Dawn came with a muted glow, the rising sun obscured by a band of thick clouds on the horizon. Lan Zhuoran awoke to find Yin Feiyan still keeping vigilant watch, her bandaged arm held tightly against her chest. Gao Tianrong was already on his feet, rummaging through their supplies.
"Morning," Gao said quietly, tossing Lan Zhuoran a piece of flatbread. "We don't have much left. We'll need to forage soon."
Lan Zhuoran chewed on the stale bread, stifling a groan at the stiffness in his limbs. A quick survey of their surroundings showed no signs of intruders—no footprints, no trampled brush. Just a cold wind drifting over the plateau. The relative calm gave him hope that the Black Wolf Syndicate hadn't found them yet.
Yin Feiyan sighed, rolling her shoulder carefully. "Let's move before they have a chance to triangulate our position. Where do we go from here?"
Gao Tianrong pointed toward the far edge of the plateau, where a narrow path wound around a sheer drop. "We'll skirt the canyon there. It's tricky, but if we manage it, we'll emerge closer to the southwestern route into the capital. Fewer main roads means fewer Syndicate scouts."
Yin Feiyan nodded, steeling herself. "Lead on."
They packed quickly, extinguishing the last embers of their fire and scattering ash to hide evidence of their camp. The mule brayed in mild protest at being saddled again, but Lan Zhuoran stroked its neck, murmuring reassurance. Soon, they edged around the rocky slope, hugging the canyon's rim. A sheer drop fell away to their left, hundreds of meters of jagged stone descending into shadow. Lan Zhuoran's heart pounded at the sight.
The path was barely wide enough for the mule to navigate without stumbling. Gao Tianrong went first, bow slung over his shoulder, testing each step for stability. Yin Feiyan followed with the mule, while Lan Zhuoran took the rear, scanning their flanks for any sign of movement. Below, the canyon yawned in foreboding silence.
Fifteen minutes in, the path narrowed further, forcing them to walk in single file with precarious footing. Stones dislodged by their steps clattered into the abyss. Lan Zhuoran's palms sweated as he gripped the mule's lead rope, mindful that a sudden misstep could send them plummeting. Even Yin Feiyan paled at the dizzying drop.
Halfway across, Gao Tianrong halted abruptly. Lan Zhuoran craned his neck to see what lay ahead: a collapsed section of the trail. A chunk of the narrow walkway had broken away, leaving a gap several feet wide. On the other side, the path continued, though battered by erosion.
"We'll have to jump," Gao Tianrong said grimly, peering at the gap. "Or climb down and around—might be safer but takes longer."
Yin Feiyan winced. "Jumping with my arm like this could be risky. And the mule—"
Lan Zhuoran eyed the gap. The mule would struggle to leap across. Attempting to lead it over might result in disaster if it panicked. "We can't leave the mule behind. Our supplies and the relic—"
Gao Tianrong hissed under his breath. "We don't have time to circle around the entire canyon. The Syndicate might be gaining on us."
For a tense moment, they deliberated in hushed tones. Finally, Yin Feiyan spoke up. "Let's remove some of the mule's burden. If we can lighten its load, maybe it can make the jump. Otherwise, we'll have to risk climbing."
With anxious efficiency, they unstrapped extra supplies, slinging them across their own backs to reduce the mule's weight. Gao Tianrong tested the stability of a small ledge on the far side of the gap, stepping carefully to ensure no hidden crumbling rock. Then he signaled for them to proceed.
Lan Zhuoran stepped forward, collecting himself. "I'll try first," he said, voice tight. Yin Feiyan's worried expression reflected his own fear. Taking a few steps back, he inhaled deeply—recalling the Five-Winds Form taught him balance and fluid motion. With a burst of energy, he dashed forward and sprang over the gap. His foot landed on the far ledge, arms flailing for a moment before he steadied himself. Relief flooded him.
Next came Yin Feiyan. She gritted her teeth, supporting her injured arm, and mimicked Lan Zhuoran's motion. Though she nearly slipped on the landing, Gao Tianrong caught her elbow, pulling her upright. Her face blanched, sweat beading on her brow from pain and adrenaline.
The mule, however, trembled with alarm at the sight of empty space. Its ears pinned back, hooves dancing nervously. Gao Tianrong and Lan Zhuoran stood on the far side, coaxing it with gentle calls and bits of dried grass. Yin Feiyan tugged gently on the lead, her voice calm and low.
Finally, with an anxious bray, the mule sprang forward. Its hind legs kicked at loose rock, sending pebbles tumbling into the chasm. For one heart-stopping moment, Lan Zhuoran feared it would slip. But with a lurching scrabble of hooves, the animal made it across, nostrils flaring.
They exhaled collectively, adrenaline coursing through them. Even Gao Tianrong looked briefly rattled, though he masked it quickly. The path ahead continued along the canyon's edge, but at least the worst obstacle so far lay behind them.
They resumed their trek, tension clinging to each breath. Sharp gusts of wind tugged at their clothes, reminding them how precariously they walked between sky and stone. Still, none voiced their fears. The capital beckoned, along with whatever final hopes Yin Feiyan harbored for the relic. Lan Zhuoran prayed it would be worth these dangers.
As they inched around another bend, Gao Tianrong suddenly halted, raising a fist. Lan Zhuoran's stomach lurched. Far below, near the canyon floor, shadows moved. He squinted, spotting at least half a dozen figures picking their way among the rocks—mercenaries, by the look of them. The Black Wolf Syndicate was indeed on their trail, searching the gorge from below.
Crouching low, Lan Zhuoran guided the mule behind a rocky protrusion. Yin Feiyan huddled beside them, her heart pounding. Gao Tianrong's face hardened, amber eyes scanning the enemy's formation. They hadn't been spotted yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Locked in silent dread, the trio watched the Syndicate's slow advance. Each second felt like an eternity, the chasm amplifying every stray sound. One misstep—a dislodged rock, a misplaced cough—and the mercenaries would look up, seeing them silhouetted against the sky.
Their fate now hung on a razor's edge. If they could cross the canyon undetected, they might slip away once more. But if the Syndicate lifted their gaze, blood would almost certainly be spilled on these treacherous heights. In that breathless moment, every choice balanced between courage and catastrophe, forging the next link in their chain of destiny.