Following the boy's quick strides, Lan Zhuoran hurried past rows of low wooden houses that huddled together as if for protection. The sky remained overcast, and a sporadic drizzle misted the air, turning the dirt underfoot slick. Every so often, he glimpsed villagers peering anxiously from their doorways, curiosity and fear evident in their eyes. News traveled quickly in a place this small, and by now, most everyone had heard about footprints near the creek.
At the edge of the village, Elder Shui stood with her staff planted firmly in the mud, her sparse white hair clinging to the sides of her lined face. Gathered around her were half a dozen villagers clutching makeshift weapons—pitchforks, hoes, an old hunting bow with only a few arrows. They eyed Lan Zhuoran with a mixture of hope and apprehension. After all, he was one of the few in Baihe rumored to practice any form of martial skill.
"Over here," Elder Shui called, beckoning him closer. She led him a short distance down a gentle slope toward the creek that ran parallel to the main fields. Even with the water levels swollen from the storm, the creek was barely chest-deep. Yet fresh mud revealed a series of footprints and drag marks. Some prints were large, hinting at heavy boots, while others looked like they had been deliberately obscured. A few snapped branches and scuffs on the creek bank suggested a struggle or hasty crossing.
Lan Zhuoran knelt, reaching out to trace the outline of a footprint with his fingertip. It was larger than his own foot by at least an inch. "How many do you think there were?"
"Four or five, perhaps," Elder Shui replied, her voice grim. "We can't be certain. But they came close, too close. And it was last night, during that hellish storm."
A wiry man named Zhong chimed in. "I found a piece of cloth snagged on a broken branch." He held out a scrap of black fabric. Lan Zhuoran rubbed it between his fingers; it felt coarse, the kind used for traveling cloaks or possibly uniforms. "Could be mercenaries," Zhong speculated.
Elder Shui exhaled sharply. "I don't like this. Mercenaries, bandits, or something worse—it's trouble, no matter what. We're a farming village, not a garrison. If they come in force, we won't stand a chance."
Lan Zhuoran stood, scanning the horizon. The creek led southeast, eventually winding toward a broader river that intersected with a major road. It was plausible a group traveling under the cover of the storm might try to bypass Baihe, yet the footprints suggested they had lingered. "Could they have been scouting for something—or someone?" he asked, cautious not to reveal too much about Yin Feiyan just yet.
Elder Shui gave a noncommittal shrug, her staff tapping the ground with agitation. "The worst part is, we don't know. They might have come to plunder, or they might be looking for a place to hide. Either way, we must stay vigilant."
In the distance, the fields stretched out in a patchwork of muted greens and browns, dotted with puddles that glistened under the dull sky. Lan Zhuoran felt a pang of guilt. Baihe had lived peacefully for decades, and now, with Yin Feiyan's arrival, the tranquility was threatened. But he couldn't blame her—she hadn't chosen to be hunted, and Baihe was just unfortunate enough to be on her path.
"I'll keep an eye out," he said, meeting Elder Shui's gaze. "We can organize some patrols around the perimeter."
She nodded. "We've already begun. But more eyes will help. Tell me, though… that traveler at your home—are you sure she has nothing to do with this?"
Lan Zhuoran hesitated for the briefest moment, his mind whirling. If he admitted the stranger was possibly the target of dangerous pursuers, panic would spread like wildfire. Still, Elder Shui had known him since childhood, and she could read his face like an open book. "I don't have all the details," he admitted. "But she was injured, and she's in no condition to roam around. If these footprints belong to people after her, we'll have to be careful."
A murmur ran through the onlookers. Zhong shifted uncomfortably, and another villager named Liu Mei clutched her shawl tighter. None of them wished for a confrontation, yet here it was on their doorstep. Elder Shui gave Lan Zhuoran a measured look. "Alright. Let's do what we can to keep them from trespassing. But if the day comes they arrive in force, we may need help from outside."
Lan Zhuoran knew she meant the nearest walled town or even the local magistrate. But that was a two-day journey on horseback, and Baihe had no horses of its own—only a couple of donkeys used for plowing. By the time help arrived, the damage could already be done. "I understand," he replied.
As the group dispersed, each returning to whatever tasks needed doing, Lan Zhuoran stayed behind a moment longer. He stared at the footprints, the broken branches, and the swirling water. A primal sense of unease gnawed at him. His father once spoke of a time when warlords battled over relics and territories, leading to widespread chaos. Could something similar be unfolding now, well beyond the quiet village? And if so, how had he become tied to it?
He trudged back into the village proper, pausing occasionally to exchange brief words with worried neighbors. Someone asked if he'd seen anything else suspicious in the night. Another inquired about the possibility of blocking the roads. Of course, blocking the roads was pointless—there were too many ways in and out of Baihe's countryside.
When he finally reached home, the sun had risen higher, though it offered little warmth. Madam Qiu waited by the entrance, an uncharacteristic line of tension creasing her brow. "I overheard some neighbors talking," she said softly, ushering him inside. "About footprints, mercenaries, men with swords… Are we truly in danger?"
Lan Zhuoran exhaled, scanning the interior. Yin Feiyan was resting against a pillow, the wrapped bundle close by. She watched him intently, evidently catching every word. "We might be," he answered, honest but gentle. He turned to face Yin Feiyan. "They found signs of a group passing near the creek last night. Likely armed."
Yin Feiyan's eyes flickered with apprehension. "Then they're closer than I feared."
Madam Qiu swallowed. "So it is about you?"
With a faint sigh, Yin Feiyan nodded. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to bring harm to your home. But they're ruthless. If they suspect I'm hiding here, they'll come."
A heavy silence fell. Madam Qiu cleared her throat. "You saved her life," she said to Lan Zhuoran, as if to remind him of his role in all this. "Now we have to consider what to do. The village can't handle a real fight."
Lan Zhuoran's gaze shifted from Yin Feiyan's wounded arm to the unsettlingly silent bundle. A memory stirred—his father's voice, reminding him that martial skills were meant to protect, not to instigate violence. Steeling his nerves, he addressed Yin Feiyan. "You need to leave as soon as you're strong enough. If you stay, you'll be cornered here, and the village will be caught in the crossfire."
"I understand," she replied, bitterness edging her tone. "But traveling wounded… I'll move as soon as possible. I'll manage somehow."
A quiet determination bloomed in Lan Zhuoran's chest. The notion of letting her go alone, especially with enemies nearby, didn't sit well. Yet a swirl of questions plagued him: Should he escort her? Did he have the skill to defend her if those mercenaries or assassins appeared? And how would the village fare in his absence?
Madam Qiu laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll work out a plan. But for now, let's keep you both safe. Our neighbors are good people, but the moment they learn about this artifact's importance, fear might make them act rashly. Or worse."
Yin Feiyan managed a tight smile, though her eyes shone with gratitude. "Thank you. For everything."
Outside, the midday light struggled to break through the lingering clouds, casting a pale glow across Baihe. Lan Zhuoran found himself at a crossroads, caught between loyalty to his home and a growing sense of duty to help this stranger and protect whatever secret she carried. With each passing hour, the tension escalated, and he wondered how soon their luck would run out.
As the day wore on, he took a moment to step out into the yard, shutting the door behind him. The wind carried a distant rustle of leaves and the muted cluck of a hen searching for feed. Five men, perhaps, were already circling the village, searching for any trace of Yin Feiyan or that relic. Closing his eyes, Lan Zhuoran inhaled, letting a calm settle over him. He recalled the fluid motions of the Five-Winds Form, how each movement synchronized breath and balance. Right now, he needed that focus more than ever.
He had no choice but to face what lay ahead. The footprints in the mud were only the first sign of pursuit, and he suspected that before long, steel would clash with steel. Whether he felt ready or not, fate had chosen him for a new path—one that might lead far from the safety of Baihe and into the heart of a conflict he scarcely understood.