Sunlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the aftermath of the skirmish. Birds warbled again, as if indifferent to the violence that had just transpired. Lan Zhuoran stood with his chest heaving, trying to steady his pulse. The taste of iron coated his tongue where he'd bitten his lip during the fight. Beside him, Yin Feiyan sank onto a mossy rock, the relic still clutched to her torso.
A few paces away, the cloaked archer crouched, examining the crossbow bolt lodged in the dirt. The figure wore a half-mask covering the lower face, revealing only keen amber eyes and a few strands of short, dark hair. Their movements were purposeful, reflecting the calm efficiency of a seasoned traveler—or warrior.
Lan Zhuoran exchanged a glance with Yin Feiyan, silently acknowledging the urgency of the situation. Whoever this archer was, they had saved his life mere moments ago. "Thank you," he said at last, voice still ragged. "If not for your arrow…"
The archer rose to full height, dipping a subtle bow in acknowledgment. "You're welcome. That crossbowman had you dead to rights." Then the archer's gaze flickered to Yin Feiyan, curiosity evident. "You're protecting something valuable, aren't you? Mercenaries this determined don't just show up by chance."
A wave of caution passed through Lan Zhuoran, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. He had no desire to reveal the relic's significance to a stranger. Yet the archer's timely intervention suggested they might not be an enemy. "We're just travelers," he said carefully. "They attacked us without warning."
The archer's lips twitched behind the half-mask, hinting at a smirk. "Travelers don't usually wave around ancient artifacts. I saw a glimpse of that bundle during the scuffle. My guess? It's the reason those men were so eager to kill you."
Yin Feiyan stiffened, shifting her injured arm. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the exertion of the brief but intense fight. She studied the archer, weighing the risk of disclosure. Finally, she said, "We appreciate your help, but we're not at liberty to share details."
The archer tilted their head in understanding, amber eyes narrowing. "Secrets, then. Fair enough. I can respect that." They paused, lowering their voice to a kinder tone. "But you're injured, and those mercenaries will be back with reinforcements. I doubt you'll last until nightfall without more help."
Lan Zhuoran wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. The archer's words stung with truth. He could still feel the ache where a mercenary had struck his back, and Yin Feiyan's wound had reopened slightly, dampening her fresh bandages with blood. They were in no shape to fight another assault.
"What do you propose?" Lan Zhuoran asked, tension and hope mingling in his voice.
"Let me accompany you for a while," the archer replied. "I have business in the capital anyway. Traveling together might increase our chances of surviving these roads."
A flicker of concern crossed Yin Feiyan's face. She glanced at Lan Zhuoran, silently asking for his thoughts. He felt torn: accepting help from a stranger could be a gamble, especially given the relic's significance. But the brutal reality of their predicament overshadowed any reservations. They needed more allies, or they wouldn't make it far.
"All right," Lan Zhuoran said, deciding. "We'll travel together—for now. But we can't promise answers about… the item we carry."
The archer nodded, evidently satisfied. "You can call me Gao Tianrong. And don't worry, your business is your own."
Yin Feiyan gave a cautious half-bow from her seated position. "Thank you, Gao Tianrong. I'm Feiyan, and this is Zhuoran. Let's hope this partnership doesn't cause you more trouble than it's worth."
Gao Tianrong shrugged lightly, sliding the bow across his back. "I've seen plenty of trouble. Might as well face it with decent company."
Stepping away from the site of the skirmish, they led the mule deeper into the forest. The mercenaries had fled in the opposite direction, but Lan Zhuoran couldn't shake the feeling they might soon be on the hunt again. Time was becoming their most precious commodity.
As they walked, Gao Tianrong proved surprisingly adept at navigating the terrain, often spotting safe footpaths or hidden clearings. Lan Zhuoran and Yin Feiyan exchanged glances, impressed by the archer's skill. The conversation drifted to lighter matters, as if to ease the lingering tension of the fight. Gao Tianrong spoke cryptically of wandering the empire in search of "lost wonders," refusing to clarify further.
After an hour, they found a small stream that cut through a cluster of mossy rocks. The water glistened in the late afternoon sun. Gao Tianrong knelt to refill a canteen, while Yin Feiyan winced her way to a flat rock, cradling her bandaged arm. Lan Zhuoran followed, unslinging his small pack to retrieve fresh dressings.
He turned to Gao Tianrong with a tentative smile. "This might sound forward, but… thank you again. I've never fought mercenaries like that before."
The archer waved a hand dismissively. "You handled yourself well enough. That technique of yours—some old cultivation style? It's fluid, graceful. Saved you from more than one close call."
Lan Zhuoran recalled the rush of energy coursing through him during the battle, how the Five-Winds Form seemed to guide his every move. "It's something my father taught me. I didn't realize how effective it could be until I was fighting for my life."
Yin Feiyan, watching from her perch, chimed in. "I wouldn't call that just a 'technique.' There's real cultivation in what you do—enough to stun a trained mercenary."
He felt a flush of pride and humility. "Still, you nearly got stabbed on my watch."
Gao Tianrong smirked, pulling the canteen away from the stream. "Surviving is what matters. But if these mercenaries belong to a bigger faction—maybe one of the old martial clans or a new tech order—then we've all got a bigger problem."
Yin Feiyan hesitated, exchanging a wary glance with Lan Zhuoran. The mention of organized factions chilled her. "Any idea which group that wolf's-head emblem might represent?"
Gao Tianrong's expression turned serious. "Could be the Black Wolf Syndicate. They're known to hire out their blades to the highest bidder. Smuggling tech artifacts, hunting relics, whatever pays. If that's the case, they won't stop until they've either got what they came for or they're all dead."
Lan Zhuoran's chest tightened. Baihe Village—and even their entire journey—remained under a dark cloud. He couldn't help picturing the mercenaries returning in greater numbers, armed with crossbows and swords, perhaps even advanced weaponry. The thought of them raiding Baihe, where Madam Qiu and Elder Shui remained, gnawed at his conscience.
Yin Feiyan reached out, resting a shaky hand on his forearm. "Hey," she said softly, reading the worry in his eyes. "We'll find a way to keep Baihe safe. If we get far enough ahead, maybe they won't track us back there."
He forced a nod, though fear lingered. "We keep moving then. Find a path to the capital that avoids the main roads."
Gao Tianrong rose to his feet, shouldering his pack. "I know some less-traveled routes. Not always the safest, but at least the Syndicate might have trouble finding us." A subtle gleam shone in his amber eyes. "We might run into wild beasts or bandits, though."
Yin Feiyan sighed, rubbing her injured arm. "Better that than a full-on mercenary company chasing us."
Lan Zhuoran helped her up, ignoring the dull ache in his own muscles. "We'll manage. Let's just keep our guard up."
As they set off once more, the descending sun cast elongated shadows across the forest floor. The day's trials weighed on them, but they pressed forward, bound by a precarious alliance. Each harbored unspoken worries: the looming danger, the relic's mysterious power, and the unknown figure—Gao Tianrong—who might have motives of his own.
Yet for the moment, survival took precedence over suspicion. In the hush of the late afternoon forest, they moved as one, determined not to be cornered by the Black Wolf Syndicate again. Beyond the next ridge lay more untamed land—and perhaps, if fortune favored them, the first steps toward outmaneuvering the darkness that clung to their path.