A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

On the forty-first day of the siege, the barbarians captured the western camp.

It wasn't a rout, but a methodical retreat. First, the tents were dismantled, then the cattle and horses were driven away, and finally the cavalry brought up the rear. Even so, they still lost a lot of things on the way back: grain carts that couldn't be burned through, wounded soldiers that couldn't be moved, and piles of used and discarded rags. When the west wind blew, the smell seeped in along the city walls, forcing the soldiers on the city walls to bury their faces in their sleeves.

Commander Wang stood atop the city wall for an entire day. The knife wound on his left arm hadn't fully healed, and after standing for so long, blood seeped through, staining the newly changed cloth a dark color. He didn't come down until the sun was setting, and his first words upon entering the tent were: "They didn't retreat, they dispersed."

Yang Hu asked him how he knew. Commander Wang said that when retreating, troops should regroup, and the rearguard should stay close to the main force; but this time, the retreating groups went their separate ways, and two groups even fought over the road at the crossroads.

"The morale of the army has collapsed," he said. "To the point that they can't even trust their own people anymore."

Yang Hu listened without replying. He thought of the sixty-odd prisoners who had been released. In the forty-five days, only three things had been done at Qing Shi Kou: sealing the well, boiling water, and cremating the dead. These three things, once they were reported, pierced deeper than any arrow.

On the forty-third day, only the southeast corner outside the city remained with tents. That corner was originally where the barbarian central army was located, with the most densely packed tents. Now, it was sparse, with only about a hundred tents left. Even half of the barricades had been dismantled to make firewood.

On the morning of the forty-fifth day, the scouts were able to leave the city for the first time.

Commander Wang dispatched thirty riders, splitting into three groups, to head out of the city. These thirty riders were the last remaining horses in the city capable of long-distance travel, and they were all veterans who had recovered from their injuries and returned to their posts. Each rider had two horses and they took turns riding them. Yang Hu wanted to go with them, but Su Heng stopped him. She said there were still over nine hundred wounded soldiers left in the city, and while others could do other tasks, only he could handle this one. He stood at the crossroads watching the thirty riders leave, standing there for a long time.

Of the three scout routes, the first two returned on the same day. The western route brought back the number of barbarian troops who had abandoned their camp, while the northern route brought back the depth of the ditch piled with corpses.

The third route went south. They were gone for two days and one night, and returned on the afternoon of the third day. When they came back, there were only seven of them left. Their horses were all lame, and their faces were as white as paper.

The squad leader dismounted, his legs gave way, and he knelt down inside the city gate.

"In...in the snowy mountains." He gasped, his words broken and fragmented. "Medical Officer Yang, go and take a look."

When Yang Hu arrived, the seven men were unloading the goods they had brought back from their horses.

It's not a person. It's a flag.

The object was wrapped in an oilcloth, and when the rope was untied, the object inside had hardened into a solid block.

The flag was mostly burned, leaving only a corner leaning against the flagpole. The blue background had half of the embroidered characters obscured by blood, but the character "青" (blue) was still vaguely discernible. The flagpole was broken in two, the cuts fresh and still splintered.

"The flag of the team that went out of the city," the sergeant said. "The character on the flag is 'Qing' from Qingshikou. Only three such flags were issued in the whole city: one on the city wall, one in the central command tent, and the other went out with them."

The flag was rolled up the night it left the city. The thirty or so riders, with their hooves gagged and their hooves wrapped, didn't even dare to light torches, so naturally the flag couldn't be unfurled. It remained rolled up on the flagpole for a hundred and twenty li, until it reached the battle at Aoli, where it was finally unfurled.

A group of people stood around the wounded soldiers' camp, but no one spoke.

Yang Hu squatted down and unfolded the flag. There were three tears on the flag, two cut by a knife and one pierced by an arrow. He ran his finger along the arrow hole, and the fabric around the hole turned inward, indicating that the arrow had entered from the outside.

"Where?"

Of the seven people, two could no longer stand and slid down against the city wall. The water bag under the willow tree was passed around, but no one bothered to drink from it.

"North of the snow-capped mountains, there's a place called Sancha'ao," the squad leader said. "There's a rocky ravine there, high on all sides and low in the middle. We found seventeen bodies in the ravine, all of them our men. The flag was at the very bottom, and on top of it were two bodies, one was the squad leader, and the other... I don't recognize him."

"Seventeen?" Yang Hu asked. "Thirty-four left the city."

"There are only seventeen bodies in the valley," the squad leader said. "The rest we haven't found. There are drag marks on the ground heading northeast, but it rained a few days ago over the snow-capped mountains, so the marks stopped halfway down the road."

"Are any alive?"

The squad leader shook his head, then stopped.

"Thirty paces outside the pass, there is a crevice in the rock. There are traces of fire in the crevice, it was freshly burned, and there is still some warmth under the ash."

"Freshly cooked?" Yang Hu's voice suddenly changed. "How fresh?"

"At most two days."

No one in the courtyard uttered a sound.

It's 120 li from here to Sancha'ao. That group left the city 45 days ago. If they had really been wiped out in the valley, the ashes of that fire shouldn't still be warm today.

"Anything else?" Yang Hu asked.

It was a strip of cloth, coarse, bluish-gray fabric, torn at one end and tied in a knot at the other. The cloth was stained with dark brown blood, which had dried and hardened like tree bark.

The moment Yang Hu took it, his fingers froze.

He recognized the cloth.

The night before leaving the city, she squatted under the lamp, sorting through the medicine pouch. Halfway through, she reached down and tore a strip from the hem of her vestment, wrapping the loose medicines tightly around it and stuffing it into her bosom. The vestment was faded from washing; the torn section revealed the bluish-gray lining. As she tore it, she was describing the route to Blackwater Fortress. He remembered the sound of the cloth being torn.

"Where did you find this strip of cloth?"

"Right there, at the crevice in the rocks," the sergeant said. "It's tied to a branch of a short pine tree, knotted so the wind can't blow it off."

It was tied to a branch. A tight knot was used.

That didn't fall down; someone hung it there.

The person hanging the cloth strip must first tear off the cloth, climb to the crevice in the rock, and tie it in a place where the wind cannot blow it away. All three of these things can only be done while one is still able to move.

Yang Hu stood up, clutching the half-piece of cloth, and stood motionless for a long time.

Everyone outside the camp was watching him. Doctor Liu opened his mouth, but ultimately remained silent. He had followed Yang Hu for two months, seen this man kneel in blood all night, and seen him saw someone's leg being sawed off without his hands trembling, but he had never seen him stand still like this.

Su Heng had been standing behind the others. Now she came up and took the tattered flag from his hand, rolling it up inch by inch.

After a long while, he turned around.

"Su Heng".

"exist."

"How many places in the city still allow horseback riding?"

Su Heng paused for a moment, then gave a number: "About three hundred can mount a horse. But if we're talking about those who can run 120 li and still be able to wield a sword when they get there, that's less than eighty."

"Where's the medicine?"

"At this rate, it can last for twelve days."

Yang Hu wrapped the half strip of cloth tightly around his wrist, then tucked it into his sleeve.

"Go and fetch Commandant Wang," he said. "I need to leave the city."

Su Heng held the rolled-up flag without moving.

"Seventeen of them died," she said. "The whereabouts of the remaining seventeen are unknown. Sancha'ao is 120 li away. The barbarians have just retreated, and there are still defeated soldiers on the road. If you take too many men, the city cannot be defended; if you take too few men, you will only be filling the gaps."

"I know."

"Then why are you still going?"

Yang Hu glanced at her.

"That cloth was tied to the tree with a knot that was impossible to untie," he said. "The person who tied it knew someone would come looking for it."