When Yao Wu woke up, the rain had already stopped. It had been raining for quite some time, but it had finally ceased. Still, the sky remained a murky, dusty gray.
Chen San sat on the half-destroyed threshold of the Four Seasons Herb Hall, his back to Yao Wu, staring out at the dreary gray sky. Puddles had accumulated on the muddy ground outside, reflecting a sliver of light leaking through the gaps in the clouds. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Yao Wu opened his eyes and stared at the gray sky, his mind a complete blank. He wiggled his fingers, his fingertips brushing against the rough wooden floorboards, carrying a familiar woody scent.
He wanted to roll over, but a sharp pain shot through his chest. From his ribs downward, the agony made it impossible to move even an inch. He craned his neck to look down; the clothes on his chest were thoroughly soaked in blood, dyed a dark brownish-red. He had lost an arm, making even the hope of propping himself up to sit a luxury... With such severe injuries, he truly did not know how he had survived.
His chest felt tight and heavy, as if something were wedged inside, suffocating him. He opened his mouth, but only a muffled, breathy sound escaped his throat.
Chen San caught the faint sound. He whipped his head around and froze for a moment upon seeing Yao Wu's open eyes. Then, he practically sprang up from the threshold, knocking over a chair with a loud clatter.
He walked over to the bedside and looked down at Yao Wu. His lips twitched a few times as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, nothing came out. Yet, he felt he had to say something.
“...You're awake,” he said, his voice dry and filled with an awkward helplessness. Yao Wu stared at him without speaking, his gaze slowly shifting from Chen San's face to his empty left sleeve. Chen San followed his gaze, looking down at the empty sleeve hanging limply by his side, swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly, his nose prickled.
Yao Wu withdrew his gaze and stared back up at the sky. Only after a long time did he speak, his voice so quiet that Chen San could barely hear him.
“Where is this?” he asked.
Chen San replied, “Black Mountain Fort. Du Qi followed Su Li to the Central Continent, and Nannan went with Hong Jiu to Everspring City...” He omitted any mention of Lu Yan.
Yao Wu closed his eyes and fell silent. Chen San stood by the bed, unsure whether to stay or leave. After a moment, he sat back down on the threshold, his back turned to Yao Wu once more. One lay in bed, the other sat on the threshold; neither spoke, each lost in his own thoughts.
Yao Wu opened his eyes again. “Where is Shiyi?” Chen San replied, “Up on the mountain. Jiang Ci is watching over him. He might... never wake up.”
Yao Wu was silent for a moment. “...Take me to see him.” Chen San wanted to dissuade him, knowing Yao Wu's current physical condition was in no state for travel.
But though his mouth opened, he only stood up and helped Yao Wu out of bed. He carefully tucked Yao Wu's severed arm, bound it tightly with cloth strips, and draped an outer robe over his shoulders...
Yao Wu swayed when he stood up, his legs as weak as wet noodles. Chen San held him steady, not letting go. The two stepped out of the room and into the dreary, gray day. The path was difficult, littered with loose gravel and full of potholes. Chen San supported Yao Wu, walking at a snail's pace.
They walked for a long time until they reached the foot of the mountain and found the narrow path leading up. The path was too narrow for them to walk side-by-side, so Chen San went ahead, letting Yao Wu lean on his shoulder. Slowly, they made their way up the mountain. Step by step, a simple wooden cabin on the mountainside gradually came into view.
The cabin door was wide open, revealing the interior. Jiang Ci lay slumped over the bedside, her head resting on her arms, fast asleep. Dried tear tracks still stained her face, leaving behind white streaks. Her hair was loose and unkept, draping over her shoulders with a few messy strands stuck to her cheeks from tossing and turning. Lu Yan lay in bed with his eyes closed. The cracks on his face resembled fractured porcelain, his complexion as white as paper and his lips tinged blue. The rise and fall of his chest was so weak that one had to stare for a long time just to be sure he was still breathing.
Yao Wu stood at the doorway, making no move to enter. He just watched. He stared at Lu Yan, at those cracks, and at the faint rising and falling of his chest.
After a moment, he withdrew his gaze, looked down at his own empty left sleeve, and stared at it for a while. Then, he turned and slowly made his way back, leaning against the wall for support. Chen San followed behind in silence. They had walked a long distance when Yao Wu suddenly stopped, prompting Chen San to stop as well. Yao Wu did not turn around.
“...He won't die. This kid has a tough life. A very tough life.”
He spoke in a very soft voice, as if talking to himself. Chen San remained silent. He did not know if Yao Wu was referring to Lu Yan or to himself. They continued on, walking down the slope and into the dreary, gray world.
“Go to Everspring City. That is where his roots are...” Chen San followed Yao Wu. His own roots lay with the people right beside him.
By the time Jiang Ci woke up, dusk was already falling. She lifted her head, her neck stiff and aching, emitting a soft cracking sound as she turned it. She looked at Lu Yan. His breathing was still just as weak, his face still just as pale. She reached out to touch his cheek; the cracks were still there, unhealed.
Drawing her fingers back, she slowly stood up. Her legs were completely numb, forcing her to lean against the edge of the bed for support. Once the pins and needles subsided, she made her way over to the stove.
The leftover porridge from the morning remained in the pot, cold and congealed into a hard clump stuck to the bottom. She scraped at it with a spoon, but it wouldn't budge, so she added some water, lit the fire, and slowly stirred. The firelight flickered across her face. Deep dark circles ringed her eyes, and her lips were dry, chapped, and peeling. The porridge began to bubble, the aroma of rice mingling with the rising steam. She scooped a bowlful, carried it to the bedside, ladled a spoonful of the rice water from the top, blew on it to cool it down, and fed it to him. After coaxing the bowl of porridge down his throat, she set the empty bowl on the bedside table.
She walked over to the rice barrel, lifted the lid, and reached inside. There wasn't much rice left—just a thin layer at the very bottom, barely enough to gather into a single bowl. She reached her entire arm in until her fingertips brushed the cold wood of the bottom, finding nothing else. Withdrawing her hand, she stared at the few grains clinging to her palm. After a brief silence, she brushed them off and let them fall back into the barrel. It was running out. She didn't know how many more days they could hold out—maybe three, maybe five, or perhaps even fewer.
Leaning against the stove, she stared at the pot. Steam was still rising from it, and the remaining porridge bubbled softly. She had no idea what to do. There was nowhere to buy rice at the foot of the mountain anymore. She didn't know when Lu Yan would wake up. All she knew was that they were running out of food.
She crouched down, burying her face in her knees. The fire in the stove slowly died out, its last red embers flickering a few times before going dark. The room plunged into shadow, lit only by a sliver of pale gray light filtering through the crack in the window, casting her long, stretched shadow onto the opposite wall.
She crouched there for a long time, until her knees began to ache and her legs grew numb again. Supporting herself against the stove, she stood up, walked to the bed, and tucked the blanket around Lu Yan. She looked out at the sky. She knew they couldn't stay here much longer.
The name of a city she had only heard mentioned a few times surfaced in her mind. Jiang Ci clenched the hem of her clothes. In three days, they would leave...
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