12 Wounded

That night, disaster struck too swiftly, so swiftly that Ying Shi was caught utterly unprepared.

The carriage raced through the narrow mountain path, wind howling against the curtains. The darkness was so deep that not even an outstretched hand could be seen. Despite choosing the most deserted and remote trail, their situation only worsened, spiraling toward the worst possible outcome.

In the dead of night, pursuers arrived.

They had no idea how long they had been fleeing when suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves echoed from the darkness behind. Arrows whistled past, shot only to force their carriage to a halt. Shouts and cries rang through the night.

Listening to the thunderous hoofbeats outside the window, Ying Shi felt her heart rise into her throat, every second stretched to eternity. Judging by the sounds, the pursuers were many, while they had only a handful of guards. How could they possibly escape?

One thought consumed her mind—this was the end. She was doomed. After struggling so hard for a second chance at life, this was even worse than her previous fate. She'd barely had a moment’s peace before death loomed once more.

In a true crisis, all tension felt thin and powerless. The tips of tree branches brushed against the carriage curtain, letting in a faint sliver of light.

Suddenly, as the carriage jolted wildly, she felt the world spin around her, nearly tossing her out several times. Her hair became disheveled from the shaking, and she fell onto the felt on the floor. Before she could steady herself against the carriage, she heard Liang Yun calling her from outside the window.

For the first time, she detected urgency in his voice.

Ying Shi reached up and lifted the curtain. She saw Liang Yun, who had somehow caught up on horseback. Under the dim moonlight, his figure was as steadfast as a mountain.

He extended his hand toward her. "Come."

Desperate to survive, Ying Shi did not hesitate for a moment. Her face, drained of color, was pale as she stumbled toward the hand reaching out to her.

Just as she grasped his hand, the carriage jolted once more, and she was thrown forward by the force.

"Ah—" she cried out, but suddenly her body felt weightless. In a dizzying blur, a breeze brushed her hair and ear, and the next moment, Liang Yun had pulled her onto his horse.

The wind roared in her ears as scenery flashed past in a blur. Her heart pounded as if it would leap from her chest, and she struggled to catch her breath, not daring even to open her eyes.

In her terror, all her senses seemed to vanish, save for the tight, solid arm at her waist that held her firmly in place.

The sounds of pursuit gradually faded away, but Liang Yun did not slow his horse. He urged his steed deeper into the deserted woods, leaping over ravines, the mighty horse’s hooves pounding onward.

Gradually, all was silent. No more clashing blades or whistling arrows. Yet Ying Shi still dared not breathe freely or look back. She felt as if those arrows were still chasing her, that if she let go for even a moment, she would fall from the horse and lose her life.

She had no one else to rely on. In the end, a last shred of shame kept her rational, so she straightened her back, trying not to lean against the man behind her.

But if she did not, she found she had nowhere to place her hands or feet, no point of support; the arm holding her in front became her only anchor.

The mountain wind was bleak and bitterly cold, lashing her cheeks as her hair streamed behind her. She did not know how long the jolting ride lasted. Though tense with anxiety, she could do nothing but clutch her sleeves tightly, her fingers white with exertion and trembling.

At last, she felt the horse slowing, and the cloth in her hand was gently pulled away. Ying Shi lowered her gaze and saw that the sleeve she had been gripping was dark—a black garment, not her own. Wrinkled and creased from her clutching, it had accompanied her all this way.

Lying prone on the horse's back, her lashes trembled as she hesitated to look back or speak. Fortunately, Liang Yun did not blame her. He dismounted, gazing at the distant mountains for a long moment before saying, "They’ve gone after the carriage. You should get down now."

Obediently, Ying Shi struggled to dismount. Before she could ask her question, Liang Yun flicked the horse’s reins, sending it galloping away, vanishing into the trees.

He then swept away their tracks and covered the path with leaves. Suddenly, he met her tear-filled eyes.

Ying Shi dared not raise her voice, only managing a soft, timid question: "Why did you send it away?"

"If they cannot find us, they will not give up easily. The horse’s tracks are too easy to follow."

They had been fleeing all night, and now, in the distance, dawn was breaking. The pale light, like mist, cast a cold, unreadable expression on his face.

Ying Shi began to fear not only this place, but him as well. Uneasy, she averted her gaze and wondered—if they could not escape, would Liang Yun, for the sake of his family’s honor, kill her before the enemy could seize them?

Unaware of her thoughts, Liang Yun spoke: "Once we cross the mountain pass ahead, we’ll be out of Hengzhou. Beyond that, we’ll be safe. But we will have to walk a stretch of mountain road together."

Ying Shi nodded immediately; brought to this desolate wilderness, what choice did she have but to obey? "Don’t worry, brother. I’ve always had good stamina; a bit of walking is no hardship for me."

Her docile, sensible reply reassured Liang Yun, who felt a rare sense of relief.

"Very well."

Receiving even a single word of praise from the usually taciturn Liang Yun eased Ying Shi’s mind. She told herself that in this godforsaken place, as long as she followed this man—who had survived so well in her previous life—she would be safe, as long as she did not slow him down.

It was only walking, after all. The mountain did not look so far away—what was there to fear?

If he could do it, so could she.

But she did not yet understand what it meant for a mountain to kill a horse by running—let alone that they had now abandoned their horse, relying only on their pampered legs, unused to hardship, to make their way through the woods...

Liang Yun led the way, breaking off a sturdy branch to clear the thick undergrowth and ward off any lurking snakes or insects. Ying Shi lifted her skirts and followed closely, afraid to be left behind in this forsaken forest.

They walked, one after the other, for nearly two hours—from the dim light of dawn until the sun rose high overhead. The dense foliage above wove a seamless green canopy, filtering the harsh sunlight into a scattering of dapples.

Ying Shi’s shoes were nothing but thin cotton slippers, suitable for a few steps in the inner chambers or a short ride in a carriage, never for scrambling over rocks and through brambles.

After only two hours, her soles were already torn in several places, the sharp stones cutting through, and the grass and branches scraping her feet. Each step burned with pain. She followed behind, lips bitten, brows knotted, swallowing her suffering and not daring to trouble Liang Yun. She thought to tend to her wounds only when he finally stopped to rest.

But two hours passed.

Her throat was parched, her vision blurred, and her legs felt like cotton, yet the man ahead gave no sign of stopping. Several times, she looked up only to find the distant mountain still as far as ever, a wave of helplessness washing over her.

Liang Yun’s pace was not quick; he was clearly being considerate. But even so, Ying Shi could not keep up. If she slowed for even a moment, he would be far ahead by the time she looked up again.

Forcing herself to ignore the pain in her feet, she hurried after him. But as she started down a slope, a loose stone shifted beneath her, and she fell forward without warning.

With a dull thud, Liang Yun turned to see Ying Shi sprawled on the ground, all grace forgotten. She made no move to get up, instead sitting down heavily, propped on her hands.

Beads of sweat stood out on her brow, her face flushed red—whether from tears or the heat, it was hard to say—and her damp hair clung to her cheeks in a pitiful state.

Only then did Liang Yun realize her predicament. He hesitated, then bent to help her.

Clinging to his arm, Ying Shi’s legs were weak as jelly; she could barely stand.

"Brother..." she whimpered, her lips trembling, nose scrunching as she fought back tears. "I think I twisted my ankle..."

As she had feared, Liang Yun’s brows furrowed, his expression tinged with annoyance and displeasure.

"Which foot?" His voice was cold.

Her mind a blank, Ying Shi lowered her head and muttered, "The right... the right one..."

Liang Yun crouched down to examine her injured foot, mindful of propriety and not removing her shoe or stocking. Over her thin silk skirt, his strong fingers pressed gently but precisely on her ankle.

Her ankle was slender, fragile to the touch. His hand slid down from her ankle to her toes, concealed beneath the silk shoe, hidden from the light.