Someone was busy taking out their mobile phones and wanted to make a call.

Someone said: "No need to fight, I just called 120."

Some people also said: "I called 110."

Han Jing'er's whole body was soaked, her hair was still dripping with water, and her clothes clung to her body. A gust of wind blew over, and Han Jing'er felt a little cold. She sneezed several times in a row, and tears, nose, and saliva came out.

A simple man who looked like a migrant worker handed a bottle of rice wine with the cap unscrewed to Han Jing'er's lips, showed a kind smile, and said with a foreign accent:

"Girl, drink some rice wine to warm yourself up."

Han Jinger hesitated for a moment.

Finally, he took the bottle from the man's hand, raised his head, and drank two large gulps of rice wine.

A very spicy and hot feeling rushed out, and Han Jing'er almost vomited. But Han Jing'er endured it with all her strength and swallowed it with difficulty. In an instant, her entire stomach became hot, and it was boiling hot inside.

A stream of flame-like air flowed from top to bottom, and then from bottom to top. Her body seemed to be getting a little warmer.

"Are you okay, miss?"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Han Jing'er was fine. The one who was in trouble was the boy she rescued. He was lying straight on the ground, his lips were gray and there was no blood on his face. His eyes were closed tightly and he was motionless.

The onlookers were all talking:

"Is he dead?"

"He shouldn't be dead, right? It looks like he's still breathing."

"How could this child, who looks quite handsome, become a gangster? He also fights and makes trouble. Really, if his parents saw him like this, how sad would he be?"

"That's right. Fortunately, this beauty is warm-hearted. If he hadn't saved her, he would have died."

"So young, it would be a pity to die."

Seeing that the boy didn't move, someone squatted down, stretched out his hand under his nose, and then pressed his stomach hard, once, and again. After a while, the boy spit out a few mouthfuls of river water, but he was still there.

Didn't open his eyes, didn't wake up.

Han Jing'er suddenly thought of artificial respiration.

When she was in college, she took swimming classes, and her instructor taught her how to give artificial respiration to drowning victims.

Han Jing'er struggled and got up from the ground.

She walked up to the boy and knelt down. Using the method taught by the swimming instructor, she lifted up the boy's chin, pinched his nostrils, took a deep breath, and blew slowly into his mouth.

Blow on it.

Another bite.

After blowing for an unknown number of times, the boy's chest finally lifted up slightly and he began to react a little, so Han Jing'er let go of her hand pinching his nostrils and pressed his chest repeatedly and rhythmically to help him exhale.

.

Finally, the boy spit out a big mouthful of river water.

Then, he slowly opened his eyes.

Before I had time to take a breath, let alone speak, the harsh sound of police cars suddenly came from the distance, approaching from far away. Someone shouted:

"120 is coming."

Then someone shouted again:

"110 is here too."

A path was opened in the crowd. Doctors and nurses in white jackets came over carrying stretchers, and then came a few policemen in police uniforms.

Taking advantage of everyone's attention on the young man, Han Jing'er secretly squeezed out of the crowd during the chaos of war, ran to the other side of the road, and intercepted a red taxi.

The soil stopped, and Han Jing'er got into it all wet.

She gave her address.

The driver took her, drove the car, and left.

(Unfinished. To be continued) Someone was busy taking out his mobile phone to make a call.

Someone said: "No need to fight, I just called 120."

Some people also said: "I called 110."

Han Jing'er's whole body was soaked, her hair was still dripping with water, and her clothes clung to her body. A gust of wind blew over, and Han Jing'er felt a little cold. She sneezed several times in a row, and tears, nose, and saliva came out.

A simple man who looked like a migrant worker handed a bottle of rice wine with the cap unscrewed to Han Jing'er's lips, showed a kind smile, and said with a foreign accent:

"Girl, drink some rice wine to warm yourself up."

Han Jinger hesitated for a moment.

Finally, he took the bottle from the man's hand, raised his head, and drank two large gulps of rice wine.

A very spicy and hot feeling rushed out, and Han Jing'er almost vomited. But Han Jing'er endured it with all her strength and swallowed it with difficulty. In an instant, her entire stomach became hot, and it was boiling hot inside.

A stream of flame-like air flowed from top to bottom, and then from bottom to top. Her body seemed to be getting a little warmer.

"Are you okay, miss?"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Han Jing'er was fine. The one who was in trouble was the boy she rescued. He was lying straight on the ground, his lips were gray and there was no blood on his face. His eyes were closed tightly and he was motionless.

The onlookers were all talking:

"Is he dead?"

"He shouldn't be dead, right? It looks like he's still breathing."

"How could this child, who looks quite handsome, become a gangster? He also fights and makes trouble. Really, if his parents saw him like this, how sad would he be?"

"That's right. Fortunately, this beauty is warm-hearted. If he hadn't saved her, he would have died."

"So young, it would be a pity to die."

Seeing that the boy didn't move, someone squatted down, stretched out his hand under his nose, and then pressed his stomach hard, once, and again. After a while, the boy spit out a few mouthfuls of river water, but he was still there.

Didn't open his eyes, didn't wake up.

Han Jing'er suddenly thought of artificial respiration.

When she was in college, she took swimming classes, and her instructor taught her how to give artificial respiration to drowning victims.

Han Jing'er struggled and got up from the ground.

She walked up to the boy and knelt down. Using the method taught by the swimming instructor, she lifted up the boy's chin, pinched his nostrils, took a deep breath, and blew slowly into his mouth.

Blow on it.

Another bite.

After blowing for an unknown number of times, the boy's chest finally lifted up slightly and he began to react a little, so Han Jing'er let go of her hand pinching his nostrils and pressed his chest repeatedly and rhythmically to help him exhale.

.

Finally, the boy spit out a big mouthful of river water.

Then, he slowly opened his eyes.

Before I had time to take a breath, let alone speak, the harsh sound of police cars suddenly came from the distance, approaching from far away. Someone shouted:

"120 is coming."

Then someone shouted again:

"110 is here too."

A path was opened in the crowd. Doctors and nurses in white jackets came over carrying stretchers, and then came a few policemen in police uniforms.

Taking advantage of everyone's attention on the young man, Han Jing'er secretly squeezed out of the crowd during the chaos of war, ran to the other side of the road, and intercepted a red taxi.

The soil stopped, and Han Jing'er got into it all wet.

She gave her address.

The driver took her, drove the car, and left.
Chapter completed!