Night fell gently over the plains, the sky a deep indigo dotted with stars that blinked like distant guardians. Within the makeshift camp of the refugee caravan, small fires flickered, illuminating weary faces. Lan Zhuoran knelt beside Yin Feiyan, who was propped against a wagon wheel with fresh bandages on her arm. Nearby, Gao Tianrong kept a watchful eye on every rustle of tall grass.
The caravan folk—a ragtag assembly of displaced farmers, laborers, and a handful of tradespeople—had arranged their wagons in a loose circle, forming a minimal barricade against wild animals or night raids. Children dozed in the corners of covered carts, their cheeks hollow from hardship. A few adults conversed in hushed tones, exchanging tales of lost homes and bandit attacks.
Seated on a low crate, the caravan's de facto leader, Madam Sun, stirred a pot of thin stew. She beckoned Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong over, ladling out meager portions into wooden bowls. "It's not much," she murmured apologetically. "But you're welcome to share."
Lan Zhuoran bowed his head in thanks. "Your kindness means more than you realize."
As they sipped the watery broth, Yin Feiyan leaned forward, wincing at the pull in her shoulder. "I'm grateful for this rest," she said softly, "but we mustn't drag these people into our troubles."
Gao Tianrong's gaze swept the dark horizon. "True. A large caravan might draw the Syndicate's attention if they send more patrols this way. Still, strength in numbers could deter smaller bandit groups."
Madam Sun overheard and joined them, wiping her hands on her patched skirt. "You mentioned you're bound for the capital. We're heading the same direction, though some plan to break off at the next decent town. If we travel together for a while, it might help us both. Of course, if you sense danger—"
Lan Zhuoran pressed his lips together. "We are, indeed, fleeing powerful enemies. We can't promise safety. But if we don't find proper medical care soon, my companion may lose her arm—or worse." He exchanged a grim look with Feiyan.
Madam Sun's brow furrowed. She studied Feiyan's pained expression, then squeezed the younger woman's uninjured hand gently. "Stay with us a while longer. Our healer can do more if we find better herbs. Perhaps there's a larger settlement ahead."
Moved by her compassion, Feiyan dipped her head. "Thank you. We'll try not to cause trouble."
A soft lull fell over them, the distant crackle of fire lending a rare sense of calm. Gao Tianrong volunteered for first watch, as usual, stationing himself near a wagon's edge. Lan Zhuoran and Feiyan shared a brief exchange—he would watch her while she slept, ensuring her arm didn't bleed anew. Despite their internal alarm, both found a sliver of solace among these ordinary folk who, in all their desperation, still found the will to share what little they had.
That night, the refugees hummed broken lullabies to restless children. A young man strummed a worn lute, its melody haunting in the crisp air. Lan Zhuoran leaned against the wagon, exhaustion tugging at him, but comforted by a sense of community he'd almost forgotten could exist. Feiyan drifted into fitful dozing, lulled by the quiet chatter around her.
For just one night, the looming threat of the Syndicate felt distant. No crossbow bolts whizzed overhead, no bandit ambush emerged from the darkness. Lan Zhuoran allowed himself to hope that this caravan might survive unscathed for at least a little while. Perhaps we can reach a town with a real clinic or apothecary, he thought.
Sometime after midnight, Gao Tianrong tapped his shoulder, signaling it was Lan Zhuoran's turn to keep watch. Rising, he silently replaced Gao at the perimeter. The archer slipped back into the circle of wagons, presumably to snatch a few hours' rest. Lan Zhuoran stood beneath the shimmering stars, staff in hand, scanning the rolling plains for any sign of movement.
A faint breeze swept through the grass, rustling like whispered secrets. The distant howls of nocturnal creatures drifted across the open land, but no human presence revealed itself. In that stillness, Lan Zhuoran's mind wandered to Baihe Village—Auntie Qiu's warm hearth, the sturdy door that once sheltered him from storms. He swallowed a pang of homesickness, recalling that he was now the storm, crossing a vast wilderness with only a fragile relic and tenuous allies.
Morning found them all stirring with the first hint of dawn. The children yawned, blinking sleepily, while adults busied themselves harnessing oxen to wagons. A few travelers scrounged up leftover rice or stale bread for breakfast. Feiyan tested her arm's range of motion; the pain still lingered, but the healer's poultice had at least prevented infection from worsening overnight.
Madam Sun approached as they packed their belongings. "We'll be on the road again," she announced. "If you'd like to stay in our company, you can follow just behind the wagons—less dust that way. We generally take rest stops at midday."
Exchanging glances, Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong silently agreed. Feiyan nodded gratefully, leaning against the mule. "We appreciate it."
Thus, the caravan rolled out, a modest procession moving steadily eastward. Gao Tianrong walked ahead, scanning the path. Lan Zhuoran and Feiyan followed close behind, leading the mule. Whispered conversations and the creak of wooden axles provided a gentle soundtrack, an odd mix of hope and uncertainty in the morning light.
Though their ultimate goal remained the capital—where the relic's future might be decided—a temporary alliance with these hardy souls felt like a blessing. The group's shared spirit of perseverance offered a glimpse of what life could be without constant fear: a collective will to survive, to rebuild, even in a realm beset by bandits and mercenaries.
Behind them, the sunrise painted the sky in rose and gold, each step carrying them one day closer to either deliverance or doom.