Morning sunlight slanted through the crumbling roof as Lan Zhuoran woke to find Yin Feiyan already sitting up, gingerly rotating her injured arm. The herbal poultices had reduced the worst of the swelling, though her movements remained stiff. Gao Tianrong, bow slung over his shoulder, finished his perimeter check and stepped back inside the stone structure.
"No fresh tracks," he reported, settling into a crouch by the dying embers of their fire. "No signs of bandits or Syndicate patrols overnight."
Feiyan exhaled a relieved breath. "At least we have a day's grace, then."
They gathered their belongings, dousing the fire to avoid leaving traces. Outside, the deserted village wore a melancholy beauty under the morning glow. Weeds swayed in a gentle breeze, and a stray cat darted across the broken plaza. Lan Zhuoran scanned the dilapidated stalls, wishing they might find something useful—herbs, dried food, anything. But the place had been thoroughly picked clean long ago.
Eventually, they found what might once have been a communal well, now dry and half-collapsed. Gao Tianrong hopped down to inspect, returning with only a shrug. "Empty, caved in. No water."
Faintly discouraged, the trio decided to move on. The main road leading out of the village had long since disintegrated into patches of dirt and rubble, so they followed an improvised route amid toppled columns and shattered stone carvings. Each relic of the village's past told a silent story of impermanence.
Once beyond the ruins, the landscape reverted to rolling plains, dotted with a few scrawny trees. A mild day bloomed around them, clouds drifting lazily across a pale blue sky. Had they not been fugitives, the serenity might have felt welcoming.
By midday, the scorching sun pushed them to seek shade under a lone, twisted tree. Yin Feiyan nibbled on the last of their dried rations, grimacing at the bland taste. "We're running low on supplies," she noted. "If we don't find a settlement soon, starvation might get us before the Syndicate does."
Lan Zhuoran sighed, leaning his back against the tree trunk. "We'll manage somehow. Maybe we can forage or hunt if we see wildlife. Gao?"
The archer brushed off his cloak. "I'll keep my eyes open for small game or edible plants. But large game might be rare in these parts." He glanced at the horizon, where faint hills shimmered in heat haze. "We should press on while we still have daylight."
So they continued, forging a slow path. Feiyan's limp gradually worsened—the strain of defending the relic while traveling so far in a wounded state weighed on her. Lan Zhuoran stayed close, offering support whenever the terrain grew uneven.
By late afternoon, they spotted a narrow creek winding through a shallow valley. Excitement stirred as they followed it, hoping for fish or at least fresh water to replenish their canteens. Gao Tianrong even tried shooting an arrow at a small flock of startled birds, though his target flew off before his arrow could strike.
Still, the creek yielded enough clean water for them and the mule. They refilled their waterskins, and Gao Tianrong managed to gather a handful of edible wild greens from the muddy banks. They weren't much, but better than nothing. The day's warmth lingered, a reminder that soon, traveling under the capital's scorching sun might become a new challenge.
As evening neared, they found a narrow ravine lined with rocky ledges—less dramatic than the canyons they'd previously traversed. The place felt secluded enough for them to risk camping. Erecting a small ring of stones for a fire, they settled in for another night. The flames danced over the ravine walls, painting everything in gold and crimson hues.
During their sparse meal of boiled greens and ration scraps, Yin Feiyan's gaze drifted to Lan Zhuoran. "I still can't believe how far we've come since Baihe Village. You saved me, and now we're half a world away."
Lan Zhuoran offered a gentle smile. "We did what anyone with a conscience would do."
Gao Tianrong cleared his throat. "Plenty of people would have ignored a wounded stranger. You two just happen to be too noble for your own good."
Feiyan snorted softly, wincing as the motion tugged on her bandaged arm. "Noble or foolish—maybe both."
A rare chuckle passed between them, a momentary lifting of the gloom that had dogged them for so long. Lan Zhuoran's shoulder throbbed, but the camaraderie eased his pain. Here, in this quiet ravine, they felt almost safe—no clashing swords, no menacing crossbows. Yet the respite felt fragile at best.
Late into the evening, Gao Tianrong stepped away from the campfire to scan the cliffs overhead. Feiyan drifted into restless sleep, the relic tucked securely beside her. Lan Zhuoran, half-dozing, snapped awake when Gao returned, face grim.
"Voices," the archer said tersely, "far off, echoing across the plains. Might be travelers, or Syndicate scouts. Hard to say."
Lan Zhuoran's pulse quickened. "Do we pack up and move?"
Gao Tianrong shook his head. "They're not close enough to pinpoint us yet. Keep watch. If they approach, we'll slip away or fight if we must."
The hours crawled by, marked by Gao Tianrong's periodic forays to the ravine's edge. Each time, he returned saying the voices seemed to be moving parallel to their position, not directly toward them. At last, near midnight, the noise faded entirely.
Relief mingled with ongoing dread. Even in moments of quiet, the Syndicate's shadow loomed. Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong took turns on watch, dozing in shifts while Feiyan tried to recuperate. Overhead, the stars shone indifferently, silent witnesses to the travelers' peril. Another day would dawn soon, bringing them one step closer to the capital—and one misstep closer to ruin.