Hot flashes

Zhou Heng's heart stirred.

He straightened his clothes, concealed the sling on his left arm, and, pretending to be nonchalant, walked out from behind the tree and blended into the edge of the crowd.

No one paid attention to him; everyone's attention was on the two private soldiers and the unconscious woman.

He found a patch of grass, squatted down, quickly dirtied the red cloth with twigs and mud, tore it into several strips, then stood up and walked toward a mountain path in another direction—a narrower, more desolate-looking trail.

After walking about a hundred paces, he looked back. The two private soldiers were still harassing the civilians, but one of them, a tall, thin man, suddenly turned his head and glanced in his direction.

Zhou Heng's heart tightened, he quickened his pace, turned a corner, and darted into a dense thicket of bushes by the roadside.

He crouched behind a bush, observing through the gaps in the branches and leaves. A moment later, the tall, thin private soldier indeed rode this way, stopped at the fork in the road, and suspiciously examined both roads.

Zhou Heng held his breath and quietly reached into his pocket with his right hand—there was a sharp-edged piece of gravel that he had picked up last night.

The tall, thin man hesitated for a moment, then finally turned his horse around and went back. He probably felt that a lone traveler wasn't worth the effort to catch, or perhaps the path didn't look passable at all.

Zhou Heng breathed a sigh of relief, only then realizing that his palms were covered in cold sweat. He waited in the bushes for another fifteen minutes, making sure the other person had really left, before emerging and continuing along the desolate path.

The road was indeed difficult to traverse, overgrown with thorns and almost completely submerged by weeds. But he had no other choice.

After walking for about an hour, a shallow mountain stream appeared ahead. The water was clear, and he squatted down, cupped his hands, drank a few mouthfuls, and then washed his face. The cool water refreshed him somewhat.

He checked the fixation on his left shoulder; the bandage had come loose, and the area around the wound was red, swollen, and hot.

He gritted his teeth, washed the wound again with the stream water, applied the last bit of medicine powder, and tightly bound it with a clean strip of cloth.

After finishing all this, he was so exhausted that he almost collapsed and leaned against a large rock by the stream, panting.

After resting enough, he got up and continued on his way. Although the path was deserted, it did seem to be an old road, with intermittent traces of being trampled.

In the afternoon, he crossed a mountain ridge, and the view ahead suddenly opened up—below the mountain was a relatively flat valley, with fields and houses faintly visible, and an official road winding through it.

Where there are villages, there may be food and medicine, but there may also be danger.

Zhou Heng did not rush down the mountain. He found a high spot with a good view and lay down to observe.

The village was small, with about twenty or thirty households. Smoke curled from the chimneys, and the place seemed peaceful. Occasionally, there were carriages and pedestrians on the main road, moving slowly, not like soldiers or pursuers.

He needs to sneak into the village, get some supplies, and hopefully find out a safer route.

He checked his disguise again: his clothes were tattered and dirty, his face had abrasions, and his hair was disheveled; he looked like an ordinary refugee. But the injury on his left arm was a problem—it was too conspicuous.

He thought for a moment, then picked some vines from the roadside and wove them into a simple basket. He put the remaining dry food and miscellaneous items inside and carried it with his right hand. This way, his left arm hung naturally, and the basket could conceal it somewhat.

Once he was ready, he carefully descended the mountain, approaching the village from the side or rear. Several children were playing at the village entrance; they looked at him curiously but were not afraid.

Zhou Heng walked over as naturally as possible and bowed to an old woman sitting by the door mending clothes: "Grandma, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm a refugee from the north, passing through here. I'd like to ask for a bowl of water and some directions."

The old woman looked up, squinted at him, her gaze lingering on his pale face and unsteady steps for a moment before she nodded: "Come in."

The old woman's house was simple, but it was kept clean. She poured Zhou Heng a bowl of hot water and gave him a piece of multigrain bread.

Zhou Heng gratefully accepted it, ate it in small bites, and took the opportunity to observe—there was only an old woman in the room, who looked to be in her sixties or seventies, with nimble hands and feet and clear eyes.

"Does your mother-in-law live alone?" he asked.

"My son was drafted into the army, and I haven't heard from him for three years," the old woman said calmly, her hands still sewing. "My daughter-in-law died of illness the year before last, and now I'm all alone."

Zhou Heng felt a pang of sadness and didn't know what to say.

"Your injury..." the old woman said, looking at his left arm in a sling, "is it serious?"

"I encountered robbers on the road and fell, injuring my shoulder," Zhou Heng mumbled.

The old woman put down her needlework, got up, and took out a small earthenware jar from the inner room: "This is a paste made from herbs I picked before the New Year. It's somewhat effective for treating bruises and sprains. Take it and apply it."

Zhou Heng quickly declined, saying, "How could I possibly accept this..."

"Take it," the old woman said, handing him the earthenware jar. "I'm just an old woman; I don't need it. But you're so young and down on your luck, so I'll help you out as much as I can."

Zhou Heng took the pottery jar, his eyes welling up with tears.

He thought for a moment, then took the last half of a piece of dried meat from his basket and placed it on the table: "Grandma, please keep this. Also... I wanted to ask, which road is safest to take when heading south to the capital?"

The old woman looked at him and sighed, "Young man, you can't go to Nandu. The journey is chaotic and war-torn, and you're injured. Take my advice, find a place to stay nearby and recover first."

"I have to go," Zhou Heng said in a low voice.

The old woman was silent for a moment, then pointed out the window: "If you go south from here and follow the official road, there's a fork in the road about fifty miles away. To the left is to Lingshui County, and to the right is to continue south."

I heard that Lingshui County was occupied by a group of rebel soldiers a few days ago, and it's not peaceful there. If you want to leave, go around Lingshui and take the mountain road to the west. It's a longer route, but it's safer.

She paused, then lowered her voice: "The official roads have been rather unsafe lately. Some men on horseback with knives are conducting checks, specifically targeting young, strong men traveling alone. Be careful."

Zhou Heng's heart tightened: "Thank you for reminding me, Mother-in-law."

He rested at the old woman's house for half an hour and retreated his wound with herbal ointment.

The ointment was cooling, and the pain was relieved somewhat. Before leaving, the old woman gave him two whole-grain cakes and a small packet of salt.

"Take care." The old woman stood at the door, watching him leave.

Zhou Heng bowed and turned to walk into the twilight.

Following the old woman's directions, he did not take the main road, but instead took a detour through the mountains to the west.

This path was easier to walk on than the previous trail, and it was clear that it was frequently used. He dared not stop, and hurried on his way before it got completely dark.

He spent the night in a mountain god temple. The temple was more dilapidated than the previous one, but at least it had roof tiles for shelter.

He lit a small fire, heated the flatbread, ate it with salt water, and then curled up in a corner, wrapping himself tightly in his cotton-padded coat.

In the stillness of the night, only the sound of the wind and the chirping of insects could be heard.

He held the jade pendant on his chest, feeling its familiar warmth, and gradually drifted off to sleep.

Jingbei Army Camp.

Xiao Jue stood in front of the map, his finger pointing to the fork in the road, his voice hoarse: "Any news about Zhao Ting?"

Chen Shen lowered his head: "General Zhao has searched the entire area from Heishi Post Station to Linchuan, but has not found any trace of the young master. However... this was found near Lingshui County."

He handed over something—a strip of light blue cloth, from the same outer robe as the previous one, with marks on the edge from being torn by thorns.

Xiao Jue took the strip of cloth, his fingers tightening.

Lingshui County.

That's the only way to go south.

"Send word to Zhao Ting," Xiao Jue raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, "surround Lingshui and search it inch by inch. If there is any resistance, kill them without mercy."

"Yes."

The curtain fell, and Xiao Jue looked down at the strip of cloth in his palm. After a long while, he pressed it close to his heart.