusing only on the things that interest him.
He shrugged, saying as a matter of course: "The plane I was on fell from 30,000 feet, everyone else was torn to pieces, yet I came out unscathed, not even losing a button on my suit. Now I've also gotten a player full of good songs for free; if this doesn't count as a lucky day, then what does?"
This logic was impeccable, and yet absolutely asshole-ish.
Having said that, this unusually optimistic long-faced Doctor pressed the play button, adjusted the volume, and his body even swayed slightly to the rhythm that only he could hear in his headphones.
"Alright, since the tools are all ready."
He turned around, that cynical expression instantly fading a bit.
"Girl, your hands are very steady; I observed you earlier, your eyes are good. You will be my scrub Nurse, that is, my assistant. Let us work together to pull this tough guy back from the gates of hell; give me the blade."
Alice handed over the disassembled razor blade, but couldn't help asking: "Are you sure you want to wear headphones, listening to some funk music while performing such delicate surgery?"
"It helps me concentrate and maintain a sense of rhythm."
Strange took the blade and spun it flexibly on his fingertips, his movements as flashy as if he were performing magic tricks.
"This is a good habit I developed in the operating room. Believe me, compared to listening to the monotonous beeping of those ECG monitors, music makes my hands steadier."
"What a great habit."
Alice had never seen a Doctor who performed surgery while listening to music.
In her past life's understanding, even Doctors in hospitals were as serious as if they were conducting a mass.
She thought that even if there were such eccentric Doctors, they would probably have already been killed by angry patients' families and had their names erased.
To Alice's sarcasm, the long-faced Strange seemed not to have heard it, or simply didn't care about the opinions of mortals.
He shrugged and added: "In fact, with this habit, if the surgery is successful, I sometimes even add a dance as a closing touch."
Having said that, he no longer paid attention to the two stunned people, and instead looked at the bottle of vodka in the hand of the curly-haired uncle, Banner.
"Is that for me? No, it's for the blade."
He took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, first brought it to his nose to sniff, a look of disgust and some nostalgia appearing on his face, and then tilted his head back for a small sip.
"Gulp."
The strong liquor went down his throat, he smacked his lips, tasted it carefully, and nodded in evaluation.
"Typical Russian stuff, rough, strong, like drinking burning gasoline. But the alcohol content is indeed high enough, barely usable for disinfection."
Alice was speechless.
Is this guy here to save people, or is he on vacation?
The curly-haired uncle Banner, standing to the side, also looked at this scene with a confused and worried expression.
As a Ph.D. in Physics, rigor was his synonym; he had never seen such a casual guy who didn't play by the rules.
Could this so-called neurosurgeon be some patient who just ran out of a mental hospital, delusional that he is a Doctor?
The two exchanged a look, and simultaneously understood the meaning in each other's eyes: Should we stop him?
However, in that very second they were hesitating, Strange had already entered the zone.
The speed of that state change was as if he had become a different person.
One second he was still a frivolous playboy listening to music and drinking, the next second, when his gaze fell on the wounded man's mangled thigh, he seemed to turn into a precision scalpel—cold, sharp, steady.
"I'm starting."
No nonsense, no hesitation.
He picked up the thin blade originally used for shaving and poured some vodka on it.
The chill brought by the alcohol evaporation seemed to make the blade even colder.
He first used the blade to neatly cut away the trouser fabric around the wound that had been soaked in blood, revealing the complete wound surface.
Then, those bony, slender fingers that were like a pianist's held the small blade and quickly and gently sliced along the rotting and irregular edges of the young man's wound.
The movement was too fast, so fast that Alice almost couldn't see the trajectory of the blade.
His movements were extremely skillful, exuding a sense of perfection.
That wasn't just technique, it was art.
And the most amazing thing was that the incision he made was extremely smooth, cleverly avoiding the tiny vascular network, and apart from a little bit of blood oozing out, it didn't trigger any new bleeding.
This guy is truly a top-tier Doctor.
Although he likes to listen to music, drink, tell cold jokes, and be incredibly flamboyant while working, these hands are definitely a gift from God.