By morning, Lan Feng was still visibly weak, despite having rested through the night. The usual spark in his eyes had dimmed, and the warmth of his cheerful smile had vanished. His complexion was pale, his movements sluggish, and his silence gnawed at my growing worry. He hadn't fully recovered—and now, it seemed his condition was deteriorating.
Before we set off, I took a small, round pill from my pouch and handed it to him. "Take this," I said firmly. "It will help stabilize your energy."
Without protest, he obediently swallowed the pill with a sip of water. Yet even an hour into our journey, I noticed his steps growing uneven. He lingered farther and farther behind, until finally, I turned to find him leaning heavily against a tree, one hand pressed against his forehead.
"Feng'er," I called, rushing to his side at once. "What's wrong?"
His eyes were half-lidded, his voice faint as he replied, "Gege… I feel dizzy… and I can't see very well."
I dropped my pack without a second thought and guided him down to sit beneath the tree. He sank against the trunk like a doll whose strings had been cut. Kneeling beside him, I reached for his wrist, pressing my fingers against his vitality gate to sense the flow of energy within him.
His qi was unstable—unsettled like a pool disturbed by a falling stone—but not to a degree that should have caused this level of weakness. My mind raced. Was this a delayed reaction to the pill I had given him? Or was something more insidious at play—something buried within the demonic core I had yet to fully understand?
"We'll rest here for now," I said softly, smoothing the hair from his damp forehead. I tried to keep my tone calm, to avoid adding panic to his exhaustion. "Are you hungry?"
He shook his head weakly, barely opening his eyes. "I don't want to eat."
That only deepened my concern.
"You barely touched your breakfast, and you skipped dinner last night," I pointed out, frowning. "No wonder you're feeling weak."
"I'm not hungry, Gege," he murmured again, a fragile thread of sound.
His refusal concerned me even more. Lan Feng, who normally lit up when I cooked for him—who once declared my soup tasted better than divine nectar—now wouldn't even look at food. It wasn't just fatigue. Something was very wrong.
After letting him rest a while longer, I coaxed him back to his feet, and we continued our journey slowly. He clung to my sleeve more tightly than usual, but for a time, he walked without faltering. I took that as a good sign, even if my instincts told me not to be reassured too soon.
I thought we had turned a corner—until later that afternoon.
He stumbled mid-step, his foot catching on a root. Before I could react, he collapsed. I caught him just in time, his full weight sagging into my arms. His skin was hot to the touch—too hot. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and when I touched his forehead, it burned.
"Feng'er!" I cried, panic slicing through my chest.
I cradled him against me, my heart pounding. A fever. And we were in the middle of nowhere—no shelter, no town, no sign of help for miles.
I glanced around, desperately scanning the landscape. I couldn't keep dragging him along. That would only make things worse.
But where could I take him?
As if in answer to my silent plea, the distant creak of wooden wheels reached my ears. A wagon appeared on the winding dirt road ahead, drawn by a pair of broad-shouldered oxen and piled high with hay.
Without wasting a second, I stepped out and waved.
The driver, a man in his forties with a funny mustache and sharp eyes, tugged the reins and brought the wagon to a halt. He looked us over, his gaze lingering on Lan Feng before settling warily on me.
"Are you both alright?" he asked.
I cupped my hands respectfully and lowered my head. "My name is Luo Fan. This is my younger brother, Lan Feng. He's unwell… I wonder if you could take us somewhere safe where he might rest."
The man studied us for a long moment. Lan Feng looked deathly pale, his face flushed with fever, his body limp in my arms.
"There's space at the back," the driver finally said, nodding toward the hay. "Make yourselves comfortable."
I bowed deeply. "You have our gratitude."
I lifted Lan Feng carefully into the wagon, cradling his head as I settled him on the soft pile of hay. Though the wagon jolted with every bump in the road, it was better than walking, and it gave him the chance to rest. I sat beside him, checking his temperature and wiping his forehead with a cloth from my satchel. His skin was hot, damp with sweat, and he shifted restlessly in his sleep, murmuring incoherent words.
As we neared the gates of a city nestled between two hills, my relief quickly gave way to dread.
Guards were stationed at the entrance, demanding papers and questioning travelers. More troubling was the man who stood just behind the guards—a sixth-level cultivator, tall and imposing, his robes trimmed in black. His gaze moved sharply across the crowd like a hawk surveying a field of prey.
They were still looking for Ruan Yanjun.
I clenched my jaw, drawing Lan Feng closer as he stirred with a faint groan. I couldn't risk taking him into the city. If that cultivator sensed his aura, if he recognized his face—even a flicker of resemblance—it would be the end for both of us.
I reached down into the hay, slipping a few copper coins where the driver would find them.
"Thank you," I whispered to him. "But we'll get off here."
He looked surprised but didn't protest.
I waited until the wagon passed a thicket of trees just before the checkpoint, then moved quickly. I leapt down and pulled Lan Feng with me, catching him before he collapsed completely. His arm fell over my shoulders, and I wrapped mine around his waist, holding him upright.
"Hang in there," I murmured, tightening my grip. "Just a little longer."
We slipped into the trees, moving swiftly but cautiously. I avoided the main road, veering into the denser parts of the forest, choosing the narrowest deer paths where few would think to follow. My heart pounded, every crack of a branch behind us sounding like the footstep of a pursuer.
By the time we reached the edge of the woods, the sky had darkened, and the first drops of rain began to fall—cold, biting, and merciless.
The clearing offered little respite, no hut, no cave—only open grass and trees that barely shielded us from the growing downpour.
Lan Feng clung to me weakly, shivering as he muttered through chattering teeth, "Gege… I'm cold…"
I pulled off my cloak at once and wrapped it tightly around him, shielding him from the rain with my body. My own clothes quickly soaked through, but I didn't care. His fevered skin trembled against mine.
"Just hold on," I said, keeping my voice firm. "We'll get through this. I promise."
The rain continued to pour in steady sheets as we huddled beneath a tree, its canopy offering little more than a symbolic gesture of shelter. Lan Feng's head rested heavily on my shoulder, his breathing shallow but steady. Whatever energy he'd held onto earlier had fully drained away, leaving behind only a frail shell of the boy who once climbed cliffs with me and teased me endlessly about crossdressing. The warmth I'd summoned into his meridians had held off the worst, but it wouldn't be enough for long. He needed real rest—dry shelter, warmth, something hot to drink. And soon.
As if the heavens heard my silent plea, another wagon's wheels creaked and splashed through the muddy path. I turned my head to see an old man, probably in his early sixties, steering the ox-drawn vehicle. His face was weathered, lined with the marks of hard work, but his eyes were kind as they met mine.
He pulled the reins and stopped beside us. "You two need a ride?" he called over the din of rain, his voice hoarse but kind.
"Yes, please," I answered quickly, barely able to keep the relief from flooding my voice.
"Then hop on before you're drenched to your bones."
I didn't hesitate. Supporting Lan Feng with one arm, I helped him climb up into the wagon. He leaned on me the whole way, his legs dragging more than walking. The old man extended his hand to steady him as he clambered in. Despite his age, his grip was surprisingly strong.
The wagon was simple but mercifully covered. The oilskin tarp above us had seen better days—patched in places—but it kept the worst of the rain off. I eased Lan Feng onto a pile of straw near the back, adjusting his cloak and placing his head gently on my shoulder.
The smell inside was a mix of damp wood, old cloth, and something vaguely sweet. I noticed several bruised melons rolling gently with the wagon's movements. The old man must have been returning from market after trying to sell them.
"Are you cold?" I whispered, brushing damp hair away from Lan Feng's brow.
"Mm…" he barely managed, his eyes fluttering open just long enough to meet mine.
I summoned another soft surge of internal energy and passed it into his body, hoping to warm him from within. "Is this better?"
"Mm." He nodded faintly, then leaned in again, nestling against me with a soft sigh. His words were shrinking, retreating—his voice quieter, his breath thinner. That worried me more than anything else.
The rain drummed steadily against the roof as the old man raised his voice to be heard. "Where you headed?"
"We're looking for shelter," I answered loudly but politely. "Even a shed will do. I can pay if needed."
The old man gave a raspy chuckle. "No need for coin. You can stay in my son's old house. Been empty over a year now, but it's dry, and the roof still holds."
Gratitude welled up in my chest. I bowed my head, knowing he wouldn't see it but hoping he'd feel it in my tone. "Thank you, sir. That's very generous."
By the time we arrived, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, leaving the world washed in silvery mist. The wagon rolled to a stop in front of a modest wooden house, worn by the seasons but standing proud. Beside it was another house, likely the one the old man had mentioned.
I helped Lan Feng down carefully, taking most of his weight. His legs barely moved on their own. I felt his fever radiating through the cloak even now.
The man jumped down from his seat and came to help me, holding Lan Feng by the arm until he was stable on his feet.
"My name's Mao Hai," he said, cupping his calloused hands respectfully. "Just a farmer getting by."
I returned the gesture with one hand still gripping Lan Feng. "I'm Luo Fan. This is Lan Feng. We're deeply in your debt."
His gaze lingered on Lan Feng's flushed face. "Your friend doesn't look good. You'd best get him inside before the night chill sets in."
Without further prompting, he turned and led us toward the smaller house—tucked beneath two towering trees whose leaves dripped rhythmically into the wet earth. Their gnarled branches reached toward each other like an archway, dark silhouettes swaying softly as if to welcome us home.
The house was humble, built entirely of wood with a tiled roof that had clearly endured one too many seasons. Inside, the air carried a faint scent of dust and long abandonment, like the breath of a place that hadn't known company in some time.
"This house has been empty for a while," Mao Hai explained as he lit a lantern hanging from a hook in the corner. Its warm glow flickered to life, casting long shadows across the modest, single-room space. "My son left the village over a year ago, so it's gotten a bit musty. I'll fetch some blankets and a mattress for you."
"Thank you," I said, watching as he stepped outside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The interior was sparsely furnished—no walls, no luxury. Just a simple screen, yellowed at the edges, dividing the bed from the rest of the room. The bedding behind it was bare and layered in a fine coat of dust.
I guided Lan Feng to the rickety chair near a small wooden table and helped him sit down gently. He moved sluggishly, his limbs heavy with fever, and I steadied him with one hand before turning to prepare the bed. As I beat out the dust from the mattress and bedding frame, tiny clouds rose in protest, stirring the air with the dry scent of disuse.
Soon, Mao Hai returned, arms laden with neatly folded blankets, a mattress pad, a pillow, and a worn but clean bed cover.
"This should help keep him warm," he said, setting them on the table. In his other hand, he carried a small iron pot. "Brought some leftover soup from breakfast. It's gone cold, but I'll heat it up for you on the stove."
I stood, ready to protest. "Lao Mao, you've already done more than enough for us. Really, I can take care of it."
But he waved me off with the casual stubbornness of someone used to doing things his own way. "It's no trouble. That stove hasn't been used in a while. Better I get it going myself and make sure it's working properly."
I relented with a nod, moved by his continued kindness.
While he went to tend the fire, I turned back to the bedding. The old wooden frame creaked beneath the weight of the mattress, but it held firm. I spread the blankets neatly and fluffed the pillow before returning to Lan Feng.
He hadn't moved.
His fever-bright eyes followed my every movement, filled with a silent intensity that tugged at my chest. I returned to his side and crouched in front of him. "Feng'er," I murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from his brow. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes."
Gently, I unfastened the ties of his outer robe, peeling the soaked fabric from his shoulders. It clung stubbornly to his skin, heavy with rain, and I had to ease it down his arms with slow, careful movements. The chill in the fabric made his body shiver, and I worked quickly, discarding the robe to one side.
Once he was free of it, I helped him up from the chair, steadying his swaying form against me. His skin burned beneath my hands—too warm—and his breath came shallow and uneven. I guided him to the bed and gently lowered him onto the freshly made blankets. Even now, his eyes never left mine, his fevered gaze fixed on me as if he feared I might vanish the moment he looked away.
"The fire's up, and the soup's heating," Mao Hai called from the small kitchen space. A moment later, he appeared again, wiping his hands on a threadbare linen cloth. "If you need anything else, I'll be in the house next door."
I turned and bowed my head deeply, cupping my hands in the traditional gesture. "Lao Mao, truly… thank you. Your kindness will not be forgotten."
He chuckled lightly, brushing the words away with a wave. "Bah, it's nothing. I don't see many visitors around here. Happy to help when I can. My only neighbor's a mile away, and he's not much for conversation."
I offered a small, genuine smile.