Gu Wan was utterly exhausted and collapsed onto the snow to catch her breath.
No one knew how much time had passed.
The sky had taken on a grayish hue—dawn must be near. Gu Wan gently patted his shoulder. “We should go.”
“Alright.” Xie Ci’s voice was hoarse. He wiped his face with his sleeve, braced himself against the scabbard, and slowly stood up.
After the tears, they brushed them away. Supporting each other, the two pressed forward through the wind and snow, stumbling step by step.
Gradually, daylight broke. Gu Wan and Xie Ci avoided the crowded paths, instead following a narrow trail toward the mountain’s eastern ridges. Skirting the foothills for half a day, they finally discovered a place to rest.
It was a hunter’s small shack, about a li from the village below. In the raging wind and snow, no one would trudge through knee‑deep drifts to pay a visit. The fence gate was half‑buried in snow, as though it hadn’t been opened in a long time. After a moment’s observation, Gu Wan and Xie Ci forced it open.
The yard was small, but mountain folk never lacked firewood. A huge pile of blackened branches was stacked to the east. In the center stood a little wooden hut, its flimsy door blown ajar by the wind, snow swirling inside, the latch creaking endlessly.
Gu Wan pushed the door wider—and saw, upon the clay kang bed, an old hunter with hair gone white. He had long since passed away. Too frail to withstand the cold, he had frozen to death.
Gu Wan pressed her palms together in a gesture of apology, then carefully dragged the frail old man’s light body outside, laying him upon a clean mound of snow.
The two of them collapsed onto the clay bed, and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep. They slept as though the world had gone dark. When Xie Ci awoke again, it was already the next morning.
The snowlight was dazzling, the sky hovering between night and dawn. The hut’s door had been braced shut with a thick stick. Firewood was stacked both in the kang’s hearth and in the central firepit, arranged with surprising skill—though the fire had not yet been lit.
Gu Wan had woken earlier. She was crouched in the small kitchen partition on the east side of the hut, striking the firestone again and again. She must have struck it three to five hundred times, yet not a single spark appeared.
Xie Ci rose, stepped down from the kang, and entered the kitchen. Taking the firestone from her hand, he struck it a few times—“tak, tak”—and with a forward flick, sparks fell onto the straw and twigs laid beneath the stove. The fire caught at once.
On the stove sat a small iron pot, filled to the brim with fresh snow. Beside it lay a stiff, gray‑furred hare—something Gu Wan had found that morning, caught in a trap just outside the fence while she was gathering wood.
Xie Ci slowly stood, set the wooden lid on the pot, then picked up the hare and crouched again. Drawing the long knife at his side, he began to skin and prepare it.
“You’re up? Go rest!” Gu Wan urged.
She had woken once in the middle of the night to check his wounds. Fortunately, the worst were the deep gashes and the ones at his joints. When she went out, she had brought along the other healing powders hidden in the haystack, and Xie Ci had carried the wax pills too. She had dressed his wounds and dissolved the medicine for him to take.
Now, with his breath steadier, he felt somewhat better. He shook his head. “I’m much improved. It’s fine.”
Gu Wan couldn’t let herself keep bustling about while he lay there. After a moment’s thought, she didn’t refuse him again—mostly because she was spent as well. The original body had been pampered too long in the inner chambers; after such sudden exertion, once her breath eased, her limbs ached unbearably.
The stove fire was already burning. Gu Wan shifted some of it into the hearth pit and the kang bed, and soon the hut grew warm.
Together they dressed the hare, placing it into the pot of half‑boiled water. As the broth bubbled, Xie Ci stared blankly toward the eastern window, the snowfields stretching endless and white. He murmured, “I wonder how my mother, Fifth Brother, and my sister‑in‑law and nephew are faring…”
It was a thought heavy with worry.
Gu Wan carried the fire outside to a sheltered spot behind the hut. There, a stack of wood had already been piled, and upon it lay the old hunter. She crouched down and cremated him, then dug a pit in the scorched earth to lay him to rest.
She bowed. *This settles you here. Please don’t mind us borrowing your hut and belongings.* Rising, she turned back—and caught sight of Xie Ci, still gazing eastward.
That was the direction of Tiekan Temple.
The brilliance and arrogance of his former bearing had all faded from his brows. In those star‑bright eyes now lay only sorrow. After such upheaval, a man grows up overnight.
Gu Wan scratched her head and couldn’t help sighing. What a mess. She stood there for quite a while, until a gust of cold wind swept past, making her rub her arms before she hopped and skipped back inside.
Xie Ci came back to his senses and immediately got up to open the door.
Gu Wan had arranged for him to tend the fire; she hadn’t agreed to let him come out with her. With his injuries, a chill could be disastrous. In their current situation, finding a doctor was nearly impossible.
Xie Ci understood the gravity of it and didn’t insist. As the door opened, the northern wind roared in, carrying shards of snow. The flames in the hearth flickered violently, and the red glow lit half of his pale face. His lips were drained of color, delicate and fragile.
Gu Wan pulled him back to sit by the firepit. The warmth of the kang made her exhale a long breath of relief. Rubbing her hands, she thought for a moment and said, “Don’t panic yet. Even if they punish three generations, there’s no reason to slaughter women and children.”
The laws of this dynasty had been carried forward since its founding. Aside from a few treason cases where the emperor himself decreed the execution of entire clans, collective punishment had never extended to women or children under sixteen.
She refused to believe otherwise! No matter how grave the crime of prison escape, it couldn’t possibly outweigh the ‘Lantian treason case.’
Her recent experiences had left her with no fondness for this court, but surely it wasn’t so hopeless? As long as they weren’t openly sentenced or killed in prison, there would be a way!
Xie Ci’s heart felt heavy. “Let’s hope so.”
Xie Ci was restless, consumed by fear. Having clawed his way out of death’s grasp, he now dreaded that his prison break might drag down the few family members left alive—turning their exile into execution.
He knew all too well the storm the Xie case had stirred in court. Xie Xinchong’s upright integrity had left him with countless enemies eager to strike, determined to see the Xie clan destroyed. When a wall collapses, everyone pushes.
After the two of them settled their lodging, they ate a simple meal and returned to the heated kang, seizing what little time they had to heal and recover.
But Xie Ci tossed and turned, unable to sleep. His battered body ached everywhere—the branding iron burns, the freshly torn wounds—but none of it compared to the torment in his heart. The anxiety gnawed at him, keeping him awake.
Gu Wan knew. With their limited means, they shared the same quilt. He tried not to disturb her, but in the unfamiliar surroundings she slept lightly. Half-awake, she could hear the crackle of the firewood and his uneven breathing, and she knew he hadn’t slept. Yet there was little she could do.
By midnight, his fever flared again. Gu Wan rose, wrung out a cloth, and laid it across his forehead.
The fever wasn’t dangerously high, but he began muttering deliriously, tears slipping from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. Gu Wan heard him call out for “Father,” “Mother,” “Sister Ying” (his second sister-in-law), as well as his elder brother and several nieces and nephews.
At dawn, the fever finally broke. Gu Wan ladled out the millet-and-meat porridge she had prepared into a wooden bowl, but when she brought it over, she found Xie Ci already up. He was fully dressed, the scabbard of his regulation long sword discarded, the hilt bound tightly with strips of cloth. The weapon hung at his waist, and a dagger was strapped to the side of his leg.
“I’ll go to the outer ward and ask around for news.” Xie Ci’s lips were pale. He took down the old bamboo hat hanging on the wall and pulled it low over his face.
A few days would be enough for the authorities to decide whether his escape implicated others. News would surely spread in two days’ time, but Xie Ci couldn’t bear to sit and wait. He was desperate to find out.
“Alright.” Gu Wan understood, though she worried. “But we don’t have household registration papers or travel permits!”
Anyone traveling outside had to carry their household registry slip and a road pass. Even locals, during times of heightened scrutiny, would be subject to inspection. If they went out and were stopped, it would be disastrous.
Xie Ci had already thought it through. “It’s fine. I’ll get a forged one first.”
A fake pass? Well, not impossible.
Gu Wan blinked, then after a moment said, “Alright, then I’ll go with you!”
His injuries might allow him to walk a few steps inside the cabin, but once outside, it would be a different matter. If he collapsed along the way, at least she would be there to support him. Gu Wan would never let him go alone.
The two of them hurriedly drank their porridge, extinguished the fire in the hearth, tidied up, and stripped off their prison clothes. Xie Ci put on the hunter’s old garments; they weren’t long enough, so he tore another piece to bind inside. The clothes were worn and patched, the kind of threadbare garments common among poor folk, and so he didn’t stand out.
After donning the old clothes, Gu Wan pulled her thin cotton undershirt over the top. She had chosen it deliberately—the collar was edged with embroidery and simple stitched flowers. Worn this way, it could pass as an outer garment.
They skirted the edge of the village and walked three or four li along a small path until it joined the main road. Today the sun was out, the golden winter light dazzling against the snow, and there were more travelers about.
Villagers from all around were heading to market, carrying loads or driving donkeys. Once they merged onto the official road, the flow of people, carts, and merchants grew even busier.
Gu Wan listened carefully but heard no talk of Tiekan Temple or the Xie family womenfolk. Instead, the matter of Xie Ci’s prison escape had become the hottest news—several groups were loudly discussing it, offering opinions and speculations.
Gu Wan stole a glance at Xie Ci on the other side. After paying a few large coins, they boarded a village ox cart bound for Fengyang County. The cart was packed with people, and the two deliberately sat apart. Looking across, Gu Wan could see part of his face beneath the bamboo hat, his eyelids lowered, his jaw pale against the snowy backdrop.
The ox cart rumbled forward. Along the way, they encountered checkpoints and inspections, but eventually stopped at a market about one li from Fengyang County.
This was as they had planned. The capital region comprised thirteen counties, and Fengyang was the nearest. Being under the Emperor’s feet, whenever a major case or proclamation shook the realm, yellow notices would be posted in all thirteen counties under the capital’s jurisdiction—to intimidate, to reassure, and to spread the word.
Beyond the county yamen and the city gates, the entrances to busy markets and bazaars also had notices posted by the county itself.
Gu Wan and Xie Ci certainly could not head toward the capital, so after some discussion they decided to take advantage of this loophole.
Even before getting off the cart, they saw a large crowd gathered in front of an open space to the left of the marketplace gate. A scholar was speaking animatedly, spittle flying as he recited the contents of the proclamation to the people.
Sure enough, there was a notice board here with a freshly copied announcement. A new sheet of yellow paper had clearly been pasted up within the last couple of days.
Xie Ci’s body immediately tensed. He stood for a moment, then began walking toward the board, step by step, faster and faster. The two pushed their way into the crowd, jostled and shoved, forcing themselves forward as quickly as possible. At last they reached a spot where they could see the yellow paper clearly.
With one glance, Xie Ci recognized it: an announcement concerning his escape from the prison, calling on the local military and civilians to report him, warning that harboring him was a crime, and offering a reward. His eyes raced down the lines, ten at a glance, until they reached the end—and then his gaze froze. For the first time, his expression shifted. He started, then his heart surged with emotion, and he closed his eyes.
Gu Wan sensed something and looked too. At the very bottom of the yellow paper was the character “ci (此).” The scribe’s brush had moved too hastily, the final stroke curling into a tendril-like flourish, the hook trailing long and thin downward like a coiling vine.
This was a secret signal once agreed upon between Xie Ci and a few of his childhood companions.
Favored sons of heaven, kindred in temperament, reckless in youth—they would ride side by side, galloping with wild abandon. They played with crickets, watched operas, listened to the pipa; when excitement struck, they clapped and cheered, scattering gold like dust. They championed justice wherever they saw injustice, stirring up trouble great and small, leaving chaos in their wake.
But when calamity befell the Xie family, while many relatives and friends chose silence, avoidance, or even betrayal, young Xie Ci stood at his family’s gate with spear in hand, besieged on all sides, his heart burning with indignation. Now, his former companion Zhang Ningyuan risked himself to send a message—using the very secret signal they had devised in their boyhood mischief—to discreetly pass word to him: Do not despair. He has persuaded his uncle to intercede, and the court is striving to protect the Xie family’s womenfolk.
Zhang Ningyuan was the legitimate nephew of Minister Zhang of the Ministry of Justice. For Xie Ci’s sake, he fasted for four days, nearly to the point of death, retreating again and again until he begged only that his family intervene by law to shield the imprisoned Xie women from implication. His mother could not bear it and personally pleaded; at last, Minister Zhang relented.
As Xie Ci whispered to Gu Wan, the sound of hooves approached. Court officers arrived, unfurling a long yellow proclamation before the notice board. With sword hilts, they pushed the crowd aside and posted the decree. It was the follow-up to the prison break!
Through Minister Zhang’s full mediation, the Xie family’s womenfolk retained their original sentence: exile three thousand li north to Tieling, consigned to military servitude.
In that instant, Xie Ci’s eyes brimmed with hot tears. He tilted his head back, struggling with all his strength to hold back the burning in his eyes, yet joy spilled over—he was crying from relief.
Thank goodness, thank goodness, this world hadn’t crushed all hope after all.
Gu Wan let out a long breath of warmth; just now she had been tense to the point of death. She lifted her gaze to Xie Ci, and he looked back at her. She said softly, “When we have the chance later, we’ll thank him properly.”
In the end, there was someone worth it—this life wasn’t lived in vain. Even if they might never meet again, their bond would not be wasted.
How wonderful. The Xie family had not been implicated.
With so many members of the Xie clan, the excuse of “dying of illness” would not apply. Once they were freed from the prison, they could find a way to save others.
The two squeezed their way out of the crowd. Gu Wan patted his shoulder: “Now, can you finally rest easy and focus on healing?”
Her tone grew lighter, touched with a smile. At last, Xie Ci showed his first smile in all this time. He nodded firmly. “Mm!”
The winter sun fell across the ruts and lingering snow, the dazzling white reflecting a golden glow that brushed Gu Wan’s profile with warmth. Her face was smudged with soot and ash, yet her teeth shone fine and white as porcelain against it.
Overcome with emotion, Xie Ci couldn’t help but pull her into a fierce embrace. Words of thanks felt inadequate—he didn’t want to say them again—but his gratitude was deep and genuine. He held her too tightly, enough to make Gu Wan wince. Caught off guard, she quickly drew in her chest… fortunately, she was slight, and her clothes were thick. But she too was truly happy, and couldn’t resist hugging him back with equal strength.
She had been under immense pressure herself. Her original intent had been to repay the Xie family on behalf of the original host. Though events had unfolded in unexpected layers, if the Xie family had perished, she knew guilt would have haunted her for a very long time. Thankfully, they hadn’t.
She owed thanks to Zhang Ningyuan. And thanks to Xie Ci as well. In fact, thanks to everyone who had fought for this outcome.
Gu Wan released him, patted him, and glanced at the swelling crowd. In a low voice, she said, “Let’s hurry on.”