A soft drip of water eased Lan Zhuoran out of shallow sleep. Rain still pattered on the sagging roof overhead, but the furious storm that had rattled the hut throughout the night had finally diminished to a steady drizzle. In the dim gray light of early morning, he surveyed the cramped interior: scattered puddles on the dirt floor, broken crates propped against holes in the walls, and the mule dozing anxiously in a corner.
He glanced at Yin Feiyan. She sat near the battered doorway, cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. The relic—Skyfire Protocol—lay tucked against her side, still wrapped in oilcloth. Bruises darkened the skin under her eyes; she had clearly found little rest. Gao Tianrong stood just beyond her, peering through a gap in the boards. His posture remained tense, bow at the ready.
Lan Zhuoran stretched cautiously. Every muscle ached from tension and from hauling supplies during yesterday's scramble for shelter. The memory of lightning cracking overhead still sent chills through him. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Is it safe to move yet?"
Gao Tianrong shook his head, amber eyes narrowed. "The rain's easing, but that doesn't mean the Syndicate gave up. We should check for footprints or signs of recent activity around here."
Yin Feiyan spoke without turning, her voice low. "If they trailed us through the storm, we need to be gone before they regroup. But I can barely feel my arm right now." She sounded frustrated, as though her wounds kept her from pulling her full weight. "Still, we have no choice but to keep going."
Lan Zhuoran retrieved their meager rations and passed them around. "A bit of food first, then we'll scout the perimeter. If it's clear, we move."
They ate in silence—cold rice cakes and dried strips of meat, washed down with whatever water they could catch in a dented tin. The interior reeked of damp straw, but at least it kept the wind out. Once finished, Gao Tianrong hoisted his bow and carefully unblocked part of the doorway. Rain dribbled off the hut's makeshift roof as he slipped into the gray morning.
While they waited, Lan Zhuoran helped Yin Feiyan adjust her bandage. She winced, biting back a hiss of pain. The poultice from the prior day had helped, but swelling still surrounded the wound. "Don't push yourself," he murmured, though he knew it was an impossible request in their situation.
Minutes later, Gao Tianrong returned, cloak dripping. "No fresh tracks. The storm likely washed them away. We should leave now before the downpour resumes."
Their breath billowed in the cool air as they gathered supplies. The mule whickered nervously when led outside, hooves sinking into soft mud. Lan Zhuoran patted its flank to calm it. Overhead, clouds boiled in a sullen mass, threatening more rain to come.
They set off at a brisk pace, weaving between slick boulders and low shrubs. The wind carried the faint tang of ozone, a lingering reminder of the lightning's fury. Although no mercenaries appeared, tension pulsed with each step—one misfortune after another had dogged them ever since Baihe Village. And yet, they had survived, forging onward through canyons, storms, and hidden patrols.
As they traveled, Yin Feiyan's breathing grew labored. She used her uninjured arm to steady the relic, cradling it against her chest. Despite her condition, a steely resolve glinted in her eyes. Lan Zhuoran admired her grit. More than once, he reached to support her elbow, ensuring she wouldn't stumble on the muddy ground.
At midday, the rain dwindled to a misty drizzle. They paused beneath a half-fallen pine for a brief rest. Gao Tianrong scanned the horizon. "If I recall correctly, another set of rocky hills lies east of here. Once we clear them, the terrain might open up. We'll have a better view—and hopefully fewer places for Syndicate scouts to hide."
Lan Zhuoran thought back to the tight ravines and precarious ledges they had faced. An open landscape might mean fewer ambush points, but it also meant fewer hiding spots for themselves. Still, the capital lay somewhere beyond, and stalling would only grant the Syndicate more time to corner them.
After their short break, they continued, winding through low foothills. Dark pines and boulders loomed in the washed-out landscape. The storm had turned narrow gullies into shallow streams, forcing them to detour. At one point, Yin Feiyan stumbled and nearly lost her grip on the relic, but Lan Zhuoran caught her waist just in time. She gave him a grateful, if weary, nod.
Finally, the land began to slope upward once more. They trudged up a series of slippery inclines, boots squelching in wet gravel. Gao Tianrong took the lead, occasionally pointing out a stable foothold or motioning for caution where the path eroded. The wind snatched at their cloaks, chilling them to the bone.
Near dusk, they crested a high ridge. Below stretched a shallow basin dotted with coarse grass and scattered stones—far less rugged than the terrain they had left behind. Even in the fading light, Lan Zhuoran could make out a faint track or two, possibly old caravan routes. Relief fluttered in his chest. It might be easier going, though they had to remain vigilant against Syndicate riders.
Gao Tianrong raised a hand, halting them. "Let's camp on this ridge. We'll have a vantage point to see if anyone approaches." He pointed to a rock shelf jutting from the slope. "We can shelter under there."
Yin Feiyan nodded. "Fine by me. My arm's screaming."
Lan Zhuoran guided the mule to the overhang, where they dropped their gear. The wind had less bite here, thanks to the ridge acting as a windbreak. For the first time that day, they had a chance to catch their breath in relative dryness.
While Gao Tianrong gathered twigs and what little brush he could find for a meager fire, Lan Zhuoran helped Yin Feiyan lower herself onto a smooth stone. She cradled the relic in her lap, brow pinched with pain. He offered her a drink from his waterskin. "We're alive," he said gently, as though reminding them both that the day's hardships had not beaten them.
She grimaced. "Alive, but still far from safe."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, warmth kindling in his eyes. "We'll keep going. One step at a time."
Night crept in, and they settled around a small, smoky fire. Though exhaustion weighed on them, worry kept them from true rest. The next morning, they'd descend into the basin—hopefully outpacing the Syndicate's pursuit. For now, in the hush of the drizzle-soaked hills, they listened to each other's breathing and the faint crackle of damp kindling, forging resolve for the trials yet to come.