The days that followed were a living nightmare. Ji En carried Lingyue upon his back through rain and mire, wounds festering, food dwindling.
On the fifth day, hope appeared—a small temple, hidden in the mountain woods.
But dread met them at the gate: a corpse lay sprawled, long rotted.
"Blood-Defying Sentinels," Lingyue whispered, hand to her mouth.
Inside, more bodies littered the courtyard, some burned, some dismembered. The west wing was scorched black, cages of messenger doves reduced to ash.
Just as despair threatened to crush Ji En, a faint cooing sounded from the charred rafters.
A lone white dove fluttered down.
Lingyue's eyes lit with tears. She lured it with crumbs, cradled it gently, and at once scrawled a plea for aid.
"Ji En—we are saved. Once this bird takes flight, Yu Yun Sect will come for us."
She released the dove, watching it vanish into the sky with trembling hope.
That night, Ji En cleared a chamber and found medicine among the ruins. They dressed each other's wounds, then at last collapsed into dreamless sleep.