After being injured, sleep seemed deep, but in truth it was fragile. Xie Ying struggled amid tangled, chaotic dreams while being intermittently pulled back by movements from the outside world, dizzy and dazed, almost unable to tell whether he was asleep or awake.
Although Jiang Guan had deliberately lightened his movements, Xie Ying could still hear footsteps quietly brushing close, a dry hand lightly resting on his forehead to test his temperature, and an outer robe, half-dried by the fire, being draped over him.
Those small movements were furtive, almost like a thief at work. Xie Ying couldn’t help but smile inwardly. The tension strung tight within him slowly settled, easing as he sank into a vast, deep, and tranquil sleep.
When he woke, opening his eyes still revealed only darkness. In his vision there was merely a faint, flickering patch of light—more illusory and faint than stars in the sky.
Xie Ying couldn’t tell whether the fleeting sensation in his chest—like suddenly stepping into empty air—was a kind of despair. Propping himself up from the ground, he felt a pair of hands reach over at just the right moment to support his back. Only then did he suddenly realize that Jiang Guan had been right beside him all along, so quiet he was almost soundless—so much so that Xie Ying hadn’t even distinguished the presence of another person.
Had he grown used to a stranger’s presence in just half a day, or had his vigilance and judgment dulled along with his eyesight?
That thought pricked at him like a needle, but before he could fully taste its bitterness, Jiang Guan wrote in his palm that the firewood was exhausted and they needed to find a way out.
Xie Ying: “……”
Serves me right.
It must be retribution for repeatedly interrupting someone else’s crying and not taking their sorrow seriously.
After falling into the underground river, they had fortunately reached a shallow bank. Nearby, the water had washed together accumulated weeds and driftwood over many years, allowing them to make a makeshift fire for temporary relief—but it was not a long-term solution.
Though there was no wind or rain underground, there was also no firewood or food. One couldn’t indulge in melancholy on an empty stomach. Xie Ying sighed, pressing down the cotton-like unease swelling in his chest and focusing on the present difficulty. “Let’s go. Can you still manage?”
Jiang Guan drew a circle in his palm, meaning “yes.” With Jiang Guan’s support, Xie Ying stood up, turning a few times in place to regain balance. After losing his sight, not only his sense of direction but even his limbs felt unfamiliar and difficult to control.
Lacking experience, they only realized at the moment of departure that they needed to find something to use as a walking stick for Xie Ying—to help him probe the path ahead.
However, the thickest branches here were no thicker than a finger, and Jiang Guan had already carefully gathered them to use as temporary torches. Looking around, he suddenly caught sight of a dark object in the distance by the faint firelight. His eyes lit up, and he released Xie Ying’s hand, quickly walking over.
Left standing alone, Xie Ying said, “…Where did you go? Why did you run off?”
It seemed that after going blind, even one’s heart became more fragile. When Jiang Guan wasn’t right beside him, he actually felt a little unaccustomed.
Fortunately, Jiang Guan quickly returned, cheerfully placing a straight, sturdy stick into his hand.
“What is this? Where did you pick this—” Xie Ying touched the cold metal and suddenly froze. “A scabbard?”
Forgetting he couldn’t see, he instinctively lifted his head in confusion, while Jiang Guan followed his movement and looked toward the pitch-black cliff above. The weapon had been deeply embedded into the hard rock and couldn’t be pulled out in time. Barring accidents, it would remain forever within that lightless mountain.
Jiang Guan guided his hand. Knowing what he wanted to ask, Xie Ying lowered his head and traced the fine patterns on the scabbard, answering softly, “This is the relic of a general from Longsha.”
“In the tenth year of Zheng’an, he died on the battlefield. His sword was taken by the enemy, eventually ending up in the court of Yanyuan, and was enshrined in the spirit tower at the Ten Aspects Sect’s headquarters.”
“I came to the Palace of Dispelling Calamities this time to retrieve this sword. Assassinating Helan Zhenjia wasn’t originally part of the plan—it was forced upon me.” A helpless half-laugh, half-sigh escaped from his throat. “Then things got out of control, like a wild duck breaking free, running all the way here.”
Jiang Guan couldn’t laugh at all.
Though Xie Ying hadn’t explained the general’s identity, sneaking into the headquarters alone was enough to show how important that sword was to him. And yet such an important relic had been lost because of saving him.
He didn’t even dare write on Xie Ying’s palm, guilt radiating from him. Sensing he was about to melt into the ground from shame, Xie Ying comforted him, “It’s not as serious as you think. If it were truly priceless, it wouldn’t have been left there for years. Besides, it saved our lives in the end—it fulfilled its purpose. Perhaps it was the blessing of those who came before.”
Jiang Guan wanted to ask more but hesitated. Meanwhile, Xie Ying had already gripped the front of the scabbard and begun tapping the ground as he walked. Jiang Guan hurried to follow, holding a torch in one hand and Xie Ying’s free hand in the other. Hand in hand in the darkness, they followed the winding course of the river, stumbling step by step downstream.
The journey was long and monotonous. The terrain was rough, and without any external reference, they couldn’t judge time or distance—only keep walking. When all of Jiang Guan’s torches burned out, they had to stop at another shallow bank to rest, dozing off in confusion before continuing onward, hungry but determined.
After an unknown length of time, the underground river widened, the terrain flattened, and the dense darkness of the cave seemed to thin. Turning another bend, Jiang Guan suddenly saw a vast expanse of bright daylight. The glare made him squint—the long passage had finally come to an end.
In that moment, every muscle and bone screamed with exhaustion. The joy of escaping death intertwined with countless emotions. Jiang Guan let out a long breath of exhaustion, then suddenly turned and tightly embraced Xie Ying.
Caught off guard, Xie Ying steadied himself with the scabbard against the ground. The fresh scent of grass brushed past his nose, and without asking, he guessed the reason. “You see the exit?”
Jiang Guan nodded vigorously against his shoulder. A warm drop landed on his neck—this crybaby had started again.
Xie Ying mocked him with a curved smile, yet his hand naturally moved to his back. Feeling the uneven, roughly cut hair, his heart softened.
This experience had been perilous and surreal. It was undeniably unlucky, yet their miraculous survival was also sheer fortune. Now that hope was finally within reach, he felt little bitterness—rather, he sincerely thought that sharing hardship and supporting each other through it with this crying young master was, in its own way, a rather remarkable bond.
The final stretch of water connected to the river, leaving no footing in the cave. The two removed their outer garments and slipped into the water, swimming together through the submerged exit.
After swimming to the center of the river, Jiang Guan looked around. Lush greenery stretched endlessly, trees dense and towering, the overwhelming green both refreshing and unsettling. There was no sign of the Ten Aspects Sect’s headquarters—nor even a narrow mountain path in sight—just a vast, untouched wilderness.
Since being captured, Jiang Guan had been completely in the dark and knew nothing of the surrounding terrain. Xie Ying couldn’t see either. Based on his brief description, they likely had crossed the mountain’s interior eastward through Qingqing Mountain, only to accidentally emerge into the connected Chisong Mountain Range.
The good news was that, for now, they didn’t need to worry about pursuit from the Ten Aspects Sect. The bad news was just as obvious—nature was far more dangerous than the sect.
They found a flat area and came ashore. It was late spring moving into early summer, the weather growing warm, and under the clear midday sun, their wet clothes dried quickly on a large rock. The damp chill brought from underground also evaporated completely in the bright, blazing sunlight.
At last they could rest at ease for a moment. Jiang Guan picked some wild fruits nearby and shared them with Xie Ying, temporarily easing their hunger and thirst.
After all the tumbling—jumping off cliffs and falling into water—their condition could only politely be described as “disheveled.” Once the Young Master had eaten his fill, he couldn’t stand being covered in grime and dust, so he simply washed himself thoroughly. Xie Ying had a wound on his back and shouldn’t have touched water, but being drawn in by Jiang Guan’s enthusiasm, he ended up washing as well.
The river water, warmed slightly by the afternoon sun, felt like smooth, cool silk brushing over the skin. The two stood bare-chested in the shallow water, their pale skin and relaxed shoulders and backs resembling finely carved jade statues. Jiang Guan helped Xie Ying remove his bandages, carefully avoiding the long red scabbed wound on the back of his left shoulder, then cupped water in his hands to gently wash his long, loose hair.
At first, he only thought the texture felt rough and assumed it was dirt and dried blood. He crushed some soap pods and carefully worked them into the hair, but as he washed, a stream of black water actually ran down—he had washed the color out of Xie Ying’s hair.
“Who lost their color?”
Xie Ying lay with his eyes closed, basking in the sun, enjoying the Young Master’s repayment of kindness, and lazily replied, “I had to disguise myself as the son of the Prince of Ganyang. Of course I had to dye my hair the same color, or I’d have been exposed.”
In the northern lands, hair colors were pale like silver. People of Yanyuan and Wuchi often had chestnut or brown hair; those of Xiling and Dongyu had pure black hair; while people of Longsha and Qiyun had various shades of gray. This was the result of centuries of intermarriage and blending between nations. Unless a color was particularly striking, most people no longer found such differences unusual.
Xie Ying’s natural hair color was quite light, almost like pale rice-white mixed with a hint of gray, with a soft sheen—like holding a handful of condensed moonlight.
Jiang Guan had never had any preference regarding hair color before, but today he suddenly found endless enjoyment in washing it. Like a devout jade craftsman, he patiently polished away the rough outer layer to reveal the luminous jade beneath, while inwardly feeling fortunate—fortunately, when he had burned hair into ash earlier, it had never occurred to him to cut Xie Ying’s hair.
Xie Ying patiently endured the scrubbing. After washing, they went ashore. He instructed Jiang Guan to gather some ramie by the river, crush it, and apply it to the wound to reduce inflammation and pain. This way, no one’s hair would have to suffer again. Following the river, they found a dry cave some distance from the water. Xie Ying directed Jiang Guan to gather mugwort and light it, fumigating the cave thoroughly until they had a barely suitable temporary shelter.
Jiang Guan carefully settled his lifesaver onto a bed of soft dry grass and leaves, then picked up the dagger he had taken from a Ten Aspects Sect guard, eager to try his hand at hunting.
This time, Xie Ying couldn’t accompany him to guide him, and his worry resembled that of a mother sending her child to the battlefield for the first time. He asked three times, “Are you sure you can do this?” Jiang Guan patted his chest, as if to say, “Just watch me,” and set off with high spirits.
Xie Ying… found it hard to “watch.” He couldn’t see anything at all.
Under normal circumstances, living in the wilderness for ten days or half a month would be no different from being at home for him. But now he was a restricted and helpless blind man. If he encountered lively wild prey, it was uncertain who would be the hunter and who the prey. Relying entirely on Jiang Guan—a delicate Young Master—he would likely end up surviving on tree bark and cold water.
Pitifully, a teenage boy who hadn’t even experienced first love was forced to prematurely understand what it meant for a parent to worry about a child traveling far. Xie Ying listened carefully for a while and felt he couldn’t continue like this.
He set aside distracting thoughts, regulated his breathing, and focused on healing his injuries through internal cultivation. Yet a part of his mind remained tied to Jiang Guan outside, preventing him from fully concentrating.
Any rustle of wind or grass made him start slightly. When there was no sound for a while, he began to worry again, imagining all sorts of possible disasters—falling into a ravine, slipping down a slope, tumbling into the river, being chased by wolves or tigers, bitten by insects or snakes, or eating poisonous plants or fruits. In this pessimistic state, he waited for who knew how long until footsteps finally sounded at the cave entrance.
Xie Ying snapped his eyes open.
Whether it was the effect of his cultivation or the brightness of the light, he felt his vision had improved slightly. Though still mostly blurred patches of color, he could at least distinguish light from dark and recognize colors.
The largest patch of color rushed toward him, carrying the scent of grass and trees. Though the steps and breathing were a bit heavy, it seemed nothing had gone wrong.
Xie Ying asked calmly, “You’re back? How did it go—no injuries?”
Jiang Guan clattered down a pile of things in his hands, then, like a warm little animal, burrowed up beside him. With damp fingers, he eagerly pushed a small, cool, round object into Xie Ying’s mouth as if presenting a treasure.
Xie Ying’s first reaction was that something of unknown origin shouldn’t be eaten—he almost spat it out. Then he realized that if Jiang Guan dared give it to him, he must have tested it himself, and immediately began worrying whether the two of them would die of poison in a moment. Finally, he comforted himself—after jumping off cliffs, they surely wouldn’t die from this—and bit down.
The face that usually remained calm even if the sky collapsed suddenly twisted in extreme agony. His refined features scrunched together as he grabbed the culprit and, with a faint voice, uttered a single word:
“Sour.”
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