The three of them searched around with fierce expressions.
The Dai Family’s house wasn’t large—it took only two minutes to search the entire place.
Zhang Danhua walked to the base of the wall, cursing under her breath. She spat on the ground at the sight of footprints and snarled, “She ran outside! Dai Rong, go get our eldest and second brothers. Guangzong, you gather more people. Let’s catch her!”
“Alright!” The three of them rushed out the door together.
Wen Zhile didn’t dare to breathe heavily until she was sure there was no more noise in the courtyard.
She lifted the tattered cloth covering the pig trough, climbed out of it, and—her frail body reeking of foul odors—dashed into the main room. With trembling fingers, she put on Zhang Danhua’s clothes, wrapped a scarf around her head, bundled her schoolbag in floral fabric, and tucked it against her chest. Without looking back, she fled the Dai Family home.
The road outside the Dai Family’s house was empty; the neighbors had all been called away to search for her.
Wen Zhile bit her lip hard, using the pain to steady herself from trembling with fear.
In her previous life, she had been a delicate flower raised in a greenhouse, never before trapped in such a vicious and desperate situation. Fortunately, the pain helped calm her nerves a little.
Knowing full well that all exits from the village would be guarded by the villagers, Wen Zhile gritted her teeth and ran toward the Back Mountain.
Ten years ago, a young woman from the village had been assaulted and later hanged herself under a crooked-neck tree on the Back Mountain. In the following years, several gravely ill elders had also gone there to end their lives. Eventually, rumors spread that a ghost haunted the Back Mountain, seeking substitutes, and gradually, no one dared to enter the mountain anymore. Even passing by the foot of the mountain, people would hurry away.
Over the years, “Back Mountain” had been replaced by the term “barren mountain.”
The sun climbed higher, its glare intensifying. Wen Zhile ran desperately under the bright light.
Every part of her body ached, but she didn’t dare stop for a moment.
Wen Zhile didn’t know if any villagers had spotted her—it was possible.
In such broad daylight, a living person sprinting down the road would surely attract attention.
But she had no other choice. The Back Mountain was the only path to survival she could think of at that moment. She had to make it there; even if she encountered someone, she couldn’t stop.
She had no idea how long she had been running when she finally saw a “towering mountain” exuding an aura of vitality.
Wen Zhile hurried into the mountain, her breathing ragged.
[Sister, rest a while. This barren mountain is safe.]
The line of text appeared before her eyes once more. Wen Zhile shook her head and ran resolutely deeper into the mountain.
[Some villagers saw you on the road. They didn’t tell the Dai Family.]
[Sister, you’re safe now.]
Wen Zhile’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Though her legs felt like lead, she kept running.
If the Dai Family caught her and brought her back, escaping again would be nearly impossible.
She didn’t want to marry the village chief, become a stepmother to a son almost her own age, or let her life be ruined by Jianghe Village and the Dai Family. She wanted to go home and drive out Dai Nuan, who had taken her place!
[Stop running. You need to rest.]
“Who are you?” Wen Zhile’s heart raced so fast she had to slow her pace to catch her breath, whispering the question.
[I’m your helper, sister.]
“Why are you helping me?” There’s no such thing as unconditional help in this world, and Wen Zhile had been puzzled by its presence from the very beginning.
The text appeared after a short pause: [I belong to the rules of spacetime. My mission is to assist Qi Luck Holders, who were destined for peaceful lives but died due to various misfortunes, to turn their fates around in parallel worlds. You are one such Qi Luck Holder—in other words, you are my mission target.]
[I hope you can trust me unconditionally. I mean you no harm.]
Wen Zhile pressed her dry lips together.
Since childhood, she had been clever enough to understand, but couldn’t bring herself to trust: “The only people I trust unconditionally are my family.”
[I understand. Walk ten more meters and you’ll see a fork in the road, sister. If you want to try trusting me, stop there.]
“Stop, and then what?”
[Then you’ll have a way out.]
Ten meters ahead, there wasn’t just a fork in the road—there was also a small stream.
Wen Zhile walked over, cupped her hands to scoop up some clear water, washed her face, and moistened her lips.
It took her a long time to finally calm her breathing and emotions, after which she frowned and took off the women’s clothing she had been wearing over her own clothes.
The sun was directly overhead, probably around noon.
The line of text didn’t appear again. Wen Zhile stood by the stream with downcast eyes, contemplating whether to trust it.
“Hello, have you been by my side all along?”
[Yes, sister.]
“What should I call you?”
The line of text didn’t respond.
Wen Zhile waited for a while, then slowly crouched down. “Thank you.”
She placed her hand in the stream, watching the water submerge the rough palm of this lifetime, her mind slightly dazed.
In her daze, she seemed to hear the sound of a car engine approaching from afar.
Wen Zhile turned her face toward the source of the sound and saw a military-green jeep emerging from the fork in the road.
She froze for a moment, her tired peach-blossom eyes fixed on the license plate. The words “military use only” flashed in her mind, and she immediately stood up to flag down the car.
This might be her last chance to escape—regardless of anything else, she had to stop it first.
The jeep came to an emergency stop just twenty centimeters away from her.
The man driving wore a crisp military uniform, his strikingly handsome features sharp and intense. He frowned slightly, his gaze resting on her.
Under his watchful eyes, Wen Zhile walked to the car window.
“Hello, comrade. What’s your name?” She didn’t dare rashly state her purpose, wanting to first chat briefly to gauge his character.
The man turned his face toward her, his expression unreadable.
“Zhou.”