Layne trudged ahead in an ill-fitting cotton coat, stamping the snow down firm, testing for hollows in the path.
Behind him, Mu Wanhua supported Qingshui step by step. Qingshui's face was drained of color, her hair bound up in cloth so that only a pale visage showed.
At last they reached the foot of the mountain—only then realizing this "path" was nothing but a trail hunters and woodcutters had worn into the slope. At its end lay the faint outline of the highway.
When they turned onto the main road, the snow bore more footprints and cart ruts. The sound of hooves carried faintly from afar.
Wanhua glanced back at the carriage they'd seen, tightened her coat, then raised a hand to hail the driver.
She carefully eased Qingshui onto the rear bench. Though fresh clothes hid the blood, her face was still ghost-white. Layne squeezed close, guiding qi into her, helping knit the wound.
The driver cast them a sidelong glance, muttering, "Who takes a child into the hills so soon after a storm, only to get hurt like that…"
The cart wound along, turning a bend—there a checkpoint blocked the way. A wooden arch spanned the road; two soldiers slouched beside a brazier, half asleep. They roused only enough to lazily halt the reins.
"What business?"
The driver bowed, smiling wide: "Selling coal in Xiangyuan Town, gave them a ride—they're bound for Xi Wang village."
One soldier circled round, his gaze crawling over Wanhua. Though weary and drawn, her beauty was plain; her figure showed beneath the padded coat. He smirked, reaching to tug at her collar.
"What's under there? Got travel papers?"
Wanhua froze as the hand neared—
But Layne's voice cut in, offering several plaques forward:
"Mother, Aunt Qingshui said our passes are here."
The soldier started, only then catching the cold gleam from the pale woman behind. A chill shot through him; the lust drained from his eyes.
He snatched the plaques instead, glanced at them, then grunted: "With a brat, eh… Get moving."
The driver bobbed his head, flicked the whip. The wagon groaned into motion, wheels grinding snow into long, drawn-out echoes across the empty road.
Wanhua stroked Layne's chilled cheek, eyes lingering on the checkpoint until it was gone, a long breath leaving her.
Behind, Qingshui had closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of Layne's qi mending her wound bit by bit.
The sun glinted on the snowbanks, dazzling. They passed a crude milestone, half its carving weathered away—still legible: Xi Wang Village.
Qingshui leaned against the stacked crates, gaze wandering. Across the barren field she caught sight of a broken temple—walls crumbling, lintel cracked. She squinted, then slowly turned away in silence.
At last the wagon halted at the village gate.
Xi Wang was even smaller than they'd imagined—low eaves heavy with snow, thin smoke trickling from scattered roofs.
A few villagers stood in the snow, leaning on sticks, staring warily at the strangers, faces tight with suspicion.
The driver had no mind to linger. He flicked the reins, tone flat: "Here. Off."
Wanhua climbed down, steadying herself before helping Qingshui alight. Qingshui clenched her jaw against the pain lancing her shoulder. Layne held her hand fast.
The driver glanced once more, said nothing, only turned the cart and soon vanished down the road.
The villagers did not move to help—only muttered among themselves.
Wanhua smoothed wind-tossed hair and stepped forward, voice taut but firm:
"My sister and I… our family met with disaster. We bring her child. May we lodge here awhile? We have coin, and seek a place sheltered from the wind."
The men exchanged looks. One finally snorted, eyes narrowing at Qingshui's pallor.
"There's an empty hut at the back row. Roof leaks. Take it if you want—no charge."
The tone held no kindness—more eager to shunt them aside, out of sight.
Wanhua breathed deep, bowed slightly. "Thank you. Once we settle, we will pay respects to your headman."
She turned. Qingshui only nodded, saying nothing, and followed with Layne, leaving the whispers behind.
The hut lay at the village edge. Its walls were packed earth, the door split with gaps, a corner of the roof collapsed and patched with rags and straw.
Inside was bare, the clay bed frozen like stone. Wind whistled through the cracks.
Wanhua set Qingshui on the bed, then hurried out to find firewood.
Qingshui leaned back against the wall, pulling from her robe the vial left by Xuánhǔ. She swallowed two qi-restoring pills and sat cross-legged, breath sinking inward. Layne pressed his palms to her back, feeding warmth.
Wanhua returned soon. The hut had no wood; she had bartered away copper coins for a small bundle. She stuffed the sticks into the kitchen stove, struck flint, coaxed flame. Smoke rose; warmth began to seep into the cold shell.
By the time Qingshui exhaled, Layne slick with sweat, the room was gentler.
Wanhua peeled back Qingshui's collar to check the bandages.
"Not much bleeding left. I'll buy what I can—heat water, clean it proper, add more powder."
Qingshui nodded. Her stomach growled.
"I'll bring food. Layne—watch your aunt. Keep the fire alive."
Layne leapt down, nodding hard.
Wanhua left with the last of her copper. Xuánhǔ's gold and silver would be useless here; they'd need to move again soon, vanish anew.
The house fell quiet. Only the wind outside.
The stove's crackle spread warmth through the clay bed, chasing damp cold into corners. Qingshui rested, breath ragged. Layne shadowboxed alone—now more than ever, he felt too slow.
Outside, the village was hushed, punctuated by distant barks. Sunlight pierced the cracked door, falling across the boy's face—steadier, older than his years.
In the central capital of the Kingdom of Jikan.
The Grand Chancellor sat in the council hall, face dark.
On the low desk lay an opened dispatch, words terse and cold:
"Shuili defected. Mission failed. An unidentified outsider intervened. Shuidui gravely wounded. Targets and Shuili all escaped."
His eyes narrowed, finger tapping the desk. His voice was a knife of frost:
"An outsider… Xuánhǔ? No, he wouldn't be so foolish. Qiyuan? He's still being drawn east to Jiuxiao…"
A cold laugh. Ink touched brush. His lips curled.
"No matter who hides them… one day, they will be found."
The order flowed dark on the page:
"Seal Qixia province. Pursue through Haidao. Targets: two women, thirty years of age; one boy, around ten. Produce likenesses. Distribute, rank by rank."
The courier bowed and departed, shadows stretching across the chamber.
In their depths, the Grand Chancellor's face seemed a storm of black cloud.