Wang Lin didn't notice how much he was shaking until his hands slipped in the blood.
It was everywhere.
Warm, sticky, too much.
The beast-woman lay crumpled against the torn earth. Her chest rose and fell so faintly that Wang Lin had to lean in close just to check if she was still breathing. Her skin looked pale beneath the dirt and dried blood, with her lips tinged blue at the edges.
Alive.
Barely.
"That idiot," Wang Lin muttered to himself.
He tore another strip from his already ruined robe and pressed it harder against her shoulder. The wound was ugly, torn by claws and edged with spiritual residue that stung his fingers.
She groaned.
The sound was weak, but it sent a rush of relief through him so sharp it was almost painful.
"Good," he said quietly. "Stay angry. Stay loud."
Her eyelids fluttered. For a moment, her eyes focused on his face.
Fear snapped into them instantly.
She jerked, trying to pull away. Her body wouldn't respond, but panic made her struggle anyway. Her breath hitched, turned ragged.
"No," Wang Lin said quickly, raising his free hand. "Don't move. I'm not…"
He stopped.
Not what?
Not a tamer? Not a hunter? Not like the others?
To her, there was no difference.
Her gaze darted to the dead spirit hound, then back to him. Her lips trembled.
"…You're with them," she whispered.
Wang Lin swallowed.
"I'm not," he said. "I swear it."
Her eyes flicked to the path the man had fled down.
"They always say that."
The words were flat and tired. It was clear she had heard them too many times to hope.
Wang Lin felt something twist in his chest.
He shifted back slightly, giving her space despite the urgency of her bleeding. Slowly, he tugged open his robe and exposed his chest.
"I can't bind you," he said. "I don't have qi. I don't have anything."
She stared.
"What are you doing?" she rasped.
"Showing you," Wang Lin replied.
He closed his eyes and focused inward.
There was nothing.
No warmth, no flow, no response.
The emptiness felt as familiar as his own heartbeat.
"Look," he said. "If I could control you, you would feel it. Pressure. Pull. Fear."
Her brow furrowed.
She hesitated, then lifted a trembling hand and placed it against his chest.
The contact was light, barely there.
Her eyes widened.
"…Empty," she murmured.
The word carried disbelief.
"Completely," she said again, breath catching. "You're…"
Her hand fell back to her side.
A shudder ran through her body, not from fear this time, but exhaustion.
The tension in her eyes eased just a bit.
"I was expelled today," Wang Lin said quietly. "I was walking away when I heard you."
She let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn't broken halfway through.
"So you're a fool," she said.
"Yes," Wang Lin agreed. "Apparently."
Her lips twitched, then she winced as pain tore through her shoulder. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage again, darker now.
Wang Lin cursed under his breath.
"We can't stay here," he said. "Sect patrols will come back once they realize the hound is dead."
"They will," she said weakly. "And they won't be merciful."
He glanced around the clearing. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to leave her and save himself.
He ignored it.
"Can you move?" he asked.
She tried.
Her arm failed immediately. Her legs trembled uselessly.
"No," she said. "Not far."
Wang Lin exhaled slowly.
"All right," he said. "Then I'll carry you."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "You can't. They'll track us. You'll die."
"Maybe," Wang Lin said. "But you'll definitely die if I don't."
He did not give her time to argue.
He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. She was heavier than he expected, her body limp and uncooperative. Pain shot through his spine as he stood, nearly dropping her.
She gasped and weakly clutched his sleeve.
"Sorry," he muttered, adjusting his grip.
Each step sent jolts through his arms. His muscles protested almost immediately. He had trained his body, but carrying someone through uneven forest terrain was entirely different.
He stumbled, nearly fell.
She tightened her grip on him, nails digging into the fabric.
"Put me down," she whispered. "You won't make it."
Wang Lin clenched his teeth and kept moving.
"I didn't ask if I would," he said. "I asked if you would."
The forest fought them.
Roots snagged his feet. Branches lashed his face. Sweat poured down his back, mixing with blood and dirt until everything felt slick and wrong. His breathing grew harsh and ragged.
His vision blurred.
The pendant at his chest grew warmer.
He ignored it.
After what felt like an eternity, he saw it.
An old structure half hidden by vines and moss. A collapsed barn, its roof sagging inward, doors hanging crooked on rusted hinges. It looked abandoned, forgotten.
Perfect.
He staggered toward it and kicked the door open with what little strength he had left. Dust filled the air as he carried her inside and lowered her carefully onto a pile of old straw.
His legs gave out immediately after.
He dropped to his knees beside her, chest heaving, vision swimming.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence pressed in, broken only by their uneven breathing.
She turned her head slightly to look at him.
"You really are a fool," she said again.
Wang Lin let out a weak laugh. "You already said that."
Her eyes lingered on his face.
"Why," she asked quietly. "Why help me?"
He thought about it.
About the hall. About the word assets. About being told his life had no value.
"I know what it's like," he said slowly, "to be told you're only worth what you produce."
Her expression shifted.
Something old and sharp moved behind her eyes.
"You don't," she said. "Not like this."
"No," Wang Lin admitted. "Not like you."
He reached for his water skin and carefully tipped a few drops to her lips. She drank eagerly, then coughed.
"Easy," he said.
She settled back, eyes half closed.
Minutes passed.
Her breathing steadied slightly, though it was still shallow. Wang Lin checked her wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but the skin around it was hot. Fever.
That was bad.
Very bad.
He glanced at the door, half expecting it to burst open at any moment.
"We'll rest here," he said, more to himself than to her. "Just for a bit."
Her eyes opened.
"You won't leave," she said. It was not a question.
"No," Wang Lin replied.
She studied him for a long moment.
Then, with what little strength she had left, she nodded once.
"Then I'll live," she said quietly.
Her eyes closed.
Wang Lin sat in the dim barn, listening to the forest beyond the walls, every sense stretched tight. Fear coiled in his stomach, heavy and unrelenting.
He had no cultivation, no protection, no plan.
He had only made a choice.
And choices, he was learning, demanded payment.