Hot flashes

The river water was icy cold, and Zhou Heng leaned against the rock, panting for a while before he could gather some strength.

He gritted his teeth, using his still-functioning right hand to support himself, and slowly moved to a higher, drier spot on the riverbank. With each movement, a tearing pain shot through his left shoulder and back, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

As dawn broke, the thin mist on the river slowly dissipated. He struggled to sit up and looked around—it was a secluded river bend, with reeds growing on both banks and low hills faintly visible in the distance, but no sign of human habitation.

Where are the pursuers? He looked nervously toward the reeds, but there was no movement. Perhaps they thought he had drowned, or they went downstream to search for him.

We need to leave here.

He looked down to examine himself. He had taken off his outer robe in the reeds to lure the enemy, and now he was only wearing a thin, soaking wet undergarment. The early spring wind made him shiver.

My left shoulder is swollen badly, with a deformed bulge at the joint; even the slightest touch is excruciatingly painful—it's definitely dislocated. There's a wound on my head; the blood has clotted and is stuck to my wet hair. The abrasions on my back are burning hot.

He tried to move his left arm, but his vision went black as soon as he exerted any force. No, he had to reset his shoulder first.

Zhou Heng gritted his teeth, recalling the first aid knowledge he had learned before. He lay down, groped for his left arm with his right hand, took a deep breath, and then suddenly lifted it upwards—

"Ah!" The excruciating pain made him groan, and tears streamed down his face. But he felt as if his joint had been slightly locked back in.

He dared not stop. Enduring the excruciating pain, he pressed his right hand against his left shoulder, using his body weight and skillful maneuvering to exert force once more—

With a soft "click," accompanied by even more intense pain, the left shoulder finally returned to its original position.

Zhou Heng collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, his body drenched in cold sweat, feeling even colder than before.

He lay there for a while before struggling to sit up. Using his teeth and right hand, he tore off several strips of cloth from the hem of his soaked undergarment and used them to secure his left arm to his chest, making a makeshift sling.

He was exhausted after doing all that. But he couldn't stop yet.

He reached into his pocket—the token was still there, wrapped in oilcloth, and not wet.

The jade pendant was still there, pressed against his chest, warm like a small heater. The cloud... thinking of the cat, his heart tightened. He hoped it was clever enough to escape on its own.

He needed food, warm clothes, and to know where he was and how to get to Nandu.

Zhou Heng stood up, leaning on the rocks, and staggered along the riverbank.

The river made a bend here, forming this shallow area. He looked upstream, where the reeds were faintly visible in the morning mist. He couldn't go back; the pursuers might still be there.

He turned downstream and trudged along the riverbank. The riverbed was full of jagged rocks, and with his bare feet, every step felt like walking on knife points.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, a gentle slope appeared on the riverbank ahead, with what appeared to be a small path worn by people.

Where there is a road, there are people.

Zhou Heng's spirits lifted, and he endured the stinging pain in his feet as he climbed the gentle slope. The path was narrow and overgrown with weeds, but it was indeed a way. He followed the path for about half an hour, and then the view suddenly opened up before him—

A sparse bamboo grove, deep within which stands a dilapidated little temple.

The temple was small, with only one main hall. The door was half-closed, the roof tiles were missing, and rotten beams were exposed. But at least it was a place to shelter from the wind and rain.

Zhou Heng cautiously approached, listened intently, but there was no sound from inside. He gently pushed open the door, and dust fell in a flurry.

The temple was deserted; the statues of the gods were already mottled and unrecognizable; thick dust covered the offering table; and cobwebs clung to the corners of the walls.

But in the corner, there was a pile of dry grass and a broken earthenware pot.

He hurried inside and closed the door. It was warmer inside the temple than outside. He slumped onto a pile of dry hay, exhausted to the point of near collapse. Waves of pain shot through his left shoulder, and his head felt heavy.

He couldn't sleep. He reminded himself that if he fell asleep now, he might never wake up again.

He forced himself to look around and examined the broken earthenware pot—it was empty. He then searched the temple thoroughly, but found nothing but dust and cobwebs.

We're safe, at least for now.

He huddled in the haystack, his body trembling from the cold and pain. The warmth of the jade pendant on his chest was his only source of heat. He clutched the token hidden in his bosom; its icy touch kept him awake.

Those fragments of memory resurfaced.

"Have we... really met before?" he murmured to the void. "If we have, why can't I remember anything? If we haven't, where did these images come from?"

The jade pendant was slightly warm, as if in response.

After an unknown amount of time, a rustling sound came from outside the temple.

Zhou Heng suddenly woke up, held his breath, and reached for a piece of broken brick beside him with his right hand.

The door was pushed open a crack, and a dirty little face peeked in—it was a seven or eight-year-old boy, dressed in rags, barefoot, carrying a small bamboo basket.

The boy was startled when he saw people in the temple and turned to run away.

"Wait!" Zhou Heng quickly called out, his voice hoarse.

The boy stopped and looked back at him warily, his body tense, ready to run away at any moment.

Zhou Heng tried his best to appear harmless. He slowly raised his right hand to indicate that he was unarmed: "I'm injured. I'll rest here for a bit."

He pointed to his left arm in a sling and the wound on his head, "I'm not a bad person, I won't hurt you."

The boy sized him up, his gaze falling on his thin, soaked clothes and pale face. The wariness in his eyes lessened slightly, but he still didn't approach.

Zhou Heng remembered that he still had half a piece of bread that had been soaked in water in his arms—it was dry food that he had brought from the carriage earlier, and it hadn't completely fallen apart when it fell into the water.

He slowly took it out, broke off a small piece, put it on the ground, and stepped back.

The boy stared at the pancake, his Adam's apple bobbing. He hesitated for a moment, but hunger eventually won out. He rushed in, grabbed the pancake, retreated to the door, and wolfed it down.

"There's more." Zhou Heng broke off another small piece and placed it on the ground.

This time, the boy moved closer, picked up the cake, and instead of eating it immediately, carefully tucked it into his pocket. He looked up at Zhou Heng and asked softly, "You...you fled from the north?"

Zhou Heng nodded in agreement: "Yes, we encountered robbers on the way."

"There's a war going on to the north," the boy said, his tone numb beyond his years. "Many people in the village have run away."

"Are you alone?" Zhou Heng asked.

The boy pursed his lips, didn't answer, and instead asked, "Where are you going?"

"South," Zhou Heng mumbled, "to find relatives. Do you know how to get south?"

The boy pointed to the path outside the temple: "Follow the road, and you'll reach a fork in the road after a while. The left one goes to town, the right one..." He shook his head, "I've never been there. I heard it's very far."

It's good to have a town. Zhou Heng felt a little relieved. He needed to go to town to get some necessities, but he would be too conspicuous in his current state.

"Young man," Zhou Heng looked at the boy, "can you do me a favor?"

The boy looked at him warily.

"I need a few things: food, warm clothes, and medicine," Zhou Heng said, tearing a small silver button from the collar of his soaked undergarment—it was sewn on by Xiao Jue when he gave him the clothes, and it was finely crafted. "Here, take this. Go to town and buy it for me. Keep the rest of the money for yourself, okay?"

The boy stared at the silver coin, his eyes brightening. Though small, the coin was of good quality and could be exchanged for a considerable amount of copper coins. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took it, holding it in his palm. "You...what do you want?"