In the fragile hour before dawn's full bloom, when the world still wore the hush of sleep, Li Wuji lay with his back half-propped against a mound of folded robes within the canvas confines of his tent. The air was crisp, scented faintly of damp earth and last night's ash. The hum of insects had faded, replaced by the solemn silence of the coming morning. Shafts of golden light pried gently through the seams of the tent, gilding the worn fabric with pale warmth.
His eyes remained closed, but he was not asleep.
My wounds are healing up nicely. His fingers drifted across his abdomen, brushing the clean bandages with a contemplative calm. The pressure no longer ached. Beneath the tight wrappings, the pain had dulled from a biting flame to a manageable throb—progress, though the road ahead promised no reprieve.
A fleeting smile touched his lips—brief as dew on stone.
Yet before serenity could fully embrace him, a scream tore through the veil of stillness.
"Aaaaaahhh!" ~
The shriek was jagged and raw, not the startled cry of a beast nor the melodrama of a faint-hearted youth, but the primal, involuntary wail of a warrior pierced by agony. It shivered down Li Wuji's spine like steel dragged across bone.
He opened his eyes slowly, gaze sharpening like a blade honed against stone. A sigh passed from his lips, low and resigned.
Anything that can cause a grown man to scream in such a manner... this journey shall not be smooth after all.
His body moved without haste. He sat up fully, rolled his shoulders to loosen the night's stiffness, and reached for the teacup by his bedside. The water inside had grown cold, but he sipped it nonetheless. Only after this moment of quiet did he part the flap of his tent.
Through the narrow slit, his dark eyes captured a tableau of chaos.
Yuan Yi, the young woman who had dressed his wounds but a day prior, knelt in the red-stained dirt. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, arms slick with blood that wasn't hers. Her expression was one of desperate control, jaw tight, brows knit—not fear, but focus. A wounded man lay sprawled beside her, screaming and thrashing, his tunic soaked through with crimson.
"Remain still," she snapped, reaching for a thin silver pin from the lacquered case beside her. "Or I will pierce the wrong acupoint!" ~
"I am bleeding to death! How can you expect calm from me, woman?!" the injured warrior roared, his face pallid, sweat beading upon his brow.
Li Wuji narrowed his gaze, his thoughts turning inward. So it begins…
From deeper within the encampment, the thunder of metal on earth signaled reinforcements. The marching boots, the clank of armor—it was not the rescue of one man, but the arrival of a tempest. The footfalls were methodical, ironclad and disciplined. Then came the unmistakable voice of authority.
"What happened here?"
Zhang Jie—bald, broad as a siege gate, and wielding a halberd large enough to cleave oxen in half—stormed into the clearing. Behind him, a cadre of armored men followed, each bearing the crimson-and-ash insignia of the convoy's rear guard.
Li Wuji shifted to the side of the tent entrance, ensuring the cloth still veiled most of his frame. He remembered this man—the same one who had led the charge through the ravine beasts. His brutality had painted the soil in viscera and courage alike.
"I am not aware of the full details myself, Zhang Jie," Yuan Yi answered coldly, not looking up as she adjusted the wounded man's posture.
Even from his hidden vantage, Li Wuji could feel the friction in the air—the crackling tension between these two. Their words were brittle, strained with some unspoken history.
"Is that so?" Zhang Jie's tone thickened with disdain. He strode forward and brought his halberd down, the jagged point hovering near the wounded man's throat. "Then I must halt this treatment. I have questions—answers we need now."
The metal gleamed in the morning light. Yuan Yi's fingers froze mid-motion.
A flicker of alarm danced in her eyes, quickly smothered by indignation. She turned her head just enough to shoot a glance at the brute. Her meaning was clear: Do not make this worse.
Is this really the time to settle grievances? she thought bitterly, knowing full well that Zhang Jie would not be swayed by glances alone.
Zhang Jie straightened, unmoved. "You and I both know the information this man holds could affect every soul in this caravan," he said, voice slick with justification. "I cannot risk a threat to our survival, no matter how much blood is spilled in the process."
Yuan Yi's gaze darted to the edges of the clearing—no help. The camp still slumbered in pieces. The few warriors who had followed Zhang Jie remained a mute wall behind him.
Surely someone heard that scream, she thought, panic fluttering under her ribs.
Her voice dropped an octave. "Zhang Jie," she said, urgent now, "if we don't stabilize him, he may not live to tell you anything. Let me work—give me that much."
For a moment, the hulking man was stone. The halberd did not move.
Then—
"I believe I heard something over there!"
Voices.
Footsteps.
The rhythmic shuffle of boots on dirt.
Yuan Yi exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Relief broke across her face, tempered by renewed purpose. Figures moved beyond the tents, shadows cutting across the rising sun's path.
From behind the tent flap, Li Wuji saw them too. So the others have heard the call of pain… finally. His eyes did not move from the scene. Yuan Yi's calm, Zhang Jie's boiling impatience—everything etched itself into his mind.
This camp is a furnace of hidden fires.
Zhang Jie's scowl deepened as the first of the new arrivals emerged. His jaw clenched. I wasted too much time on this wench, he thought, cursing the delay. With a reluctant snarl, he raised the halberd and stepped back.
"For now, we prioritize his treatment," he growled. "But mark me, Yuan Yi—I will have the truth before this sun sets."
Yuan Yi ignored his warning. Her hands moved with surgical grace, calling for assistance. "Brother Cheng—bandages, to your left."
"Yes, Sister Yuan."
More hands joined her, voices lifting in coordinated command. With the help of the new arrivals, the warrior's cries dimmed to groans. Order returned.
From his tent, Li Wuji said nothing, but observed everything.
So this is the fire Chi Chao's daughter warned of. Men driven by fear, cloaking it in duty. Women holding the line with bloodied hands. And beneath it all—cracks in the wall we depend upon.
Yuan Yi, busy with her work, glanced briefly toward the tent. She saw him: calm, unreadable, watching with the stillness of a snake in tall grass.
That man… he doesn't flinch, doesn't fret. He sees too much and says too little. No peasant walks with such restraint.
She filed the thought away. There would be time, perhaps, to revisit it.
Above them, the sun climbed slowly. But beneath its light, shadows gathered.