The sun was rising, its golden light stretching across the horizon as though attempting to wash away the horrors of the night. The dawn was serene, almost beautiful, a cruel juxtaposition to the exhaustion and despair that gripped Zhao Xi and Yin Yueqing as they trudged forward, escaping the ruins. Yueqing, her armor long faded, supported Zhao Xi with one arm, his nearly lifeless body slumped against her. His breath was shallow, his skin pale, and every step she took seemed to cost her an unimaginable amount of effort.

“Stay with me,” Yueqing whispered, her voice trembling as she glanced at Zhao Xi’s face. He could barely keep his eyes open, his vitality draining with every moment. The wound he’d taken for her had been deep—too deep.

She pressed on, desperate to reach the county town. Her legs burned, and her vision blurred, but she couldn’t stop. “Hold on. Just hold on,” she kept repeating to herself. Then, from afar, a low rumble rolled through the air—the sound of engines. Trucks. Lots of them.

Yueqing looked up, her heart leaping with faint hope. Military vehicles were rolling across the landscape, their dark shapes cutting through the morning light like salvation itself. Soldiers poured out of the trucks, their silhouettes sharp and purposeful. It was the troops. They had arrived at last.

Yueqing’s voice cracked as she screamed, “Help! Help us!”

Her cry echoed in the dawn, and the rumble of the vehicles slowed as the troops spotted them. The convoy ground to a halt, dust kicking up in thick clouds as the soldiers disembarked. Yueqing, barely able to hold herself upright, waved her free hand desperately, tears streaking down her face. Zhao Xi’s head lolled forward, his breaths weak and ragged.

Through his blurred vision, Zhao Xi saw a figure stepping down from one of the trucks. Something about the man’s outline seemed familiar, yet impossibly strange. As the figure drew closer, Zhao Xi’s foggy mind pieced together the details—sharp features, neatly combed hair, and a pair of eyes that seemed far too composed for the chaos around them. It was Feng Gang.

Feng Gang? Zhao Xi thought in confusion, his thoughts stumbling over themselves. How could Feng Gang—an official, not a soldier—be here, leading a military convoy? He wanted to say something, to warn Yueqing, but his body refused to cooperate. His mouth wouldn’t open, his voice locked away by his fading strength.

Feng Gang approached them briskly, his expression a mask of carefully curated concern. “Help him,” Yueqing gasped, her voice broken. “Please, he’s dying!”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Feng Gang crouched beside Zhao Xi, his eyes narrowing as he took in the state of the wounded man. “He’s in bad shape,” Feng Gang said with feigned urgency, signaling to a nearby military doctor. “Get him on the stretcher. Hurry!”

The soldiers moved quickly, lifting Zhao Xi with practiced care. As they carried him toward one of the trucks, Feng Gang stood and turned toward Yueqing. His voice dropped slightly, assuming a tone of calm inquiry. “What happened here? Why is he so severely injured?”

Yueqing looked at him, her exhaustion making her unaware of the subtle shift in Feng Gang’s demeanor. “We… we got out of the ruins,” she said breathlessly. “The town… the town is in chaos. It’s a horrific hell. You must see it!”

Feng Gang’s lips twitched slightly, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The town? Oh, I see,” he said, his voice even. “You mean there’s something off. I understand.”

He glanced over at the soldiers, his gaze sharp, before turning back to Yueqing. His tone softened, almost conspiratorial. “Miss… Yueqing, was it? There’s something you must know. This is a confidential task. I think we should talk privately.”

His voice was smooth, persuasive, and he gestured toward a quiet field a few steps away from the trucks. Yueqing hesitated for only a moment. Exhausted, grieving, and caught off guard, she nodded and followed him.

“Over here,” Feng Gang said, his voice dropping as they walked a few steps into the field. The grass was still damp with morning dew, and the world seemed unsettlingly quiet except for the distant hum of military vehicles. Feng Gang stopped, turning to face Yueqing. His expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp and penetrating.

“There’s something you must know,” he began, his tone low and mysterious.

Yueqing tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What is it?” she asked cautiously.

Feng Gang’s expression didn’t change. His hand moved so quickly that Yueqing didn’t see it until it was too late. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a sharp, gleaming knife and drove it into her abdomen.

The blade slid in with a sickening sound, and Yueqing staggered back, gasping in shock. “Ahh…!” she choked, her voice ragged and weak. Her hands instinctively clutched at the wound as she crumpled to her knees, her vision swimming.

Feng Gang leaned close, his face calm and cruel as he whispered, “You shouldn’t have survived.”

“You… why…” Yueqing gasped, her breath shallow. The world spun violently around her, the edges of her vision darkening as her consciousness began to slip. She stared at him in disbelief, betrayal etched across her pale face. “How… could you…”

Feng Gang pulled the knife free, wiping the blade clean with eerie calm. “It’s nothing personal,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “The essence… it’s not meant for you.”

Yueqing’s strength gave way, and she collapsed to the ground. The morning sky above blurred into an indistinct haze, the edges of her world unraveling. Her mind raced back to the ruins, to her father’s sacrifice, to Zhao Xi’s determination. Her father’s smile flickered in her memory, a distant light she didn’t want to lose.

“Xi…” she murmured tearfully, her voice barely audible.