CHAPTER 73

  Hunted

  LUO FAN

  For a month, I traveled alone, constantly on the move, my steps hurried as though the marquis’ men were breathing down my neck. I could not afford to rest for long. Exhaustion was a luxury I could not indulge.

  Every city I passed, I skirted around, afraid that spies or informants might already be stationed there, waiting for a glimpse of me. By now, the marquis must have appealed to Emperor Gao, and I was certain the emperor had dispatched his own men to find me.

  My body bore the marks of my hardship. Hunger gnawed at my insides, thirst parched my throat, and the sleepless nights left me dizzy and disoriented. Even worse, the turmoil within me never ceased as my unstable dark core fought against my weakening light core, filling me with relentless pain. Every day felt like a fight to stay alive.

  When I finally caught sight of the gated wall separating the Eastern Empire of Silang from the Wun Empire, a mix of relief and trepidation washed over me. Crossing into the Wun Empire promised a measure of safety, at least for a time.

  The field before the gate was still crowded with refugees, but the atmosphere had shifted from the despair I had seen months earlier. The overwhelming misery had eased. No longer did people lie in the dirt, consumed by grief and hopelessness. The crying children and mourning mothers were gone.

  Near the gate, beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, I spotted a congee stand. Refugees stood in a neat, orderly line, holding out bowls as volunteers ladled steaming portions into them. Nearby, a makeshift hospital had been set up, where attendants moved among the sick, tending to them with quiet, practiced efficiency.

  Whoever had taken charge here had a compassionate heart.

  I felt a pang of relief at the sight. These people, at least, were not forgotten. I could not help but feel grateful, though I could not afford to linger and find out who was responsible for this improvement.

  I adjusted my grip on my bamboo stick and prepared to approach the gate when I froze. My gaze locked on three men standing near the entrance, their dark robes bearing the insignia of the Nightfall Sect, a serpent coiled around a crescent moon.

  The Nightfall Sect was the second largest dark-core sect on the continent, notorious for its strength and ruthlessness. Their leader, Liang Qingshan, was hailed as the fourth strongest cultivator in the entire continent. They served Emperor Gao as his official protectors, a role that once belonged to the Sacred Sphere Sect before they lost favor by chastising the emperor for his debauchery.

  The Nightfall Sect disciples exuded power. Their energy signatures rippled faintly in the air around them, enough to make even experienced cultivators think twice before approaching. I could not gauge their exact level, but I knew instinctively that I was no match for them in my current state, or in any state, for that matter.

  I froze as I watched them scan the crowd, their eyes sharp and searching.

  They’re looking for me. They were expecting me.

  I could feel it in my gut. Emperor Gao must have sent them, knowing I would attempt to flee into Wun Empire.

  Swallowing my panic, I quickly stepped back into the crowd, keeping my head low and my movements inconspicuous. I blended into the stream of people, adjusting the hood of my cloak to shield my face further from view. The bamboo stick I carried felt heavier than ever in my grip.

  I would have to find another way around. Direct confrontation with those disciples would mean certain death—or worse, capture and delivery back to the emperor.

  “Priest Luo Fan,” a sharp voice called from behind.

  I froze. My heart sank as I recognized my name being uttered. Instinctively, I turned, only to realize the grave mistake I had made.

  The man who had called out stiffened, his expression morphing from doubt to certainty the moment my reaction confirmed his suspicion.

  “He’s here!” he yelled, waving to his companions.

  Immediately, I turned and bolted toward the dense woods nearby.

  I couldn’t afford to be captured. Not now, not ever.

  My breath came in shallow gasps, my weakened body protesting with every step, but fear propelled me forward.

  The sound of feet pounding behind me only grew louder. They were relentless. Trees blurred past me as I weaved through the foliage, hoping against hope to find a place to hide or a way to lose them. The forest seemed endless, its maze of towering trunks and twisting roots offering no clear escape.

  Despite my efforts to push forward, my body began to fail me. My steps faltered, my legs grew heavier with every stride, and my lungs burned as though they might give out at any moment. In my current state, I knew I couldn’t outrun them for much longer.

  The sharp snap of a branch warned me of an approaching attacker. I turned just in time to see two of them lunging at me. They moved with precision, but their strikes lacked lethality.

  Their intention was clear. They wanted me alive.

  I deflected their strikes with my bamboo stick, their cautious restraint playing to my advantage. Drawing upon every scrap of energy left in me, I ducked, dodged, and struck back with ferocity, forcing them to retreat momentarily.

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  Seizing the opportunity, I broke into a sprint. My bamboo stick trembled in my grasp as I forced a faint trickle of energy into it. I knew I couldn’t sustain this pace or keep fighting for much longer, but my body defied me, propelled by sheer determination. I had to believe there was still a way out.

  The sound of their pursuit stayed relentless, each step hammering against my dwindling resolve. One of the men closed in rapidly, his spiritual pressure crashing over me like a suffocating wave. Realizing escape was impossible, I skidded to a halt and spun around to face him.

  Gripping my bamboo stick tightly, I aimed it at him and unleashed a barrage of energy blasts. Golden streaks of light tore through the air, but he raised his hand, conjuring a shimmering spiritual shield. My attacks shattered harmlessly against it, leaving me gasping for air as my energy reserves drained dangerously low.

  Desperation surged through me. I tightened my hold on the stick and swung it, prepared to make one last strike—a blow that might save my life or seal my fate.

  Before I could follow through, a sudden gust of wind roared through the woods with startling force. The man stumbled, his shield flickering before dissipating as he was thrown heavily to the ground.

  I froze, blinking in confusion.

  Where had the wind come from?

  My eyes darted around, scanning the forest for its source, but there was no one in sight.

  Before I could make sense of it, two more pursuers crashed through the underbrush. Panic reignited, spurring me forward. Without hesitation, I turned and fled deeper into the woods. My breath came in ragged gasps, my legs screaming in protest as exhaustion blurred my vision and clawed at my will to keep going.

  The sound of energy being gathered reached my ears—a sharp, crackling hum that sent chills down my spine. Realization struck too late. A concentrated blast hit me squarely in the back, searing pain ripping through my body like fire.

  I collapsed onto the forest floor, gasping for air. My limbs felt impossibly heavy, my strength utterly drained. Yet, even as the agony threatened to consume me, I refused to give up.

  Clawing at the dirt, I dragged myself forward, inch by inch, driven by sheer willpower.

  I glanced up and saw the faint outline of a hole in the ground ahead. Using the last of my energy, I pushed myself toward it. The world spun around me as I tumbled down into the hole, hitting sharp rocks and rough dirt on the way down.

  Pain exploded in my head as I struck something hard. The forest above faded into darkness. My bamboo stick, still clutched in my hand, pressed against my chest like a lifeline. As the void swallowed me, one last thought crossed my mind.

  “Will I ever wake up again?”

  *****

  When I regained consciousness, the first thing I noticed was the cold, damp earth beneath me. The faint scent of moss and wet stone filled the air. My vision swam as I tried to focus on my surroundings. I was lying at the entrance of a tunnel, its gaping mouth dark and foreboding. For a brief moment, I wondered how I had survived.

  I glanced to my side and saw my bamboo stick resting nearby. The sight of it brought a small sense of comfort.

  Groaning, I stretched out my hand and grasped the stick, using it to haul myself to my feet. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, and it felt as if my bones might give way beneath the weight of my battered frame.

  The men who had pursued me likely knew I had fallen here. They wouldn’t give up so easily. There was no time to linger or question how I had survived the fall. I needed to move.

  Step by step, I stumbled forward, using the stick for support. The tunnel behind me seemed to whisper of danger, urging me to leave it far behind.

  The sun dipped lower in the sky as I trudged onward. Hunger clawed at my stomach, but I ignored it. My focus remained on finding shelter, somewhere I could rest and tend to my wounds, no matter how temporary.

  When night finally fell, I spotted the faint outline of a structure through the trees. Drawing closer, I saw that it was a small, abandoned cottage. The roof sagged, and vines crept along its walls, but it was still standing. It would have to do.

  I pushed the creaking door open and stepped inside. Dust and cobwebs clung to every corner, and the air was stale, but it was shelter. Relief washed over me as I collapsed onto the dirt floor.

  The stick slipped from my hand, rolling to the side as my body gave out completely. Exhaustion and pain enveloped me, pulling me under once more. My last thought before darkness claimed me was simple.

  Just let me make it to tomorrow.

  *****

  Voices stirred me from the haze of unconsciousness. My body ached, and the world around me was dim and unfamiliar. As the muffled sounds grew clearer, a particular voice reached my ears, one that sent a jolt of recognition through me.

  It was Huang Wen.

  Why is he here?

  My heart tightened as I braced myself. Huang Wen was one of Ruan Yanjun’s most loyal disciples. While he had often shown me kindness, I could not afford to forget where his true allegiance lay.

  “Spread out and leave no stone unturned,” another voice ordered, cutting through the morning air with an authority that chilled my blood. It was a voice I knew all too well, one I had once relied on for protection and strength.

  Ruan Yanjun.

  I stiffened, a cold sweat forming on my brow. It was unthinkable that the devil himself had come to this remote area to hunt for me. The situation was far graver than I had anticipated.

  Dread settled in my chest.

  They’ll search this cabin.

  I dragged myself to the darkest corner of the cottage, curling into the shadows as best I could. Despite my best effort to stay silent, a cough bubbled up from my chest. I clamped my hand over my mouth, but it was too late. I knew Ruan Yanjun’s acute senses would have caught even the faintest sound.

  “Check that cabin over there,” Ruan Yanjun’s voice commanded, as cold and decisive as ever.

  Panic surged through me. Starved, injured, and drained of energy, I couldn’t even muster the strength to crawl away. I could only wait, my heart pounding painfully against my ribcage.

  The door creaked open, and Huang Wen’s face appeared. His eyes widened briefly in surprise as they met mine. My heart sank further, certain that my capture was imminent.

  To my surprise, Huang Wen composed himself, his face smoothing into an unreadable expression. He crouched down slightly and placed something on the dirt floor, just within my reach. His eyes flicked to mine for a moment before he gave a subtle nod and turned away, closing the door behind him.

  “Who is it?” Ruan Yanjun’s voice called from outside.

  “It’s a sick old man,” Huang Wen replied without missing a beat.

  Ruan Yanjun let out a derisive laugh. “An old man living alone in this desolate place? How convenient. Just kill him.”

  I froze, dread pooling in my stomach. I expected Huang Wen to follow the command, to return and strike me down without hesitation.

  “I already did, Master,” Huang Wen said. “He was just about to take his last breath anyway.”

  The air was thick with tension as silence followed his words. Every second felt like an eternity.

  I braced myself, certain that Ruan Yanjun would storm into the cabin to confirm his disciple’s claim. That was the kind of man he was—meticulous, suspicious, and far too cunning to fall for such an obvious lie.

  “Let’s go,” Ruan Yanjun said at last, his voice fading as he moved away.

  I stiffened. That was unexpected.

  I remained perfectly still, unwilling to risk even a whisper of movement.

  My mind reeled. Something didn’t add up. Ruan Yanjun wasn’t careless. He never was. Why hadn’t he checked for himself?

  Does he know I am here and chose to let me go?

  The possibility made my head spin. That wasn’t like him, either. The man I knew didn’t act on whims, and he certainly didn’t leave loose ends.

  Whatever the reason, I didn’t have the luxury of pondering it further. When I was certain they were gone, I forced myself to crawl toward the object Huang Wen had left behind. My fingers closed around it—it was a small jar of pills. I opened it and found three energy pills.

  The sight of it nearly brought tears to my eyes. Huang Wen had risked his life for me, defying his master in a way that could cost him everything.

  I swallowed one pill, the faint warmth of restored energy spreading through me. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give me strength to think clearly and plan my next move.