Dawn broke with a sweltering heat that seeped into Lan Zhuoran's bones before he even opened his eyes. He awoke beneath the sparse shade of the lone tree, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. Gao Tianrong, arms folded, leaned against the trunk, having finished his watch. Yin Feiyan rose cautiously, testing her arm's mobility with a grimace.
"We should aim to travel before the midday sun grows unbearable," Gao Tianrong murmured. "Let's go."
They gathered their meager supplies. The mule snorted, pawing at dry ground in search of grass. Feiyan carefully tightened the straps on her splint. Though it pained her, the medic's salve from Saishan Town had reduced the risk of infection, giving her renewed confidence.
Their path east stretched over rolling hills that offered little cover. The horizon shimmered with heat waves, distorting distant shapes. As they trudged, Lan Zhuoran kept scanning for signs of movement, recalling how easily bandits or Syndicate scouts could appear.
By mid-morning, the sun blazed overhead, forcing them to ration water. Sweat trickled down Lan Zhuoran's neck, and he envied the wide-brimmed hats some farmers wore in earlier encounters. They paused under the shade of a rocky outcrop to catch their breath and let the mule drink from a small skin of water.
Feiyan exhaled slowly, sliding onto a flat stone. "This heat… it's relentless."
Gao Tianrong shielded his eyes, surveying the next slope. "We can push on a bit more, then we'll rest again. Hopefully we'll find a stream or well soon."
They pressed onward, eventually cresting a ridge that revealed a vast plain below—brown grass swaying in the breeze. In the distance, a shimmering line suggested water or perhaps a mirage. Lan Zhuoran frowned, uncertain if it was real. But continuing east was their only option.
As midday approached, exhaustion dogged each step. Feiyan's arm throbbed, her bandages soaked with sweat. Lan Zhuoran's shoulder stung from the old wound, though he tried to mask the discomfort. Gao Tianrong's stoic facade betrayed little, but his breaths grew labored.
At last, they found a shallow depression that offered mild shade beneath an overhang of rock. Collapsing there, they doled out the last of their water. The mule's bray sounded distressed, nostrils flaring for moisture in the scorching air.
"We can't go on without replenishing," Feiyan said, voice cracking. "We'll collapse, or worse."
Lan Zhuoran nodded grimly. "We need water. Let's rest a bit, then see if that haze in the distance is a stream or just illusion."
Time crawled. The sun climbed higher, scorching the rocky ground. Feiyan dozed fitfully, while Gao Tianrong leaned against stone, eyes half-closed. Lan Zhuoran found himself drifting into memories of Baihe Village's quiet mornings, longing for the simplicity of a place where fresh water and kind neighbors weren't luxuries.
Eventually, with the sun angling westward, they mustered the will to continue. Eager to find any source of water, they trudged toward the shimmering line. The plains offered little refuge—a few scraggly bushes, occasional boulders. Each footstep kicked up dust.
As evening's golden light settled, they reached the shimmering illusion: a dry riverbed. Cracked earth spread before them, mocking their thirst. Feiyan sank to her knees, stifling a sob of frustration. Lan Zhuoran clenched his fists. This can't be it…
Gao Tianrong examined the ground. "No water here for months, maybe years." He grimaced. "We'll have to keep going."
Feiyan pressed her good hand to her face, eyes shining with exhaustion. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm slowing us down."
Lan Zhuoran knelt beside her. "No, it's not you. We all need water. Let's save our strength. Maybe if we move at night, it's cooler."
They set up a small camp near a rocky ledge, the mule grazing on brittle grass. Night fell, and a faint, dusty wind provided minimal relief from the heat. No fire was lit—they had neither the energy nor the water to waste. Gao Tianrong took watch, though the vast emptiness made an ambush seem unlikely. Instead, the threat was dehydration.
Around midnight, Feiyan stirred, restless. Lan Zhuoran offered her a spare scrap of cloth soaked in the last drops of water, letting her moisten cracked lips. She trembled, pressing the relic against her chest as though seeking strength from its silent presence.
"We've faced so much," she murmured, voice faint. "But this… dying of thirst out here… I can't accept it."
Lan Zhuoran mustered a gentle smile. "We won't. We'll find a way."
Gao Tianrong returned from a short scouting foray, face grim. "No sign of water. But there might be faint tracks heading south—a larger path. Perhaps travelers or caravans pass there."
They agreed it was their best chance. Sleep came in shallow bouts, punctuated by dryness in their throats and the relentless ache of overworked bodies. The stars twinkled overhead, indifferent to mortal struggles. Lan Zhuoran glanced at Feiyan's haggard form, remembering how she'd once teased him about practicing martial forms in the rain back in Baihe. Hold on a little longer, he urged silently.
Dawn arrived in a blaze of red and orange, revealing a stark wasteland before them. With parched determination, they set off southward, following Gao Tianrong's hunch. The ground cracked underfoot, each step a trial. Feiyan stumbled more than once, forcing Lan Zhuoran to support her. Even Gao Tianrong's stoicism cracked as sweat beaded on his brow.
By midday, just as despair threatened to overwhelm them, they glimpsed a raised mound in the distance—perhaps a man-made structure. Summoning the last of their resolve, they closed in. Indeed, it was a simple stone cistern, partially collapsed, but with a trickle of water seeping from its base. A battered sign labeled it a "waypoint."
Relief surged through them. Lan Zhuoran scrambled forward, testing the water. Though not pristine, it flowed in a shallow pool beneath the broken cistern. Enough to drink. With trembling hands, he filled a waterskin and pressed it to Feiyan's lips. Gao Tianrong bowed his head, exhaling relief as he guided the mule to the pool.
They drank in silence, letting the tepid liquid revive their failing spirits. Feiyan's tears fell, equal parts gratitude and exhaustion. Lan Zhuoran felt a wave of hope. The desert heat and dryness had nearly crushed them, but this battered waypoint offered salvation.
Night approached with a gentle breeze, cooling the scorched plains around the cistern. Though still wary of potential bandits or mercenaries, they dared a small fire, resting with renewed vigor. Feiyan even managed a faint laugh. "We're alive," she said, voice trembling with relief. "And tomorrow… tomorrow we keep going."
Lan Zhuoran nodded, feeling the gentle hum of qi in his limbs. Their journey remained fraught, but for now, the void of thirst had been conquered. The relic's destiny—and their own—waited beyond the horizon, yet so long as hope flowed like this humble trickle of water, they would press on.