The night deepened, yet the storm outside showed no sign of abating. Rain hammered the walls, accompanied by howling winds that seemed intent on prying loose the shutters. Inside Lan Zhuoran's modest home, the injured stranger lay huddled on a straw mat, shielded by a thick blanket. A single oil lamp flickered beside her, its weak light casting eerie shadows on the walls.
Lan Zhuoran hovered close, every sense on high alert. He could not shake the uneasy feeling creeping through him. This woman—drenched, wounded, and clutching an enigmatic bundle—had appeared out of nowhere. Though he was hardly one to turn away those in need, a nagging thought whispered that trouble would soon follow.
"Auntie Qiu, her arm…" he said, trailing off as he observed the crimson patch spreading across the stranger's sleeve. The color stood out starkly against her drenched clothing.
Madam Qiu, kneeling at the woman's side, gently pulled back the stranger's sleeve. A gasp escaped her lips. The wound was a deep slash, likely inflicted by a blade. Blood still oozed sluggishly, mixing with rainwater. The stranger stirred, her eyes fluttering open, but she seemed too weak to speak.
"She'll need to be cleaned up," Madam Qiu said, her tone brisk with concern. "Zhuoran, fetch some hot water and bandages. I have dried herbs on the shelf that can help prevent infection."
Lan Zhuoran nodded and hurried to the small storage area near the hearth. He grabbed a clay pot and filled it with water from a barrel just inside the doorway, careful not to let in more rain. He then placed the pot over the fire, waiting anxiously as the flames began to lick the bottom. Every so often, he cast a glance over his shoulder, half expecting the stranger to vanish or succumb to her injuries.
While the water heated, he rummaged through a woven basket for clean strips of cloth that could serve as bandages. Madam Qiu had always taught him the basics of first aid—healing scrapes, minor burns, and the occasional sprained ankle. But this wound looked far more serious than anything he'd ever treated. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. The stranger needed help, and he couldn't afford to waver.
He carried the warm water and bandages over. Madam Qiu accepted them with a nod of gratitude, then set about cleaning the wound as best she could. The stranger winced, biting her lip to stifle a cry of pain, and Lan Zhuoran felt a pang of sympathy. Whoever she was, she was clearly no mere wayfarer. Normal travelers didn't show up with a gash like this in the middle of a storm, muttering cryptic warnings.
As Madam Qiu worked, Lan Zhuoran's gaze drifted to the long bundle the stranger still held against her body. Even in her semi-conscious state, her fingers refused to release it. The cloth covering was thick and tied with leather straps in several places, almost like a protective covering for something important.
"Let me see that," Lan Zhuoran said quietly, gesturing toward the bundle. He felt curiosity gnaw at him, though he didn't want to appear invasive.
A faint protest formed on the stranger's lips, but her strength had nearly run dry. Her grip slackened, and Lan Zhuoran gently eased the bundle from her arms. To his surprise, it was heavier than it looked, and he could feel something metal within. He carefully placed it on the floor, peeling back a corner of the wrapping.
Madam Qiu glanced over, eyes widening at the faint gleam of etched steel. Patterns swirled across the surface, intricate and unfamiliar. For a moment, neither of them spoke—both captivated by the craftsmanship implied by those markings. Something about the swirling motifs suggested an object steeped in history, maybe even magic.
Just then, the stranger coughed weakly, drawing their attention back to her pallid face. "Please… keep it safe," she rasped, each word a struggle. "They… want it… for power."
Her words sent a chill through Lan Zhuoran, and not just because of the storm's cold draft. Longxia was a land of many secrets—mystical arts, advanced technologies, and relics whose properties were rumored to border on the supernatural. Could this object be one of those legendary artifacts people whispered about in hushed tones?
"We'll protect it," Lan Zhuoran promised, though he felt uncertain. He glanced at Madam Qiu, who offered a determined nod despite her furrowed brow.
The stranger let her eyelids drift shut, as if the last vestiges of her strength had been spent delivering that warning. Madam Qiu finished bandaging the wound, tying the cloth snugly to staunch further bleeding. Outside, a renewed gust of wind battered the shutters, causing the lamp's flame to dance wildly, casting fleeting shapes across their faces.
Lan Zhuoran lifted the bundle again, noting how the mysterious metal inside almost seemed to hum with subdued energy. Or was that just his imagination, heightened by fear and curiosity? He forced himself to set it aside. For now, ensuring the stranger's survival was their top priority.
"I'll prepare more hot water," he said, standing up. "We may need it through the night."
Madam Qiu nodded, offering him a brave smile. "Yes, please do. If this storm continues, we'll have a long night ahead of us. And I suspect this young woman has a long story to tell—if she lives to tell it."
Her words weighed heavily in the air. A sense of impending change hovered over them, as tangible as the humid, rain-laden breeze slipping through the cracks in the shutters. Baihe Village was a quiet place, its people unaccustomed to the machinations of power that churned beyond their borders. But fate had a way of knocking when one least expected it. Lan Zhuoran could feel it in his bones: this storm was more than just nature's fury. It was the prelude to something larger.
As he reached the hearth, he paused, looking over his shoulder at the sleeping form of the stranger. Her face glistened with sweat, and despite her injury, her expression held a certain resoluteness. Whatever she carried, whatever forces pursued her, it was now entangled with his life as well. Whether or not he was prepared, the path of his destiny had shifted the moment he let her in.
The wind whipped again, a moan that sounded almost like a wail from the earth itself. Lan Zhuoran closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of wet timber and lamp oil. This was his home, but for how long would it remain safe? Already, he imagined footsteps pounding in the night, shadowy figures searching for the woman who lay in his house—and for the strange metal artifact she protected.
Tamping down a rising dread, he turned his full attention back to the task at hand. If he was to face whatever came next, he would do so armed with clarity, courage, and the old martial forms his father once taught him. For now, that would have to be enough.