Lui Ming kept walking.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, then sank again, the air growing heavy and damp as the forest swallowed him whole.
His shoulders burned. His legs screamed. Every step was a negotiation between pride and pain.
Seven hours.
Seven hours of hauling dead weight across uneven dirt and tangled roots.
By the time he finally stumbled out of the treeline, sweat clung to his spine and his robes were sticking in all the wrong places. His grip on the limp stranger had gone from "careful rescue" to "dragging a sack of rice with bones inside."
"—Tch. You better be worth this," he muttered, half to himself, half to the still-unmoving figure on his back.
But then—
He stopped.
Down the slope, past a patch of overgrown grass and wildflowers, small houses peeked out. Wooden fences, crooked rooftops, smoke curling faintly from chimneys.
A village.
Lui Ming blinked.
He fished the map out from his sleeve, unfolded it with shaking hands, and squinted.
Empty.
This place… wasn't marked anywhere. Not a dot. Not a name.
He looked up again, frowning.
The sound of children laughing carried faintly on the wind. Somewhere, a dog barked. It all looked… normal. Too normal.
"…Great. Just what I needed. A village that doesn't exist."
He adjusted the weight on his back, groaning under his breath, and started forward.
Unaware that the so-called unconscious stranger… had their eyes half-open, lashes fluttering just enough to betray wakefulness.
Watching.
Measuring each step Lui Ming took, every strained breath that slipped through his teeth.
But not moving. Not yet.
Lui Ming trudged down the slope, each step sinking into damp earth. The closer he got, the clearer the details became: laundry strung between crooked posts, a weathered well in the center, chickens pecking freely at the dirt.
And the people.
They stopped what they were doing the moment he came into view.
Farmers with straw hats. Women with baskets of grain. Even a few children clutching worn toys in their little hands.
All staring.
Not a word. Not a whisper. Just silence and eyes—eyes fixed on him, on the half-dead body slung over his shoulder.
Lui Ming's frown deepened.
"…What?" he muttered under his breath. "Never seen someone carry baggage before?"
A middle-aged man stepped forward, his smile too quick, too wide. "Traveler! You must be tired. Come, rest. We have food, water, a place to sleep."
The others followed his lead, nodding, smiling, speaking words of welcome. Their voices overlapped, warm and eager, almost desperate.
Too eager.
Lui Ming's grip on the stranger tightened unconsciously.
Kindness like this? On a nameless road, from a village that shouldn't exist?
It wasn't kindness.
Feeling uncomfortable he had the need to run but felt like if he did he wound be hunted down
He forced a smile of his own. "How generous."