CHAPTER 60

Beyond the Borderline

The next morning, the tension between Ruan Yanjun and me was palpable. We sat in silence inside the carriage, the silence only broken by the rhythmic clatter of wheels against uneven roads. I avoided his gaze, keeping my eyes fixed on the passing scenery, but his presence was an ever-looming shadow. When my chest suddenly tightened and my breathing became a struggle, I instinctively clutched at my robes. My vision blurred for a moment, and I gasped for air.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. His piercing gaze landed on me, his eyes unreadable. Yet he did nothing—just watched, as though waiting for me to collapse or prove my resilience.

The carriage slowed as we neared the border of the Silang and Wun Empires. A huge crowd of peasants was gathered at the checkpoint, their faces etched with despair. The air was heavy with the murmurs of pleading voices and the cries of hungry children.

Ruan Yanjun stepped out of the carriage and went directly to speak with the head guard. I followed, eager to stretch my legs and perhaps escape the stifling silence between us.

The sight before me was heart-wrenching. The peasants, some barefoot and dressed in rags, sat in the dirt. Their eyes were hollow, their movements sluggish. Many were clutching at empty sacks or holding children who looked too weak to stand.

I approached the coachman, who seemed to have a clearer understanding of the situation. “What’s happening here?” I asked.

“These people,” he began, gesturing to the crowd, “lost everything in a flood not long ago. Their homes, their fields—all gone. The Silang Empire ignored their cries for help, so now they’re here, hoping the Wun Empire will take them in as refugees. But Wun’s cautious—they’ve heard rumors of spies hiding among the peasants.”

My stomach turned at the thought. These people had suffered so much, and now they were trapped in limbo, distrusted and abandoned.

A pitiful cry drew my attention—a toddler, wailing beside a woman who sat motionless. I walked closer, and my breath caught. The woman held a baby in her arms, but the child was deathly still, its tiny face gray and sunken. My heart sank as realization hit me. The baby was dead, and from the look of it, had been for at least a day.

I crouched beside the woman and gently touched her shoulder. She didn’t react, her vacant eyes staring ahead. Her grief was all-consuming, a silence louder than any wail.

“We need to bury the baby,” I said softly.

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist when I carefully took the lifeless child from her arms. The coachman, noticing my struggle, stepped in to help. Together, we dug a shallow grave nearby.

After the baby was laid to rest, I returned to the woman. I placed my hand lightly on her back and channeled a small pulse of light energy. Her body jerked slightly, her eyes fluttering as if waking from a long sleep. She gasped, her gaze snapping to me, then to the grave.

Tears flowed freely down her face as she began to cry, her sobs breaking through the heavy air. The toddler beside her quieted, staring up at his mother with wide, curious eyes.

“A-Fan.” Ruan Yanjun’s voice broke the moment.

I turned to see him standing a short distance away, his regal figure contrasting starkly with the impoverished masses around us. His luxurious robes drew stares from the crowd, many of whom eyed him with a mix of awe and desperation. I could feel their thoughts—wondering if this rich and powerful man might offer salvation, or if he was merely a fleeting illusion of hope.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly, already turning back toward the carriage.

I hesitated, my gaze lingering on the woman and her child. I reached out to ruffle the toddler’s hair before hurrying after Ruan Yanjun.

“Lord Ruan,” I called, struggling to match his long strides. “The child is hungry. Can’t we spare him something?”

He didn’t slow down, his voice cold and pragmatic. “Throw a piece of meat into a pack of starving wolves, and they’ll tear each other apart for a bite.”

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His words struck me like a slap, a bitter truth I couldn’t refute. I glanced back at the crowd, imagining the chaos that would ensue if I tried to feed just one child among them. My chest ached with helplessness.

“Lord Ruan,” I tried again, desperation creeping into my voice, “are we not going to help these people? They’ve lost everything. They need aid.”

“Why should I care about them?” he replied sharply. “They are not my people, nor are they citizens of Wun Empire. Their plight is not my concern.”

“Their own government has abandoned them.”

“Then it is their misfortune to belong to a government that doesn’t care for them.”

“They’re starving,” I insisted, my voice tight with suppressed frustration at his callousness. “You have immeasurable wealth. You could feed them all if you chose to.”

He stopped abruptly, his gaze pinning me in place. “Do you think I carry mountains of gold with me wherever I go? What I have left is for your recovery. I will not risk your life for the sake of strangers who mean nothing to me.”

His words silenced me, guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. I wanted to argue, to tell him to use the money to help these people instead of worrying about me. But I knew him too well—my words would only anger him further.

With a heavy heart, I climbed back into the carriage, my eyes lingering on the desolate crowd outside. The cries of the hungry and the grieving stayed with me long after we left, haunting me like ghosts.

*****

As we entered Baixu City, the gateway to the Empire of Silang, the energy of the bustling streets hit me like a wave. From the carriage, I drew aside the curtain, and my breath caught at the sight. Despite it being midday, the streets were alive with noise—merchants shouting to peddle their wares, children laughing as they darted through the crowd, and travelers negotiating for supplies.

Yet amidst the vibrancy, my gaze snagged on a figure that made my heart stutter—a woman. Her long, curly hair shimmered like silk under the sunlight, her petite frame moving delicately as she navigated through the throng. Her pale, round face was achingly familiar. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, and I could swear Jinjing—my betrothed, long since lost to me—was alive and standing before me.

I stared, unblinking, as my heart warred between hope and logic.

But the illusion shattered as a man suddenly grabbed the woman’s wrist. She struggled, her movements frantic, but his grip only tightened. Without warning, he struck her across the face.

A white-hot rage surged within me, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. Before I could think, I leapt from the carriage, propelled by pure instinct. I reached the man in seconds, grabbing him by the collar and landing a blow that sent him reeling. He hit the ground hard, but I wasn’t done. My fists flew, one after another, until his face was bloodied, his nose crooked, and his pleas for mercy reduced to weak groans.

“Enough!” Ruan Yanjun’s voice rang out like a whip, cutting through the haze of my fury.

I froze, my fists trembling mid-air as clarity returned. My chest heaved, and I looked down at the man beneath me—barely conscious, his blood staining the cobblestones. Horror crept in as I realized what I had done. My hands were shaking, not just from exertion, but from the sickening understanding of my actions.

What came over me?

The answer was as clear as it was chilling. The dark core within me—it had stirred, feeding on my rage and driving me to violence.

Ruan Yanjun was by my side in an instant, his hand gripping my arm as he hauled me upright. The woman, shaken and now attended to by concerned onlookers, was forgotten as he led me back to the carriage.

Once inside, he dropped onto the seat opposite me, his lips curling into an infuriating smirk. “A-Fan,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery, “did that woman remind you of Jinjing? Did you imagine that brute hurting your precious wife, so you decided to knock him out cold?”

I flinched at his words, my hands clenching into fists on my lap. “It wasn’t—” I started, but stopped myself. What excuse could I offer? The truth would only amuse him further.

“You really are full of surprises,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “For someone so soft-hearted, you certainly can pack a punch when the mood strikes.”

I bit my lip, willing myself to stay silent. His taunts were like barbs, but they paled in comparison to the turmoil roiling inside me.

That was when it hit me—a clash of qi within my core, light battling dark. The dark core, now roused, radiated with a fierce hunger, its energy invasive and insidious. My light core, its natural opposite, responded in kind, surging with equal force to suppress it. But instead of balance, the two forces collided violently, creating chaos within my body.

I pressed a hand to my chest, my breathing shallow as my vision swam. Pain lanced through me, both physical and mental, as the battle raged.

“A-Fan.” Ruan Yanjun’s voice shifted, the teasing edge replaced with something sharper—concern. He leaned forward, his sharp eyes studying me. “Something’s not right with you.”

“I... It’s...” My words faltered as my body went limp, drained by the relentless storm of qi.

Ruan Yanjun didn’t hesitate. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial, shaking out a round, pearlescent pill. “Here,” he said, pressing it to my lips. “Take this.”

I swallowed it with difficulty, the pill dissolving almost instantly. A cooling sensation spread through me, soothing the raging energies and silencing the chaos in my core. My body sagged in relief, though exhaustion still weighed heavily on me.

“Fool,” Ruan Yanjun muttered, leaning back but keeping his sharp gaze on me. “Do you want to die of qi deviation? You need to learn control. That dark core of yours isn’t something you can just ignore.”

I nodded weakly, unable to argue.

“Rest,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate. “We’ll deal with this when you’re stronger.”

As I closed my eyes, the image of the woman who resembled Jinjing haunted me. I wasn’t sure which frightened me more—the memory of her, or the dark force within me that seemed to gain strength with each passing day.