The fated encounter in Forest

Chapter 5: The fated encounter in forest.

Jian Hu's world had shrunk to a single, unyielding struggle. In the heart of the forest, beneath a moon that offered little warmth or comfort, he lay slumped against the gnarled roots of an ancient oak. The forest around him was vast and indifferent—a silent witness to his agony. The cold night air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, did nothing to ease the burning pain searing through his body.

Every inch of him was marked by the brutal contest he'd just endured. Deep blade wounds crisscrossed his exposed skin, and blood seeped slowly through his torn, dark robes. Yet, even as the physical pain threatened to consume him, it was the insidious poison coursing through his veins that truly held him captive. The venom was a relentless force, dulling his senses, numbing his limbs, and whispering in his ear that his end was near.

But Jian Hu couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't die in such a ridiculous way—abandoned in a forsaken forest, his story ending on a note of utter insignificance. With a bitter, determined snarl, he fought against the creeping darkness. His vision wavered between fleeting clarity and an encroaching void, but he forced his trembling arms to move. Every agonizing step was a battle in itself, his fingers clawing at the cold, damp ground as he dragged himself forward, inch by torturous inch.

He knew that if he could reach the outskirts of the forest, there might be a chance—a chance that someone might pass by, that help might come, or at the very least, that he could keep himself alive until morning. The world around him blurred into a haze of pain and despair as his strength ebbed away. The poison was winning, and his body protested with every labored gasp. Yet, the thought of dying like this—alone, forgotten, and without purpose—spurred him onward.

In a moment of raw defiance, he thought, I won't end my life in this pitiful state. His mind, stubborn as ever despite the weakening poison, clung to that thought. But as his body began to falter, every step became a monumental effort. The forest, once an expanse of indifferent silence, now echoed with the sound of his ragged breathing and the heavy thud of his failing heart.

At last, after what felt like an eternity of relentless struggle, Jian Hu's body reached its limit. His arms gave way, and with one final shuddering breath, he collapsed onto the forest floor. The once-mighty warrior lay still for a long, terrible moment as darkness closed in, his fate sealed by the slow, deadly toxin.

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Morning was still a distant promise when Li Xin finally left the confines of the town. In the early hours, the market was unusually quiet—merchants had not yet raised their voices, and his own steam bun stall remained shuttered and empty. Instead of following his habitual routine, Li Xin found himself compelled to leave the familiarity of the town behind. The letter from his master, with its ambiguous summons and unresolved past, still weighed heavily on his mind. Though he had read its contents, he had not dared to act on it, choosing instead to let its silent influence carry him away from his daily life.

Without the usual clamor of the market or the routine of setting up his stall, Li Xin wandered the narrow, dew-sprinkled streets. His steps, measured and unhurried, led him naturally toward the outskirts of the town—where the orderly bustle gave way to the quiet mystery of nature. He had no destination in mind, only the desire to escape the inner turmoil stirred by the letter. The crisp morning air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and fresh foliage, provided a quiet contrast to the weighted thoughts in his mind.

As he neared the boundary of the town, the landscape transformed. The well-trodden roads faded into a network of narrow dirt paths, and soon he found himself surrounded by the silent majesty of a forest. Here, the rustling of leaves and the whisper of the wind through the towering trees replaced the familiar sounds of the town. It was a place he rarely visited—one that reminded him of a life left behind. Yet on this day, driven by the restlessness in his heart and the unresolved echoes of the past, he continued onward.

It was then that he noticed something amiss. At first, it was just a faint, incongruous scent amid the natural odors of the forest—a hint of iron and decay. His eyes, ever observant, soon caught sight of a series of dark, red stains along the soft, dry earth. The marks were irregular, as though left by frantic footsteps or the scraping of a wounded body. Intrigued despite himself, Li Xin paused and followed the subtle trail deeper into the woods.

The forest here was denser, the canopy thick enough to obscure the full light of the awakening sky. As he moved cautiously between the trees, a strange stillness enveloped him. Then, in a small clearing bathed in the muted light of early dawn, he saw a figure. A man lay slumped against the base of a massive, ancient tree. His posture was limp, his dark robes stained with blood, and numerous wounds marred his body, each a testament to a fierce battle. Li Xin's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight.

At first, Li Xin's reaction was one of detached curiosity. He had long since learned to remain indifferent to the suffering of others, choosing not to intervene unless it served a purpose. The identity of the dying man was irrelevant—hero or villain, life was life. Yet, as he studied the wounds and the strange discoloration along the veins, something shifted within him. A distant memory stirred—a memory of a time when someone had paid with their life to save him, a debt that had never been repaid.

For a moment, Li Xin hesitated. He turned to leave, as if to avoid getting involved in another conflict. But the look on the injured man's face, the palpable agony etched into every bruise and scar, reminded him of that old promise—a silent yearning to repay a life once saved. The sight of the wounds, the evident signs of poison creeping along the flesh, left no doubt in his mind: this was not a simple case of violence. It was poison—deadly and deliberate.

Without a second thought, Li Xin's resolve hardened. He would not let another life be snuffed out in the darkness of the forest. Though his own life had been one of quiet detachment, deep down he carried a spark of the person he once was—a person who valued the life of another. Stepping carefully over the bloodstained earth, he moved toward the fallen man, his dark eyes scanning every detail.

He knelt beside the injured figure, whose face was now partially hidden in shadow. Li Xin did not speak a word, his silence more powerful than any command. Instead, he examined the wounds, noting the patterns of the blade marks and the ominous signs of poison spreading beneath the skin. The realization was immediate and unmistakable: whoever had struck this man had used poison with a calculated cruelty.

It did not matter who the man was or what part he had played in the events that led him here. What mattered was that he was dying—and Li Xin, despite the cold detachment that had become his daily armor, felt a quiet compulsion to act. A part of him yearned to save a life, to repay a debt from a past long buried.

Rising slowly, Li Xin cast one last glance at the fallen figure. With steady resolve, he turned and stepped back into the shadowed forest, determined to search for the proper herbs that might stave off the poison's deadly progress. In that moment, whether hero or merely a man bound by old loyalties, he knew that a life was worth saving—even if it belonged to a stranger left to die in the loneliness of a great, indifferent forest.

The forest air was cool and damp as Li Xin walked deeper into the trees. He moved with steady, unhurried steps, his gaze searching the ground for the right herbs. The scent of moss and wet bark filled the air, blending with the distant hum of insects and rustling leaves.

Behind him, the injured man remained motionless beneath the ancient tree, his face pale and his breath faint. The night had left him abandoned, but fate had not yet let go of him.

Li Xin crouched near a patch of wild plants, his fingers brushing over the leaves as he examined them carefully. He had seen this type of poisoning before—it was slow but deadly. Without treatment, the man would not survive the night.

He picked the herbs he needed, his expression calm as ever. There was no attachment, no curiosity about who this man was or how he had ended up in such a state. That was not his concern.

Yet, for reasons he did not wish to acknowledge, he had chosen to act.

As he stood and turned back toward the wounded stranger, the forest seemed quieter, as if holding its breath.

Perhaps this was fate.

Or perhaps, it was simply a debt being repaid in silence.