The wind hissed along the canyon's rim, tugging at Lan Zhuoran's cloak as he crouched behind a jagged outcrop of stone. A few steps away, Yin Feiyan pressed herself against the rock face, cradling her bandaged arm. Gao Tianrong barely moved, head angled so that only his eyes peeked over the ledge. Below them, the Black Wolf Syndicate patrol scoured the rocky valley floor, unaware how close their quarry lay.
Lan Zhuoran's breath came shallow and tense. The narrow path they'd traveled clung to the canyon wall, granting them an advantage of height but offering limited avenues of escape. One misplaced footstep or dislodged pebble might alert the mercenaries below. The trio had no illusions: if the Syndicate realized they were perched above, crossbow bolts could rain upon them.
He swallowed the knot in his throat, silently reminding himself of the Five-Winds Form. The technique taught patience and focus, even in dire moments. Focus on breathing. Remain calm. Yin Feiyan's fingers curled around his sleeve, her body trembling slightly from pain or nerves—likely both.
Far below, one of the Syndicate mercenaries called out in a harsh voice, pointing toward a cleft in the canyon. Several turned that way, clambering over boulders with single-minded determination. It seemed they were combing every possible hiding place, their aggression fueled by the promise of capturing Yin Feiyan and the relic.
Gao Tianrong eased back from the ledge, a dark frown creasing his brow. He gestured for the others to follow him along the path, further away from the mercenaries' line of sight. Even if the patrol was busy exploring a lower section of the gorge, all it took was one upward glance to spot silhouettes against the sky.
Creeping carefully, Lan Zhuoran guided the mule around an outcrop. The animal's hooves scraped against stone, making his heart lurch at each noise. Yin Feiyan held her breath, stepping lightly to avoid scattering gravel. Gao Tianrong paused frequently to scan the area, tense as a drawn bowstring.
Minutes crawled by, measured in the thunder of Lan Zhuoran's pulse. He imagined the Syndicate mercenaries creeping closer, or hearing the faint scrabble of their footsteps above. Yet no shout of alarm echoed through the canyon, no crossbow bolts whistled overhead. Slowly, painstakingly, the trio reached a bend where the path widened slightly.
"Here," Gao Tianrong whispered, pointing to a shallow niche in the canyon wall. "We can hide if they climb up. If not, we'll keep moving once they pass."
Lan Zhuoran helped Yin Feiyan settle into the cramped space, the mule pressed against the rock. The archer stationed himself at the narrow opening, arrow nocked but not drawn. They waited in near-total silence, hearts pounding. Overhead, thick clouds began to drift, casting moving shadows across the steep gorge walls.
Soon, voices drifted closer from below—a guttural snarl, the clang of equipment against stone. Lan Zhuoran's grip tightened on the mule's halter, praying it wouldn't bray at the worst possible moment. Yin Feiyan swallowed hard, her bandaged hand clenched into a fist. If the Syndicate discovered them, a brutal fight on precarious ground would be inevitable.
Then, unexpectedly, the voices began to recede. Gao Tianrong peered around the corner, tracking the mercenaries' movement. It seemed they were pushing further down into the canyon's depths, heading away from the ledge. Lan Zhuoran's chest expanded with cautious relief as the patrol's echoes faded into the distance.
They didn't dare move for several more minutes, though. Gao Tianrong waited until all signs of pursuit vanished. Only when a hawk's cry rang through the canyon—echoing from crag to crag—did he signal it was time to continue. Carefully, they inched around the bend, leaving the hiding spot behind.
Yin Feiyan released a shaky breath. "That was too close," she murmured, voice trembling. "Any mistake, and—"
"I know," Lan Zhuoran said softly, giving her a quick, reassuring nod. "Let's keep going while we can."
Gao Tianrong resumed the lead, treading across the rock-strewn path. The sun climbed higher, its rays piercing the canyon in bands of fierce light. Despite the potential danger, Lan Zhuoran couldn't help but feel awe at the landscape's raw beauty. Towering walls of stratified rock rose on either side, carved into mesmerizing patterns by eons of wind and water. Yet the grandeur only underscored how small and vulnerable they were in this hostile terrain.
An hour later, they reached a sloping trail that angled upward, potentially leading out of the canyon. The path looked narrow and crumbling, but it was their best chance to put distance between themselves and the Syndicate. Reluctant to remain in the gorge any longer, they began the climb, each step testing the ground's stability.
Not far from the canyon rim, Gao Tianrong suddenly lifted his hand in warning. Ahead, half-collapsed boulders created a series of tight switchbacks. If the Syndicate had stationed anyone above, this would be the perfect bottleneck. Lan Zhuoran's stomach twisted; every approach seemed fraught with ambush possibilities.
"All right," Yin Feiyan said, wincing as she braced herself against the rock wall. "No choice but to risk it. Keep low."
They moved in single file. Gao Tianrong navigated first, bow ready. Lan Zhuoran followed, coaxing the mule along. Yin Feiyan took up the rear, beads of sweat on her brow as she tried not to aggravate her injured arm. Each winding turn revealed more loose gravel and precarious footing. Several times, rocks dislodged and tumbled off the edge, echoing ominously.
Finally, they emerged onto a plateau at the canyon's rim, breathing the open air like survivors breaching a prison. Wind gusted, carrying the scent of distant pine and sunbaked earth. The sun hovered near its zenith, a reminder that the day was half gone.
As they paused to catch their breath, Gao Tianrong scanned the horizon. A rolling expanse of rugged hills stretched before them, with no visible roads or settlements in sight. "We'll keep to those hills," he announced, pointing toward a cluster of slopes dotted with low, scraggly shrubs. "If luck holds, we can find a safer campsite by evening."
Yin Feiyan massaged her shoulder, pain etched into her features. "We have to stay ahead of the Syndicate," she muttered, eyes distant. "They're too close for comfort."
Lan Zhuoran nodded. The image of masked mercenaries in the gorge, creeping through the shadows, lingered in his mind. We can't keep dodging them forever, he thought grimly. Sooner or later, they might have to confront their pursuers directly—or risk leading them all the way to the capital. But for now, retreat remained their best option.
Gathering themselves, they pressed onward into the hills. The canyon lay behind, its dangers still echoing in their hearts. Yet as Lan Zhuoran trudged forward, he found solace in the steady presence of his companions—Yin Feiyan's unwavering resolve, and Gao Tianrong's sharp instincts. Though the path ahead looked no less perilous, they were still free, and they still carried the relic that the Syndicate so desperately sought.
As the afternoon wore on, Lan Zhuoran's thoughts flickered to Baihe Village—his home—and the peace he'd once known. I'll protect that peace for others, he vowed silently. No matter how many Black Wolf mercenaries lurked in the shadows, he would keep moving, keep fighting, until Yin Feiyan's mission was complete.