Despite the earlier storm, dawn broke clear and bright. Dew glistened on the grass lining the rocky ridge where the three travelers had taken a fitful rest. Gao Tianrong rose first, scanning the surrounding basin. The sun's early rays played across the vast plain below—an expanse of muddy ground, scattered boulders, and thin patches of vegetation. No obvious sign of Black Wolf Syndicate patrols, at least not yet.
Lan Zhuoran and Yin Feiyan stirred soon after. He checked her arm, finding the bandage soaked through in spots. She winced at even a gentle touch. "We'll need fresh herbs," she muttered. "I'm running low on what we had from Auntie Qiu's pack."
Lan Zhuoran nodded, gaze flicking across the plain. "We might find something if we keep an eye out as we walk. Otherwise, maybe we'll pass a settlement or a traveler who's willing to trade."
Gao Tianrong slung his bow over his shoulder. "Settlements are few in these parts. Most caravans avoid the region because of bandits—and now, the Syndicate. But if we're lucky, we might stumble upon a lone farmhouse or a hidden hamlet."
Yin Feiyan sighed. "Then we'll keep an eye open for anything useful. Let's get moving."
They descended from the ridge with care, the soil soft beneath their boots. The sun climbed higher, soon warming their damp cloaks. The day's fresh start lightened Lan Zhuoran's spirits, though he remained watchful. Every so often, Gao Tianrong halted to survey their back trail, ensuring they weren't followed.
By midday, they reached flatter ground, though it was riddled with shallow pools from the recent rain. The mule trudged stoically, leaving hoofprints in the mud. Occasionally, Lan Zhuoran caught sight of faint wheel ruts or footprints. He wondered how old they were—and whether they belonged to innocent travelers or Syndicate scouts.
As the sun approached its zenith, they paused near a large boulder to rest and take a quick meal. Yin Feiyan gingerly flexed her injured arm. The swelling had gone down slightly, but her face remained drawn with discomfort. While she sipped water, Gao Tianrong scouted a small perimeter, returning with an uneasy expression.
"Hoofprints," he said quietly. "A group of at least five or six riders passed this way, heading east. Not too old. Maybe a day or less."
Yin Feiyan stiffened. "The Syndicate?"
"Possibly. Could be bandits, but given our luck, I'm leaning toward Syndicate." Gao Tianrong frowned. "We have to assume they're in the vicinity. If they're heading east, they might be positioning themselves to intercept us."
Lan Zhuoran's heart thumped. He recalled the canyon skirmishes, the crossbow bolt that almost ended him. "Then maybe we should swing north, try to skirt around them."
Yin Feiyan shook her head. "No. We have to keep heading toward the capital. Any large detour gives them more time to close in or set another ambush. The council in the capital is our only hope."
They debated their options, tension rising. Finally, Gao Tianrong proposed a risky plan: a decoy. "We know they're not far. If we appear to be heading directly east on a visible trail, they might follow that route. Then, once they commit, we can veer south under cover of dusk, doubling back around some hills."
Lan Zhuoran swallowed. "They could still catch us in the open."
The archer's jaw tightened. "Better that than letting them methodically box us in. It's a gamble, but so is everything else at this point."
Yin Feiyan exhaled, fatigue evident in her eyes. "We'll do it. I'd rather outmaneuver them now than fight them head-on when we're exhausted."
They set the plan in motion. By mid-afternoon, they found a clear, wide track that cut eastward across the plain. Wheel ruts indicated it once served caravans, but now it lay eerily empty. They made sure to leave obvious footprints and tracks for a short stretch, as though traveling boldly east. Lan Zhuoran even nudged the mule to scuff the ground more dramatically, hoping it would lure the Syndicate forward.
Once that was done, they backtracked carefully, cutting across patches of rocky outcrops to hide their footprints. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the plain. Gao Tianrong led them southward, weaving between hillocks. Every so often, they heard distant hooves echoing on the wind, setting their nerves on edge. Whether it was Syndicate riders or stray bandits, none dared investigate.
As dusk tinted the sky in purples and oranges, they crept through a narrow pass between two knolls. The mule, spooked by the day's tension, kept tossing its head. Lan Zhuoran stroked its muzzle, trying to soothe it. Yin Feiyan's breathing hitched at each step, but she pressed on.
Eventually, they emerged onto a small plateau dotted with scraggly bushes. They paused there, scanning the horizon in the dying light. Far behind them, faint shapes galloped across the plain, silhouetted against the sunset. Lan Zhuoran's throat tightened—had the Syndicate taken the bait?
"I think they're moving east," Gao Tianrong whispered, eyes narrowed. "It looks like we threw them off. If we're careful, we can slip around to the south."
A shaky laugh of relief escaped Yin Feiyan. "We're not in the clear yet, but that might buy us time."
Lan Zhuoran nodded, forcing a steady breath. His chest felt tight from the day's tension. "Let's keep moving while the light holds."
They descended from the plateau under a streaked sky, the last rays of sun painting the clouds in vibrant pinks. Yet the beauty felt overshadowed by dread. Any slip, and the Syndicate could close in with lethal force. Despite their decoy's apparent success, fear gnawed at the trio's resolve. We can't keep running forever, Lan Zhuoran thought.
Night fell swiftly, ushering them into a world of shadows. Soon, they had to rely on faint moonlight as they pushed farther south, searching for safer ground to make camp. Their senses stayed sharp, each crack of a twig or rustle of wind making them flinch. By the time they finally halted near a cluster of boulders, exhaustion weighed heavily.
In the hushed darkness, they shared a silent meal. Gao Tianrong fashioned a makeshift cover for the mule to keep it calm. Yin Feiyan curled up against a rock, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Lan Zhuoran took first watch, mind churning with what-ifs. The deadly decoy had likely worked—for now. But he couldn't shake the feeling that every day, the Syndicate drew closer to cornering them, each skirmish or feint only delaying the inevitable showdown.