Morning came, pale sunlight spilling over the shattered watchtower. Gao Tianrong roused Lan Zhuoran and Feiyan, shaking off the stiffness of another night on hard ground. They packed up quickly, leaving the forlorn ruins behind as they descended the hill. Each footstep resonated with the unspoken weight of history: once, soldiers manned these posts to defend a united empire; now, mercenaries, warbands, and chaos reigned.
They followed the trade route again, though it grew less distinct with each mile. Overgrown grass encroached upon old wheel ruts, and broken signs offered little guidance. By mid-morning, they reached a crossroads—a fork where one path curved southeast, the other northeast.
Feiyan frowned at the battered milestone etched with barely legible script. "Looks like the northeast branch might lead closer to the capital. Southeast… maybe to smaller towns."
Gao Tianrong considered the path, arms folded. "We risk running headlong into that warband if we follow the northeast route. But it is more direct."
Lan Zhuoran studied Feiyan's expression. Despite her fatigue, determination flared. "Let's stay on course," he murmured, pointing northeast. "The longer we delay, the more danger grows."
They agreed, turning northeast. The day's heat intensified, but not as harshly as before. Occasional clouds offered scattered shade. They rationed water carefully, recalling the near-disaster of thirst not long ago. Feiyan's limp grew more pronounced as pain pulsed through her arm, but she pressed on, refusing to slow them further.
By afternoon, they spotted signs of old farmland—wooden fences rotted away, tilled fields choked by weeds. A somber hush blanketed the countryside, as if war's specter had drained life from these once-vibrant lands. Lan Zhuoran's heart ached at the evidence of a proud empire slipping into ruin.
Then, a faint sound pricked his ears: voices carried on the breeze. He signaled for caution, and the trio crept toward a stand of trees. Hiding among the trunks, they peered out at the remains of a large estate—a mansion of faded grandeur, walls chipped by time. A handful of people bustled about the courtyard, wearing tattered finery or patched livery. Guards patrolled with halberds.
Gao Tianrong narrowed his eyes. "A noble's estate? Surprising it stands in these conditions."
Lan Zhuoran looked at Feiyan. "Should we approach? They might offer shelter or at least news."
Feiyan hesitated, glancing at her injury. "We can try. But be ready to run if they're hostile or allied with mercenaries."
They emerged cautiously, hands raised to show no ill intent. A startled guard rushed forward, halberd pointed. "Who goes there? Speak!"
Lan Zhuoran kept his tone calm. "Just travelers seeking the capital. We need safe passage, maybe supplies. We mean no harm."
A second guard approached—a woman in torn finery, eyes sunken with weariness. "You're not with any warlord?"
Feiyan shook her head. "No. We're refugees in our own way."
The guards exchanged glances, then beckoned the trio closer. The estate's courtyard revealed broken statues, overgrown gardens. A gaunt man dressed in a once-elegant robe stood on the porch, hands trembling. "You're travelers? Not bandits?" he asked.
Lan Zhuoran repeated their assurances. The man introduced himself as Lord Zhou, explaining in a trembling voice that his family once held modest nobility here. War and mercenary raids had left them isolated, with many servants fleeing. Those who remained were desperate to keep the estate from falling entirely to ruin.
Feiyan's heart softened at the sight of Lord Zhou's fear. She recognized the fragility shared by everyone in these fractured lands. "We just need a place to rest," she said gently, "and any information about the roads to the capital."
Lord Zhou's gaze flicked over their weapons and Feiyan's bandages. "You've… seen battle. We have little to offer, but if you help guard us for a night, maybe scare off raiders, we'll share what meager supplies we have left. Our watchmen are few."
Gao Tianrong exchanged a look with Lan Zhuoran. "We can manage that—if we're not pinned down by a large force."
The old noble nodded anxiously. "We don't expect miracles. Just… keep watch with us until dawn. Then you may depart. Please."
Sympathy welled within Feiyan. This estate felt like a relic of a bygone era—like them, clinging to hope in a land ravaged by strife. "We'll stay tonight," she said softly.
Lord Zhou exhaled relief, instructing a maid to arrange sleeping pallets in a corner of the manor's once-grand foyer. Though the interior reeked of neglect, it shielded them from the elements. They accepted simple meals—rice gruel and stale bread. Gao Tianrong mapped out watch shifts with the guards, while Lan Zhuoran inspected the courtyard's walls, noting weak points. Feiyan helped a frail maid board up broken windows.
Night descended over the dilapidated estate, lanterns flickering in the old corridors. The trio stationed themselves in strategic positions, ensuring no bandits or mercenaries slipped through. Feiyan leaned against a crumbling column, staff in her uninjured hand, relic pressed to her side. Despite the worry etched into every corner of the estate, she felt a fleeting sense of purpose—defending these weary souls, if only for a night.
Lan Zhuoran patrolled the courtyard, staff tapping echoes across cracked tiles. Gao Tianrong prowled along the walls, bow ready. Behind them, the shattered remnants of nobility stood silent, harboring flickers of memory from a time when unity reigned. Tomorrow, they would resume their trek, forging deeper into a land on the brink. But for now, beneath fraying banners and chipped marble pillars, they offered a moment's shield to those who, like themselves, refused to surrender.