She bit hard into the tip of her tongue. A sharp pain instantly spread through her body, jolting her fully awake.
Only then did a delayed sense of fear seize her—she had suffered heatstroke. She had been scorched and dazed by the sun until she began to see terrifying hallucinations.
Leaning against a tree trunk, Ye Qing lay down to catch her breath. Once her breathing steadied, she pulled out a clay jar and took a small sip of water, easing her parched throat that felt like it was smoking.
She rested there against the tree until mid-afternoon. The sun had been hanging in the sky since early morning like a burning fireball, so bright it was hard to open her eyes. Even the air felt scorching hot.
Ye Qing looked around. The mountains were covered in withered grass, all drooping lifelessly. A gust of wind made them rustle faintly.
If this kept up, a wildfire was only a matter of time.
She had to get out of these mountains as soon as possible. One step too late, and there might not even be ashes left of her bones.
A bright moon hung overhead, illuminating the mountain path in a pale, ghostly white light that felt unsettling.
Ye Qing tied up her trouser legs and didn’t dare look up. She kept her head down and hurried forward alone, looking like a stray dog with nowhere to hide.
By the second half of the night, the heat finally eased a little. A few insect chirps drifted into her ears—weak and faint, but alive nonetheless.
Otherwise, Ye Qing felt as if she were walking an endless road to the underworld.
Her tense nerves loosened slightly. Only then did she realize her legs felt like they were filled with lead.
She turned off the road into a shallow depression by the roadside, leaned her back against her basket, and collapsed flat on the ground. Her eyelids drooped—and she fell asleep instantly.
At dawn, a burst of conversation dragged her out of her deep sleep.
Ye Qing suddenly opened her eyes, her heart pounding. She instinctively held her breath, alarm flashing in her mind—had she encountered some ghostly illusion again?
In this desolate wilderness, could there really be ghosts specifically targeting a stranded girl like her?
“That kid Wang Dazhu definitely didn’t run far!”
A rough, hoarse male voice made her scalp tingle.
Ye Qing’s heart tightened. Not an illusion—real people!
She quickly shrank deeper into the hollow, not daring to breathe, straining her ears to listen.
“Are you sure it’s this road? Don’t fucking lose him!”
“Can’t be wrong! Our people saw him running this way with their own eyes! That kid is slippery—he knows to hide where no one goes!”
“In this godforsaken place, there’s really a village?”
The man called “boss” lowered his voice, then the sound of paper flipping followed.
“Boss, look! The map clearly shows that ten li ahead there’s a village called Willow Leaf Village! That kid’s maternal grandmother is from there. Now that he’s like a stray dog, where else could he go except back to this backwater to hide?”
The boss took the map, studied it for a moment, and let out a greedy chuckle.
“So it’s true! Move! Don’t let him escape! That token he’s carrying is worth a hundred taels of bounty! If we catch him, we’re set for life!”
“Damn it, it’s all because we were careless and got drunk by that brat! Otherwise he’d already be in a mass grave!”
Their footsteps gradually approached, then faded away again, heading toward Willow Leaf Village.
Ye Qing cautiously lifted grass blades and peeked out of the hollow. She saw two figures—one tall, one short—moving with steady, trained steps. Clearly experienced fighters.
A token? A hundred taels?
Her mind buzzed.
She shouldn’t have been greedy. People really did die for money.
In Wang Dazhu’s pouch, there were only silver and jewelry—there was no such damn token at all.
Ye Qing thought bitterly: let them dog-eat-dog. It had nothing to do with her.
She scrambled up, brushed off the dust, and without even daring to breathe properly, slung her basket on her back and ran in the opposite direction of Willow Leaf Village.
She didn’t want to run into those killers. If she did, even with a hundred mouths, she couldn’t explain her connection to Wang Dazhu—and she would surely be killed as a scapegoat.
After running all the way to the vicinity of Sihé Town, she spotted footprints along the road. The tracks left by the village chief’s group days ago had already been covered by sand, but these footprints were fresh—clearly left just yesterday.
Ye Qing didn’t dare be careless. She found a hollow hidden by half-person-tall thorn bushes and crawled inside, covering herself with dry grass. She planned to rest there for the night and decide what to do at dawn.
But just after she woke up, a familiar voice came from outside.
“They must be around here. I followed his footprints here! Boss, it’s a thin, small kid about eleven or twelve. He must have seen Wang Dazhu.”
“Damn it, trying to cut in line and steal the prize? Doesn’t he know who Scarhead is? That brat—if he can take it, he won’t be able to keep it!”
“Let’s split up and search!”
Ye Qing snapped awake, pulled out her dagger, and held her breath at the bottom of the pit, her heart hammering like it would burst out of her chest.
It looked like this fight couldn’t be avoided.
Soon, a short, thin shadow crept toward her.
It was one of Scarhead’s men. He spotted the half-visible basket at the bottom of the pit and, wanting to keep the bounty for himself, didn’t alert anyone.
“Heh… found you,” he thought in delight.
He drew a dagger and kicked toward the hollow, trying to knock her down before finishing her off.
But Ye Qing was already prepared. She rolled aside, dodging the kick, then used the terrain to spring up. With a swift twist of her wrist, her dagger pierced straight into his throat.
The man’s pupils widened. Blood bubbled from his mouth. His dagger clattered to the ground as his body fell stiffly into the pit. He didn’t even manage a full scream before going still.
Ye Qing didn’t even have time to catch her breath.
From afar came Scarhead’s furious roar: “Shorty! What the hell are you doing?!”
Her heart pounded. She grabbed her basket, picked up the dagger, and fled into the forest.
The pursuers were not weak. In moments they closed in. Ye Qing, small and agile, kept darting into dense bushes while curses echoed behind her.
“Little bastard, stop running! I know the thing’s with you! Hand it over and I’ll spare your life!”
Scarhead’s voice was cold and mocking, like a cat playing with a mouse. The footsteps drew closer and closer. She could even feel the icy blade wind brushing her legs.
Panicked, she stumbled forward, instinctively clutching her basket tightly—everything she owned was inside.
At that moment, a faint “ding” sounded in her mind, as if something had shattered an invisible barrier.
Then suddenly—
Her back felt light.
The heavy basket… vanished into thin air.
Scarhead lunged forward, trying to grab it—but missed completely, stumbling and almost falling flat on his face.