Chapter Fifty-Four: Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms (3)

Ye Qianzhan braced herself, instinctively inching backward, but Wu Ling pressed closer with every step until her back met the rough bark of a tree—nowhere left to retreat. He lowered his head, as if savoring her panic, his gaze toying with her distress. “I enjoy destroying things that displease me. The more you struggle, the more interested I become.” As he spoke, he moved in, his hand sliding down her body. No amount of resistance, tears, cries, or pleas seemed to matter. He was not Zhang Yu; he would not let her go so easily. Closing her eyes, she resigned herself to her fate. That repulsive hand continued to roam, and she felt her belt being loosened. The wind howled past, rustling the leaves above, but there would be no one to rescue her. Her hands, limp and powerless, brushed against something cold and hard on the ground—what was it? In that instant, clarity returned to Ye Qianzhan’s mind.

She fumbled for it, gripping it tightly despite the sharp edges biting into her palm—she could feel the blood trickle out. Remaining perfectly still, she endured Wu Ling’s violation. Then, gathering all her strength as if to shatter the heavens and earth, she drove the object mercilessly into Wu Ling’s shoulder.

With a muffled groan, Wu Ling toppled off her, clutching his wounded shoulder, blood seeping from the embedded object. Ye Qianzhan hastily pulled her clothes together and scrambled away, half-running, half-crawling into the depths of the forest. Wu Ling reached out but caught only the edge of her garment—a tearing sound rang out, startlingly clear in the silent woods. Enraged, Wu Ling shouted, “She’s escaped! Why are you still standing there? After her, now!”

Clutching her torn clothing around her waist, Ye Qianzhan staggered forward, the chaotic footsteps behind her growing ever closer. Only one thought filled her mind: she must not let them catch her, never.

Her heart pounded as if it would burst from her chest and fall to the ground. She ran with everything she had, the wind’s roar and the pounding of feet behind her fueling her terror. Faster and faster she ran, her frightened, ragged breaths lost in the stillness of the woods as dusk deepened and a solitary moon climbed into the sky.

She ran on and on, not knowing where she was headed or what awaited her, only that she could not be caught. No matter how long she ran, eventually her legs no longer felt like her own. When she finally stopped, leaning against a tree, she gasped desperately for air in the thin night, unable to see her own hand before her face.

The footsteps had faded; she knew she had escaped. Sliding down the trunk, her heartbeat thundered in her chest.

The lonely moon hid behind drifting clouds, the sky scattered with faint stars. The wind mingled with her labored breaths, and in the distance came the mournful howls of wolves and tigers, rising and falling.

Suddenly, Ye Qianzhan realized she had stumbled into yet another terrifying place.

She could not rest. Dragging her weary legs, she steadied herself on the trees, scanning the darkness as something heavy seemed to press in around her. Her fear grew with every backward step until it filled her entirely. Somewhere in these mountains, she was certain, there lurked something deadly—she could sense it, though she could not name it.

Until now, the most terrifying experience of her life had been nearly drowning at age six. For ten years, that helpless fear had haunted her, and she believed nothing could surpass it—until now. The same dread surged over her, even more intense.

A chill of desolation hung in the air. Every step crunched on dry branches and leaves beneath her feet. Abruptly, she spun around and dashed forward in a frenzy, hair streaming, heart pounding in her throat, yet the darkness behind her gave chase, its shadow growing ever closer. All she could do was run, and keep running.

Suddenly, her foot caught on something, and she tumbled uncontrollably down a slope, her body scraping against rocks and branches, clothes tearing as dead limbs caught at her. She rolled and rolled until her leg slammed brutally into an unyielding object, pain exploding through her, and consciousness slipped away.

When she woke again, the moon hung high in the sky, its light filtering through thin clouds. She saw the stone that had stopped her descent, cold and glinting in the moonlight. Hauling herself upright, she found a sturdy branch to use as a crutch and finally surveyed her surroundings. She had passed through the forest—the ridges ahead loomed like giant beasts, their gaping maws open and wet. Behind her, towering ancient trees stood like silent phantoms. The wind howled past, and the chill of night seeped into her bones, cold as a wintry grave. Mist curled faintly among the mountains, and the howls of wild beasts echoed in her ears—the cries of creatures fighting for food.

A shiver ran down Ye Qianzhan’s spine. This was deep wilderness, far from any human settlement; she was utterly alone. The night stretched endlessly, and there was no way out. The mountain paths were slick and treacherous, the darkness absolute. Awkwardly wielding her makeshift crutch, she stumbled often, her body battered and bruised. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spotted a thicket of low shrubs, crept inside, and curled up, hugging her knees. The exhaustion from terror and flight overwhelmed her, and simply being able to crouch there felt like a luxury. Yet tears spilled uncontrollably from her eyes. Covering her face with her hands, her sobs grew into an unrestrained wail. She was only sixteen, just a girl, never before faced with true danger. She was so afraid. Tears seeped between her fingers as she thought of Liuyun. “Where are you? I’m so afraid, I’m so terribly afraid.”

The wind rustled the leaves. Faintly, she heard the howls of wolves ahead. She looked up and saw, not far away, a pair of ghostly green eyes fixed upon her like flickering will-o'-the-wisps. She was too exhausted to move, even with danger so close. She thought, even if she escaped this wolf, there would be tigers, or perhaps bears or wild boars—there was no way out of this desperate place.

She sat unmoving, arms wrapped around her knees, as the green eyes came ever closer. Suddenly, as if recalling something, she sprang up and fled in the opposite direction. She had promised Liuyun she would wait for him to return for her. She could not die—not like this, not in despair.

The wolf gave chase, but Ye Qianzhan kept running, though she knew in her heart she had no chance of escape.

Awaiting the moment she’d be torn apart, her legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees. In that instant, she knew her life was over.

Something leaped from the side, pinning her down. She stared in terror—this was not a wolf, but a man.

“It’s me. Don’t be afraid.” The voice was familiar, gentle, reassuring. Wei Zhuang. Relief so intense it nearly made her weep. In such dire straits, she had never imagined anyone would find her—let alone him.

He had tackled her just as the wolf pounced, causing it to miss its mark and land ahead, still glaring. Shielding her, Wei Zhuang drew a dagger from his waist. In a flash of steel, before she could even see clearly, the blade plunged deep between the wolf’s eyes. With a final anguished cry, it turned and fled into the night.

Wei Zhuang turned to her. In the moonlight, his expression was weary. His sapphire-blue robe was streaked with grass stains and dirt, and his obsidian eyes swept over her face, his voice hoarse and low, “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.”

Suddenly, the forest fell utterly silent, the wind itself stilled.

The moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting a gentle glow over them both. Her nose tingled and tears threatened to spill again; she quickly wiped them away with her sleeve and looked up, trying to give him her brightest smile. He frowned, his gaze lingering on her unsteady left leg, his voice so soft it was as if he feared to disturb someone's dream. “Your leg—is it hurt?”

Ye Qianzhan forced a careless smile. “It’s nothing, just a bump.” As long as she wasn’t alone in this vast darkness, nothing else mattered.

By the moonlight, Wei Zhuang could see her pale blue dress was torn and ragged, her arm stained with blood, her face ashen with terror, and her once-black hair disheveled across her chest. She was not the proud, radiant girl she usually appeared to be, yet to him she seemed more beautiful and profound than ever.

Her legs gave way and she faltered, the lie exposed in an instant.

Wei Zhuang reached out to steady her. Embarrassed, she offered a small, awkward smile. His low voice sounded in her ear, “Forgive me for this.” Before she could react, he lifted her into his arms. In her panic, her hands clung to his neck. He looked at her, the depths of his eyes swirling with emotion. “Trust me with yourself. I won’t let you get hurt again. I’ll take you out of here.”

Bathed in moonlight, he gazed at her with a seriousness she had never seen before. Usually, he was playful and inscrutable, his words always half in jest. Now, the air of control and danger that always surrounded him seemed diminished. His face was pale and drawn, and though he tried to hide it, Ye Qianzhan sensed his fear—not the fear of beasts or wilderness, but something deeper. She could not guess what haunted him, and for now, she did not care. As long as he was with her, leading her out of these wild mountains, nothing else mattered.