Chapter 29 – Restless Nightfall

Lan Zhuoran awoke from a brief doze to the soft sound of footsteps. He stirred, reaching instinctively for his staff. Across the room, Gao Tianrong glanced over, eyes sharp beneath the hood he often wore. The door to the storehouse creaked open, and the faint glow of a lantern lit the threshold.

"Sorry," came Siqin's hushed voice. She held the lantern aloft, her spear strapped across her back. In her other hand, she carried a small clay bowl. "I brought something—medicine my grandmother taught me to brew."

Gao Tianrong relaxed slightly, nodding for her to come in. The storehouse remained dim, shadows dancing around broken barrels and scattered crates. Lan Zhuoran rubbed the sleep from his eyes, rising to greet her.

She extended the bowl toward him. "It's mostly warm broth with some ground herbs. Should ease pain and reduce fever."

He accepted it gratefully. "Thank you. Yin Feiyan will appreciate this."

Silently, Siqin approached Feiyan, who still lay on the makeshift bench. Her brow glistened with sweat despite the chill in the air. At Siqin's gentle prompting, Feiyan sipped from the bowl, letting out a faint sigh of relief. The bitter concoction made her grimace, but she swallowed obediently.

"Better?" Siqin asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Feiyan gave a small nod. "It's warm, at least. Thank you, truly." She managed a smile that quickly dissolved into weariness.

Siqin lingered, her gaze flicking between Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong. "I can't stay. My shift guarding the gate starts soon." She hesitated, then added, "I hope your friend recovers. Just… be careful out there tomorrow."

Lan Zhuoran bowed his head, touched by her quiet kindness. "We will. And we'll remember this kindness."

With that, she slipped out into the night, leaving the storehouse door ajar for a moment before closing it softly behind her. Gao Tianrong let out a slow breath. "At least the people here aren't hostile. That's something."

Lan Zhuoran returned to Feiyan's side, gently propping her head against a folded cloak. The swirl of herbs in the broth left a pungent aftertaste in the air. "Try to rest, Feiyan," he murmured.

She fought to keep her eyes open, a wry smile tugging her lips. "You two… keep watch. Don't let the Syndicate catch us napping." Then she sank back into a fitful sleep.

Night deepened, the rustle of wind against the storehouse walls a constant companion. Gao Tianrong took watch by the door, while Lan Zhuoran paced the cramped interior, unable to fully calm his thoughts. Each time thunder rumbled in the distance, his heart lurched, fearing the approach of enemies. But no alarm came.

Sometime after midnight, Gao Tianrong gestured for Lan Zhuoran to take over. The archer settled against the wall, folding his arms. Lan Zhuoran nodded, stepping outside for a breath of cool air. Two guards stood at the hamlet's gate, Siqin among them, both armed and huddling against the chill. Their lantern cast flickering shadows across the damp ground.

Inhaling slowly, Lan Zhuoran let the drizzle cleanse some of his tension. The night sky offered little comfort—no moonlight, only brooding clouds. Yet he found a measure of solace in the quiet. If only every village could be spared the Syndicate's cruelty, he thought bitterly. How many more innocent people have to suffer?

Eventually, he returned to the storehouse. Gao Tianrong slumbered lightly, bow at his side. Feiyan stirred but did not wake, her brow furrowed with pain even in sleep. Lan Zhuoran settled near the entrance, staff in hand, eyes fixed on the door. Just a few more hours until dawn, he told himself.

Time passed at a crawl. The wind outside increased, sweeping past with lonely sighs. He thought of Baihe Village, of Auntie Qiu's worry, and of the vow he'd silently made to protect those he cared about. He pictured the final moments of that dying traveler in the gorge, the haunted emptiness in his eyes. No more needless death, he vowed. We must end this chase.

At last, a ghostly silver light crept through the cracks in the storehouse wall—dawn. Gao Tianrong roused, rubbing stiff shoulders, while Feiyan opened her eyes with a soft groan. Lan Zhuoran crouched to check her bandage, relieved to see that the swelling had eased slightly. The herbs from Siqin seemed to be working.

"We should prepare to leave," Gao Tianrong said, glancing at the door. "The sooner we're on the road, the less chance we have of dragging the hamlet into trouble."

Lan Zhuoran nodded, helping Feiyan to her feet. Though she winced, she managed to stand more steadily than before. Together, they gathered their scant belongings and strapped the relic securely to the mule's flank, concealing it beneath layers of cloth.

Outside, the hamlet stirred with early-morning activity. A thin trickle of smoke rose from a common cookfire near the center. Yao, the headman, stood by a makeshift gate, arms folded. He watched them approach, an unreadable expression on his face. Linghu and Siqin were nowhere to be seen.

"So you're off," Yao said, voice gruff. "I hope your injuries aren't too serious."

Yin Feiyan mustered a polite bow. "Thanks to your hospitality, I can travel again."

He inclined his head, though his gaze flicked over them warily. "You're still in mercenary territory if you continue southeast. Take the footpaths rather than main roads if you can."

Gao Tianrong smiled thinly. "We will. Thank you for the advice."

No further words were exchanged. The trio guided the mule through the gate, stepping out into the chilly morning. Once beyond the hamlet's barricade, they paused on a small rise, looking back at the cluster of huts where a handful of villagers quietly worked to survive another day.

Lan Zhuoran felt a pang of guilt at leaving them vulnerable should the Syndicate arrive. But they had no other options. With a last grateful glance, they turned southeast, determined to keep pushing toward the capital. Each step carried them closer to an uncertain reckoning, but also to the slim hope that Skyfire Protocol might save more lives than it endangered.

The road stretched on beneath a gray sky, the drizzle fading to a persistent mist. Though aches and bruises lingered, the companionship of Gao Tianrong and Yin Feiyan offered a spark of defiance. In the hush of the new day, they pressed onward—rested, if not entirely healed, and more resolute than ever.