Mist clung to the world like a silent veil as Lan Zhuoran, Yin Feiyan, and Gao Tianrong followed a winding footpath away from Keshan Hamlet. The meager daylight filtering through the low clouds gave the landscape a pallid hue, every shape blurred at the edges. Despite lingering aches, the trio moved with renewed determination, fueled by the knowledge that Feiyan's fever had somewhat subsided.
They pressed through rolling hills dotted with stubborn shrubs. Mud squelched underfoot, a reminder of the recent downpour. Occasionally, they spotted old fence posts or remnants of walls—signs that this land had once been cultivated. But now it felt abandoned, haunted by memories of better times. Gao Tianrong walked several paces ahead, eyes scanning for trouble, while Lan Zhuoran stayed close to Feiyan and the mule.
By midday, a pale sun began to pierce the mist, revealing a broader stretch of gently sloping fields in the distance. The ground there appeared firmer, studded with rocks and patches of low grass. Lan Zhuoran felt a spark of relief. Traveling on firmer soil would be easier than slogging through endless mud.
As they approached the next ridge, Gao Tianrong raised a hand. "Quiet," he hissed, crouching behind a cluster of boulders. Lan Zhuoran and Feiyan followed suit, guiding the mule behind cover. Heart pounding, Lan Zhuoran peered over the rocks.
Below, a shallow valley sprawled, crisscrossed by narrow dirt tracks. On one of these tracks, a small group of riders trotted slowly, their black cloaks fluttering in a breeze. A chilling emblem shone on their armor—the unmistakable wolf's head of the Black Wolf Syndicate. Lan Zhuoran's blood ran cold.
Yin Feiyan clenched her jaw, clutching the relic-laden mule's rein. "They're here," she whispered, voice trembling with both dread and anger.
Gao Tianrong counted them silently. "Four riders, two on foot behind them. Possibly more in the area."
They observed the mercenaries from afar, noting their cautious pace. The group seemed to be scouting the valley, checking footprints and wagon ruts. At one point, one of the foot soldiers knelt to study the ground, pointing east. Lan Zhuoran's pulse thudded—were they searching for him and his companions?
"They're tracking something," Gao Tianrong muttered. "Could be us, or bandits, or travelers. Hard to say. But if we cross that valley openly, they'll see us."
Yin Feiyan's brow furrowed, eyes flicking between the mercenaries and the ridge they needed to descend. "What if we wait them out?"
Lan Zhuoran frowned. "We risk them circling back. Or worse, setting up an ambush. If they're specifically hunting us, staying hidden might just delay the inevitable."
Gao Tianrong's expression hardened. "We could try skirting around the valley to the north, but that would add miles to our journey—and Feiyan's still not in top form."
She shook her head. "I can manage. Let's not risk a direct clash if we can avoid it."
They agreed to detour north, hugging the higher ground. Carefully, they retreated from the boulders and slipped back among the hills, giving the valley a wide berth. Progress became slow and grueling, for the terrain turned rocky and uneven, with frequent outcrops forcing them to pick their way carefully. The mule stumbled more than once, braying nervously.
Hours passed, the sun arcing beyond the thinning clouds to cast long shadows. Lan Zhuoran's heart hammered each time he thought he heard hooves on the wind. He recalled the times they had narrowly escaped the Syndicate before—would luck favor them again?
Eventually, they came upon a jagged ravine strewn with boulders. Gao Tianrong paused at the edge, scanning the steep descent. "If we cross here, it should bring us out east of the valley, well behind those mercenaries."
Yin Feiyan surveyed the ravine's rocky floor, swallowing. "That path looks dangerous, but I'd rather slip past the Syndicate than face them head-on."
Lan Zhuoran rubbed the mule's flank. "We'll move slowly."
They began the descent. Loose gravel skittered beneath their boots, echoing off the ravine walls. Several times, Feiyan gritted her teeth against pain flaring in her arm whenever she had to brace herself. Lan Zhuoran tried to help her, but he also had to manage the uneasy mule, its ears flicking in agitation.
Partway down, Gao Tianrong halted, raising a cautionary hand. Lan Zhuoran froze, listening. At first, he heard only their own ragged breathing and the scrape of stones. Then came a muffled shout from somewhere below—followed by the distinct clash of metal. An unseen battle raged within the ravine's depths.
The trio exchanged alarmed looks. More bandits? Syndicate mercenaries? Either way, a fight blocked their path. They weighed their options, tension crackling in the air. Yin Feiyan's knuckles whitened on the relic's covering. "We can't turn back," she whispered.
Gao Tianrong chewed his lip. "We might slip around them if the ravine is wide enough. But if the Syndicate is down there, we risk stumbling right into their feud."
Lan Zhuoran's gaze darted around the narrow ledges. He glimpsed no other routes. "We have to move carefully—maybe the fight will end before we get too close."
Edging forward, they pressed against the ravine's side, traveling a series of narrow ledges and fractured rock shelves. Shouts and metallic clangs echoed, sometimes drawing near, sometimes receding. Anxiety coiled in Lan Zhuoran's stomach. Each step risked dislodging rocks that could tumble noisily below.
At one point, Gao Tianrong peered over the edge, reporting glimpses of figures in chaotic skirmish—a ragtag group battling against black-cloaked fighters. The faint glint of a wolf's emblem confirmed Syndicate involvement. Lan Zhuoran's heart thundered. If they recognized him or Feiyan, the chase would become lethal.
Step by step, they inched deeper into the ravine. The clash of steel grew louder, occasional yells ricocheting off the rock walls. Feiyan's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat beading at her temple. Yet she never loosened her grip on the relic. We've come too far to surrender now, Lan Zhuoran thought fiercely.
Suddenly, a crumbling ledge gave way beneath Gao Tianrong, sending a cascade of pebbles and dirt down into the ravine. He stifled a curse, pressing against the wall. In the echoing silence that followed, the distant battle paused. A voice rang out: "Up there! On the ledges!"
Lan Zhuoran's blood ran cold. They had been spotted. Now, the Syndicate—or whoever was fighting them—knew someone lurked above. Shouts erupted from below, and the travelers had no time to second-guess their plan. Gao Tianrong motioned desperately for them to keep moving.
Heart pounding, Lan Zhuoran clutched the mule's lead. Feiyan clenched her teeth, pain etched on her face. We can't afford to be trapped, he thought. We have to keep going—no matter the cost.
As fresh echoes of pursuit rose from the ravine floor, the trio scrambled along the perilous ledge, fear and determination propelling them forward. The Syndicate's presence had intensified once more, and in the heart of this rugged canyon, a deadly showdown loomed on the horizon.