Fear and betrayal knotted in Ji En's chest.
He no longer dared the road, forcing his way through dense forest instead. Though he had washed his scent, the two corpses found him again that night—unyielding, spectral hunters.
He climbed a tree, despair gnawing at him.
But fate dealt another blow. Crows startled above, circling and shrieking. Their cries carried far.
Soon hoofbeats thundered back—the hunters again, drawn by the birds.
"Ha! Look, the boy's in the tree!"
Ji En's blood iced. Corpses below, blades above—he was trapped.
The five dismounted, moving toward the trees—only to startle when the two corpses burst forth.
They rallied quickly, steel flashing, but the dead felt no steel. One man fell with a scream.
Another shouted when he saw Ji En slipping down, but the cry cost him—he was seized and torn apart.
The others froze. Ji En seized the chance, sliding down. On foot, he would never outrun horses. His eyes fixed on the bandits' mounts.
He leapt astride one, slashing reins, vaulting to its back. Instead of fleeing at once, he cut loose the others and stabbed their flanks. The startled horses shrieked and bolted, chaos erupting.
In the turmoil, a corpse seized a pursuer mid-air, sinking its teeth deep.
Panic shattered the rest. They scrambled into trees, forgetting Ji En.
He spurred his horse, racing until foam flecked its mouth, then halted. But he knew—on horseback he was too visible. Feng Tianyu's men would never relent.
That night, he slept once more in a tree. And once more, the two corpses came, standing mutely below.
Ji En stared down, realization dawning. They followed him… but never attacked.
Heart pounding, he slid cautiously down. The corpses lurched close—but halted, a step away, unmoving.
His pulse thundered. He stepped back—they stepped forward. He stopped—they stopped. He jabbed one with his blade. No reaction.
A wild, terrifying thought took root:
The corpses saw him as one of their own.
Or as something they dared not touch.