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

There were nineteen strips of cloth in total.

Every thirty or forty steps, they were tied to trees, stone edges, or waist-high stubble of weeds. They were all tied with indestructible knots, and the knot-tying method was exactly the same: first wrap the knot twice and then pass it underneath.

Some sections had faded to grayish-white, their edges frayed by the wind; some were still stained with dark brown blood. The strips of cloth grew narrower and narrower as they went on, until the sixteenth section was only the width of a finger.

Su Heng walked beside Yang Hu, looking at him section by section. The more she looked, the darker her expression became.

"After tearing the hem of the vest, she tore the sleeves; after tearing the sleeves, she tore the lining." She twisted the piece of cloth in her hand. "This is the lining. After tearing the lining to this extent, there was nothing left to tear on her body." She whispered, "She kept tearing as she walked for seven or eight miles."

"It wasn't just her," Yang Hu said. "And it wasn't all torn. The third and fifth pieces were clean cuts. The person cutting them had a knife and could keep their hand steady. But from the tenth piece onwards, it was all torn, roughly torn, because they ran out of strength."

How do you know?

"There's a gap of nearly a hundred paces between the seventh and eighth sections, and then it goes back to thirty or forty paces after the tenth section." Yang Hu walked very fast, his eyes always fixed on the grass in front of him. "The sections that are far apart are where people are walking fast, or carrying someone on their backs. The sections that are close together are where people are walking slowly, or dragging someone along."

At the end of the slope, there was a dry riverbed.

The nineteenth strip of cloth was tied to a crooked willow tree by the riverbed. Beyond that tree, there were no more.

More than a hundred people spread out across the riverbed and searched back and forth for half an hour, but found nothing.

The sun was setting in the west, and the wind was picking up. Doctor Liu sat on a rock in the riverbed, his hands supporting his knees, panting heavily. Several soldiers who had followed him began to look back, their eyes conveying a clear message: they had been traveling for two days, hadn't found the person, and the city was waiting for them to return.

Yang Hu stood motionless under the willow tree.

He untied the last strip of cloth from the branch and held it out in his palm to look at it.

The strip of cloth was narrow, only as thick as a finger, but the knot was tied so tightly it cut into the tree bark. He turned the strip over and rubbed the knotted spot with his fingertip.

The knot was tied three times.

The first eighteen sections are all two separate sections.

"Here," he suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse, "it's nearby."

Physician Liu looked up: "The banners along the way all pointed forward, why did they stop here? There might have been more ahead, but the wind blew them away."

"It wasn't scraped away."

"How so?" Su Heng strode over.

"Tie two knots in the first eighteen sections, and three knots in this section." Yang Hu clenched the strip of cloth in her palm. "She's telling those who come after her, don't look any further ahead."

The more than one hundred people dispersed again, this time searching in circles around the willow tree.

"Look for sheltered spots." Yang Hu walked back and forth on the riverbed, shouting as he went. "Look for collapsed embankments, openings covered by branches, and grass trampled bare by others. People who can't walk will not go to open areas; they will only go to places that can block the wind and shield their eyes."

We found it when the sun was pressing down on the mountain ridge.

They found Old Man Cui.

He carried the iron pot on his back, went around to the bottom of a half-collapsed earthen embankment downstream of the riverbed, and suddenly shouted. When Yang Hu rushed over, the old man was kneeling at the entrance of the hole in the embankment, his hands trembling so much that he couldn't reach them in.

It was a hole hollowed out by water, the entrance of which was sealed with withered branches and dry grass; if you didn't look closely, it would just look like a pile of firewood.

Yang Hu cleared away the dead branches.

There were four people lying in the cave.

The three were already dead, their bodies stiff. They lay in a neat row, side by side, their faces turned outwards, as if they had moved there themselves.

The pile of dead branches at the cave entrance was built from the inside out. After it was finished, no one came out again. The one at the very back was still breathing, lying on his back, one leg bound with wooden pieces and strips of cloth, and covered with the three people's prison shacks.

His face was covered in mud and scabs, his hair was matted and tangled, and his lips were cracked and peeling white. But his eyebrows and eyes...

Yang Hu knelt at the entrance of the hole, feeling as if he had been hit hard in the chest from behind.

"Qin Ying".

The person's eyelid twitched slightly. It was so slight that it was almost imperceptible.

"Qin Ying".

Her eyelids twitched again, and then very, very slowly, they opened a crack.

Those eyes were so blurry they were hard to see, but they turned and landed on his face, where they stopped.

None of the hundred or so people outside the earthen embankment uttered a sound.

"...What's wrong with you?" Her lips moved for a long time before she managed to squeeze out a few words, her voice as thin as a thread, "...I'm here."

Yang Hu did not answer.

He has already carried her out.

An oilcloth was spread out on the ground outside the cave. Yang Hu knelt beside the oilcloth and examined it one by one.

As he looked at the document, he counted the days in his mind.

His leg was broken in the shinbone, about twenty days ago. He set it himself, but it was crooked, and the flesh swelled up from the inside, leaving an indentation when pressed. His left shoulder had a through-and-through arrow wound that had closed, but the surrounding area was bluish-purple, indicating the wound hadn't been properly cleaned before healing. The most serious wound was under his right rib; even through his clothes, a large swelling was visible, the skin a dark red and shiny, and it felt pulsating when pressed.

It's filled with pus. It's been there for a long time.

Any one of these three wounds could be fatal. Yet, she dragged herself along the hillside for seven or eight miles, tying cloth strips around the heads of those behind her all the way.

When Yang Hu withdrew his hand from under her ribs, his fingertips were trembling. He didn't even realize it himself; Su Heng noticed it first.

"Physician Liu," Yang Hu said, his voice unusually flat, "boil water, fetch the knife, and bring the strong liquor."

"This...this place?" Physician Liu looked around. The riverbed was windy and covered with floating sand.

"Set up the tarpaulin to block the wind, and light the fire downwind," Yang Hu said, rolling up his sleeves. "Old Cui, put your pot on the stove, and don't stop boiling the water. Su Heng, hold her shoulders down."

"Yang Hu," Qin Ying suddenly spoke again.

He bent down.

"...Those three," she said, her eyes slowly moving into the hole, "...take them out first."

The three corpses inside the cave were already stiff.

Yang Hu looked at her.

Forty-five days, one hundred and twenty li, nineteen strips of cloth. She lay in that cave, covered with the three men's prison shrouds, her last breath still caught in her throat, and the first thing she said was to carry them out.

"Carry them." He didn't turn around, but raised his voice slightly. "Carry all three out and wrap them in oilcloth. After returning to the city, report to the seventeen in the village."

The people outside the cave moved.

Yang Hu lowered his head and placed his hand on the swollen spot under her right rib.

"Qin Ying, I need to make an incision," he said. "There's no anesthesia."

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

That was probably a laugh.

Four years ago, on the kang (heated brick bed) in Maocao Village, he used the same knife on her. That time, she bit down on a cloth and didn't utter a sound.

"...Don't let your hands shake."

The knife had been dipped in strong liquor, and the firelight reflected off its blade. When Yang Hu pressed the tip of the knife down, the wind was strong on the riverbed, and the oilcloth fluttered loudly in the wind.

More than a hundred people formed a circle around him, with their backs to him, to shield him from the wind.

Su Heng picked up the sling cover that had been covering her, folded it neatly, and placed it under the stretcher. It was a sling cover for three people, and the three covers were stacked together, pressed very firmly.

Old Cui's pot was placed downwind, the water boiling again and again. Doctor Liu knelt opposite him, handing over instruments, while Su Heng massaged his shoulders. No one spoke; only the sound of the wind rustling the oilcloth and the faint scraping of the knife through the flesh could be heard.