She tried to bolt upright, but sharp pains from fresh wounds lanced through her body. She winced, losing her balance. Baiyue flopped back onto the hard floor of the cage, crying out in agony.
"Ahh! Why does my butt hurt this much?!"
Struggling to her knees again, she clutched the wooden bars desperately. She took a shallow, shaking breath before calling out to the young man walking beside her cage. He wore a black robe.
"Hello, mister," she whispered, lips trembling, her strength draining as if she hadn't eaten for days.
The young man snapped his head toward her. His piercing eyes filled with loathing, making Baiyue flinch, her breath catching in her throat.
"You're finally awake. If you're going to ask for water or food, I'm not giving any until we reach our destination. You can find some there—if you're lucky enough to last an hour," he said dismissively.
"I'm not asking for any of that," she countered softly, yet her body betrayed her with a loud, hollow growl. The sound made the man frown and turn away.
"I'm serious! A meal isn't my problem. But can you tell me where I am?!" she called again. "And what destination are you talking about?"
Hearing the genuine fear in her voice, the man stepped back into her view. His lips stretched into a cruel smile. "You've been unconscious for a day. It looks like the slave has forgotten her crime."
"Who is a slave? Is that a compliment or a jab? And what crime did I commit? Can you please be direct with me? I'm going nuts—I feel dizzy already," she fired back, her eyes blazing.
The man's expression shifted, confused by her strange manner of speech. "We're taking you all to the Shadow Forest. Your crime was trying to escape your fate as a slave."
Baiyue's expression soured, overwhelmed by the foreign things. "Young man, I'm not a slave. My name is Baiyue. I'm the youngest, best chef at the Dreamy Seven-Star restaurant. I have savings for college! I don't want to be here. Please, don't take me there. If you let me go, I promise I won't tell the authorities. I'll pretend this was all a dream."
She pleaded with him, but the guard was fed up.
"Looks like the hits to your head really affected your senses," he blurted, moving away and leaving her to bubble in frustration and fright.
"Hey! Please don't leave! You can't take me away!"
When he didn't return, she pressed her forehead against the rough wood, lamenting the absurdity of it all.
"What rubbish is he saying? How did I get into this mess? I need to get out of here. Where is the mister from Haven Lake?"
She jerked her head, searching, but her eyes narrowed as a group of people suddenly burst from the bushes, weapons raised.
"Take the captives safely!" a thunderous voice commanded. "Eliminate anyone in your way!"
In an instant, the quiet woods erupted into chaos. The clash of wood and metal, the pounding of feet, and loud, guttural groans filled the air.
Baiyue's pulse thundered violently. Her fear spiked as she watched the newcomers freeing the captives, shepherding them toward a hidden path. Were these rescuers—or a deadlier enemy? She couldn't tell.
She had no time to ponder. If she stayed, she would not survive. She had to move even though she needed to trust him at least for this moment of getting out of the cage.
Spotting her cage tucked in a shadowed corner, half-covered by thick cloth, Baiyue shouted desperately, "Hey! Someone—please! I'm here!"
One of the men heard her and cut through the chaos.
"I'll get you out," he said, fumbling with a padlock key.
"Where?" she demanded, observing his dressing style looked rogued with his colleagues, and utterly different from the hunters guard.
"To our fortress," he replied.
Creak! The heavy lock dropped to the ground.
Once the cage swung open, Baiyue slipped out, following him quietly—but a guard's sharp order pierced the air.
"She's escaping! Slave 317! Don't let her flee! Master wants her gone!"
As the crunching leaves echoef beneath their shoes, they scrambled into the bushy paths, flanked by towering trees overhead like mountains. Instead of following the man like a sheep, Baiyue scanned the area for her own exit only to find the landscape was alien, unlike any mountains she knew from the city through her knowledge oerrands herb-gathering trips.
Noticing her rescuer was focused to join others ahead, Baiyue bent down and scooped a handful of grit with trembling hands.
"Ahh! My foot!" she shrieked, stumbling theatrically.
The cry stopped the man. He turned to check on her, but she flailed her hand toward his face. The grit splashed into his eyes. He cried out in pain, staggering back.
Without delay, Baiyue bolted down the sloping mountain, her face contorted as raw groans escaped her. Pain shot through her muscles; she felt like she had been beaten to a pulp.
Despite the exhaustion pressing on her lungs, Baiyue pushed forward, each step heavy and raw, until she stumbled onto a wide, clear path flanked by towering, fresh bamboo that swayed gently in the wind. She spun to the right, desperate to continue her flight—but then she froze.
From the distance, a troop of soldiers emerged, their armor gleaming in the dappled sunset filtering through the bamboo. They moved with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm, each step precise, radiating cold, unyielding authority. Black banners bearing golden crows snapped sharply in the breeze, signaling ultimate victory.
Why is everyone dressed like this?
Warriors? An army? Or… some cosplay I don't understand?
A tight lump formed in Baiyue's throat as she watched. The soldiers' synchronized march, the clank of metal boots and armor, created a hypnotic, almost terrifying cadence.
Beautiful, imposing, and utterly alien—she didn't know whether to feel awe or fear.
Caught in her dazing state, her gaze moved past the armies only to lock on one figure riding a charcoal stallion. He moved with fluid ease, each motion commanding attention. His snow-white hair was tied in a half-updo, a thick black ribbon concealing his eyes. His armor was heavier, more ornate—undeniably the mark of a commander. Every detail screamed authority, danger… and maddening allure.
Baiyue's breath caught, drinking the sight of him as her messy hair fluttering in the gentle wind.
Despite the distance and blindfold, a strange pull gripped her chest, as if he knew she was there. Goosebumps raced across her skin; her heart thundered, matching the drums of fear and curiosity rising in her.
She wanted to look away, to keep running—but her eyes stayed locked on him. The world around—the soldiers, the bamboo, the distant chaos—blurred, leaving only him, a presence impossible to ignore.
Then, a harsh, familiar shout shattered the spell.
"She's right there!"
Snapping her head back, Baiyue's eyes widened, jaw dropping in terror as she saw a hunter beside a tree draw an arrow aimed at her. The bowstring was taut, ready to release.
"I'm dead! I just escaped, and now death is here again! Please, let me be!" she thought, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
Panic-stricken, Baiyue bolted toward the approaching troops, hoping at least they would shield her.
Just a few frantic steps, and a whistling projectile slammed into the back of her shoulder. Hot pain flared through her spine, forcing her to arch sharply. Her gasp came ragged and raw as her momentum collapsed, knees folding beneath the crushing agony.
The sudden attack on the girl instantly alarmed the vanguard.
"Assassin! Protect His Lordship!" roared a young man on a stallion. This was QianFang, riding close behind the silver-haired commander.
"Yes!" the troops echoed in unison. In a swift, practiced motion, they shifted into a circular formation, spears leveling and blades flashing as they scanned every inch of the dense thicket.
In that same moment, a strange tremor shook the silver-haired commander's body, perfectly mirroring Baiyue's collapse. He felt something hot and metallic coat the corner of his lips.
Blood.
He lifted a finger to his mouth, brushing the liquid away.
"Someone just struck me," Zimo murmured, his voice rasping with a sudden, internal anguish.
QianFang, instantly alert, scanned his master's frame. "You are not hit, My Lord. The perimeter is secure; we are here to protect you."
Zimo's brows furrowed. He didn't argue, though the searing pain was radiating through his own chest rather than from an external wound. How was it possible to be struck so deeply without a scratch on his armor?
"Where is the shooter?" Zimo asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.
QianFang's gaze, sharp as an eagle's, locked onto the hunter still lurking behind the tree, readying a second shaft to finish Baiyue off.
A cold,ruthless smirk curved QianFang's lips. "The rat is still clinging to his cover."
With fluid grace, QianFang reached for the heavy recurve bow tucked at his horse's side. He notched an arrow, drew the string taut until it hummed, and let it fly the moment the hunter focused on the girl crawling through the dirt, unyielding.
The commander tilted his head slightly, his ears catching the sharp thrum of the bowstring and the lethal whistle of the arrow in flight. The shaft pierced the hunter's chest, pinning him to the earth instantly.
A scout rushed forward to inspect the body, looking back at QianFang with a grim shake of his head—the man was dead.
"Who was the target?" Zimo demanded.
"An injured woman on the path. Her clothes are tattered; she carries the mark of a slave," QianFang answered, providing the sight his master lacked.
"A woman?" Zimo thought. He hadn't expected to find a dying girl on the road back from the bloody campaigns of the Northern Border.
"Should we stay or—"
"Continue the march to Yongjing," Zimo cut in coldly, tightening his grip on the reins.
Just as he moved to spur his stallion, QianFang spoke up, his tone shifting to one of strategic caution.
"My Lord, wait. There have been numerous assassination attempts against you. Even leaving aside the possibility that this is a trap from the court—abandoning a vulnerable woman along the way could tarnish your reputation. If we bring her back to the dungeon for questioning, she may reveal the intent behind this sudden attack on the day of your return."
Zimo remained silent for a heartbeat, the phantom pain in his chest still thumping in time with the girl's labored breathing.
"Bring her," Zimo commanded, his voice like cracking ice.
He slammed his heels into his horse and rode away swiftly without looking back.