Hot flashes

After leaving the dilapidated temple, Zhou Heng did not take the fork in the road that A Cao had pointed out.

He crouched at the edge of the bamboo forest for about fifteen minutes to make sure no one was following him. Then he turned back a bit, found a secluded grove of trees, turned his newly changed thick cotton-padded coat inside out—the dark lining was facing out—and smeared some mud and grass juice on his face and hands.

His hair was already messy, so he simply grabbed a few handfuls of withered leaves and bits of grass and rubbed them into it.

After doing all this, he looked more like a refugee fleeing from war than a "young master" who was dressed relatively neatly.

But the sling on his left arm was too conspicuous. He gritted his teeth, removed the sling, and let his left arm hang naturally at his side, using only his right hand to do things.

Every movement caused excruciating pain in his left shoulder, but he forced himself to adapt to the pain.

Once he was properly disguised, he resumed his journey, but instead of taking the main road, he crept along the edge of the woods by the roadside.

This allows you to observe the road conditions and quickly hide in the woods if there is any danger.

As evening approached, he drew near the fork in the road that Ah Cao had mentioned.

He observed from a distance, crouching behind a bush. The intersection was more bustling than he had imagined—there was a makeshift checkpoint, with a few soldiers in rumpled uniforms leaning on their spears, lazily guarding the area, questioning and searching passersby and vehicles.

Judging from their attire, they didn't seem to be regular troops from Nandu; they looked more like a hastily assembled force of local tyrants or defeated soldiers.

Zhou Heng's heart tightened. These kinds of unruly soldiers were the most difficult to deal with; they disregarded rules and only cared about looting.

He retreated into the woods, circled around, and approached the intersection from the side and rear.

There was a slope covered with waist-high weeds. He crawled forward, carefully parting the grass to observe the situation at the sentry post.

There were five soldiers in total. Two stood guard at the crossroads, while the other three sat by a fire, roasting some meat, the smell of alcohol wafting on the breeze. Those being questioned were mostly villagers heading towards the town, carrying loads on shoulder poles or pushing wheelbarrows, their faces pale and thin.

The soldiers arbitrarily searched their luggage, and if they saw anything valuable or food, they would snatch it away. The people dared not speak out against it.

The official road heading south was almost deserted.

Zhou Heng noticed that the soldiers focused their questioning on young and middle-aged men, especially those traveling alone. The elderly, women, children, and those with families were not questioned as thoroughly.

He had an idea.

He waited in the woods until it was completely dark. The sentry post lit torches, and the soldiers became even more relaxed, drinking and gambling around the fire, leaving only one person to stand guard.

Zhou Heng quietly retreated to a small puddle in the woods. Under the dim moonlight, he washed away most of his disguise, made his hair even more disheveled, and even deliberately scratched two shallow cuts on his face.

Then, he unbuttoned his cotton-padded coat, tore off a strip of cloth from the inside, and put his left arm back up in a sling—this time it was loose, just for show.

After doing all that, he took a deep breath, stumbled out of the woods, and headed toward the outpost.

"Halt!" The sentry immediately spotted him and pointed his spear.

Zhou Heng pretended to be panicked, staggered, and almost fell.

He looked up, and in the firelight, his face, covered in mud, bruised, and filled with fear, looked exactly like that of a terrified refugee.

"Sir...Sir..." His voice trembled as he clutched his left arm, which was in a sling, with his right hand. "I...I fled from the north. I encountered bandits on the way, was injured, and got separated from my family..."

The soldiers approached and looked him up and down. Zhou Heng coughed at the opportune moment, a cough that seemed to tear his lungs out, and his body swayed as if he were about to collapse.

"North? Which village?" the soldier asked gruffly.

"Black, Black Stone Village..." Zhou Heng made up a place name randomly. "Everyone in the village has run away, and my parents... I don't know if they're dead or alive..." As he spoke, his eyes really reddened—half of it was an act, and the other half was the fear and grievances of the past few days surging up.

The soldier frowned, used the shaft of his spear to lift a corner of his cotton-padded coat and take a look—it was made of rough, old cloth, covered in mud and grime, with hardly any oil or grease.

Do you have any money on you?

"N-nothing...it's all been stolen..." Zhou Heng's hands trembled as he unbuttoned his cotton-padded coat, revealing its emptiness underneath. "All that's left is this tattered coat..."

Just then, a soldier, half-drunk, shouted from beside the fire, "Why bother arguing with him! What good could a cripple possibly have? Let him get lost!"

The sentry, finding the situation pointless, poked Zhou Heng with his spear shaft: "Get lost! Head south, don't get in the way!"

"Thank you, General..." Zhou Heng felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He lowered his head, limped through the checkpoint, and stepped onto the official road heading south.

After walking a hundred paces, the firelight and noise of the sentry post behind him gradually blurred, and only then did he dare to straighten his back slightly. However, he did not dare to stop walking and continued to walk in a staggering posture until he turned a corner and could no longer see the sentry post at all. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief and lean against a tree by the roadside to catch his breath.

His left shoulder ached terribly; the performance had exhausted him. He rested for a while, then adjusted his suspenders, wrapped his cotton-padded coat tighter, and continued on his way.

The night road was difficult to travel. The official road had been in disrepair for many years, full of potholes, and the moonlight was intermittent. Zhou Heng walked with uneven steps.

He dared not walk in the middle of the road, but instead walked close to the shadows on the side of the road, his ears perked up, listening to the sounds around him. In the distance, he seemed to hear the sound of horses' hooves, and he immediately slipped into the roadside bushes, holding his breath and waiting.

A troop of cavalry, about ten men, dressed in black and riding black horses, galloped past at great speed, heading straight south.

Unlike routed soldiers, the orderly hoofbeats and the chilling atmosphere suggested a well-trained elite force.

Zhou Heng's heart sank. Were they pursuers? Or were they people sent by Xiao Jue to find him? He dared not gamble.

After the cavalry passed, he continued on his way. In the latter half of the night, the temperature plummeted, and he was so cold that his teeth chattered. He could only generate some warmth by quickening his pace.

There were only two flatbreads and a little dried meat left. He couldn't bear to eat more, so he broke off a small piece of flatbread and swallowed it with the dew.

In the darkest hour before dawn, he was too exhausted to walk any further. He found a sheltered earthen slope, curled up, wrapped his cotton-padded coat tightly around himself, and drifted off to sleep.

He slept for less than an hour before being woken up by the cold. As dawn broke, he struggled to sit up and found his left shoulder even more swollen; the slightest touch made him gasp for breath. His head was also spinning; he feared he had a fever.

We must find a populated area as soon as possible and get real medicine for our wounds.