The night was oppressively dark as if trying to squeeze ink from the shadows, a heaviness and despair pressing down on everyone's hearts. Qi Ling and Qi Zhu were leading the way, with Zheng Congyuan's footsteps sinking deeper with every step he took.
No one in the procession dared to make a sound, only the footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the struggle of feet in the muddy ground, and the occasional weak, defiant chirp of a cricket pierced the silence.
Qi Ling didn't know what to do next. The longer the time dragged on, the more faint the hope became. The commandery princess was not skilled in swimming, having been fearful of water since childhood, always keeping a wide berth even from a pond. The thought of her falling into the water made Qi Ling vividly feel the princess's panic.