A stale, moldy stench mixed with the tang of damp earth hit them full in the face, making everyone cough nonstop.
The prisoners were shoved roughly into the courtyard, their feet kicking over scattered broken tiles, half-rotted wooden stools, and even a spiderweb-draped pottery bowl whose crusted, decades-old black grime looked just like congealed blood.
When they stepped inside the building, the bailiffs patrolled every corner, found nothing out of the ordinary, then gathered in the driest side room to rummage through scraps of debris, prying them apart to build a fire.
Zhang Dapeng struck his flint over and over again without getting a single spark, cursing under his breath as he stuffed his soaked tinder box back into his tunic.
But then a burst of flame flared up in the main hall. He looked over to see Cheng Yao, who had somehow gotten her hands on dry twigs and leaves to start a fire, with a pile of barely rain-soaked broken stools and chairs she had scavenged stacked beside her.
This woman, even trapped in such dire straits, still carried herself with unflappable poise, as if nothing in the world could ever rattle her.
No matter how foul the conditions got, she always managed to dig up dry tinder for a fire.
He might have let it slide before, but today every single person was soaked to the bone from the heavy rain. Where on earth had she gotten the kindling and dry branches?
On top of that, after days of tramping under scorching sun and wind that had left everyone else tanned and weathered, she was the picture of robust health, her fair skin glowing with a soft pink undertone, so stunningly beautiful she seemed almost otherworldly.
She stuck out like a sore thumb amid the rainy night and this dilapidated old manor, exactly like those seductive demon spirits that drained men of their vital essence!
The more Zhang Dapeng stared at Cheng Yao, the hotter his lewd, seething rage burned, until it felt like it was scalding right down to his bones.
Last time, if she hadn't meddled, he would have already had his way with Shao Yutong.
And these past few days, he'd been reprimanded by the head bailiff, leaving him simmering with resentment.
Lust and fury tangled together in Zhang Dapeng's chest, and he stepped forward to tap the ground right in front of the woman with the flat of his blade. "My tinder box is soaked. I'm going to borrow your fire."
Cheng Yao paused mid-motion as she was adding fuel to the flames. "There's barely enough firewood here to go around. Why doesn't the bailiff go pick up some tinder of his own to start a fire?"
She wasn't willing to spare a single stick of wood, otherwise they would all freeze in the middle of the night.
Zhang Dapeng had come looking for trouble to begin with, and his face darkened immediately at her reply. "It's pouring rain and blowing a gale out there, where the hell am I supposed to find dry wood?"
Zhan Qingrou spoke up. "My sister-in-law managed to find some. Sir Bailiff, you'd do well to look carefully yourself."
This lecher had tried to force himself on Shao Yutong last time, and he'd been picking on them nonstop ever since Cheng Yao had stopped him. Now he was at it again, and he was absolutely unbearable.
"Looking for a beating, are you?" Zhang Dapeng lifted his foot and kicked straight at the campfire. The dry twigs and embers were crushed straight into the mud, and the warm light hissed out, leaving nothing but a wisp of smoke curling up.
"You!"
Zhan Qingrou's head snapped up, but she bit back her anger, staring fixedly at the pile of smoldering, crushed ash, her small fists clenched so tight her knuckles blanched.
"Pah, you think you're so special, daring to give me the cold shoulder." Zhang Dapeng spat on the ground, then turned toward the door, deliberately grinding his boot into the pile of wet firewood as he went. "Around here, if I say the fire goes out, it stays out."
Zhan Qingrou's eyes slowly welled up with tears. Cold rain drifted in through the doorway, and she hunched over, tucking her face against her knees.
She had helped build the fire earlier, and her fingers were still bleeding from a cut the dry kindling had left on them. But that ache was nothing compared to the cold in her chest—no frost from the harsh weather could ever be as cruel as the wickedness of human hearts.
Cheng Yao, though, stayed perfectly calm. Back in the post-apocalyptic world, she had seen far worse villains than this.
Zhan Qingrou had been coddled her whole life by her family. Let her experience a bit more of this, otherwise she would stay naive and blind to the harsh realities of the world.
As soon as Zhang Dapeng was out of sight, she calmly pulled out a lighter and re-lit the fire.
In the pitch dark, none of the others could see the lighter, and they all assumed she was using a spare tinder box.
But before the flames could even get properly going, Zhang Dapeng stormed back, not saying a word, and kicked the whole pile of wood to douse the fire again.
This time even Zhan Haochen had had enough. He shot to his feet in an instant.
Zhang Dapeng glared at him. "What? You got a problem with that?"
Zhan Haensen clenched his fists so tight his knuckles looked ready to dig into his palms, and the veins on his forehead throbbed wildly.
His once bright eyes were now sharp with burning rage, fixed straight on the man in front of him. He swallowed hard two times, but no sound came out, all his roars trapped behind his flushed, tight cheeks.
If he laid a hand on a government bailiff, his sentence would be doubled.
The outcome would be either the bailiff killing him on the spot, or him being dragged to the local yamen to face new charges, and he would be separated from the rest of the prisoner convoy. What would happen to his elder brother then?
He didn't dare make a move, and Zhang Dapeng's arrogance swelled even further. A vicious, twisted grin spread across his face as he shouted to everyone else. "Listen up, all of you. To prevent any accidental fires, no more open flames are allowed. If anyone breaks this rule, they lose seven days' worth of rations."
Zhan Haochen could no longer hold his fury back. He lashed out with his foot and kicked a broken old chair hard.
The chair clattered against the wall and shattered into splinters that flew everywhere.
Zhan Haochen's chest heaved, his breathing ragged, and his voice shook with suppressed rage. "You're not giving us any way to survive at all!"
The whole room was so damp they might as well have been soaking in water, and it was still pouring outside. Everyone was cold and starving. Without any fire, they would never make it through the night.
"So many people are keeping quiet, but you're the only one who can't take it? If you don't want to live, then stop wasting air. Come on, I'll do you a favor and send you to your grave."
Zhang Dapeng crooked his finger at him, his eyes full of mocking contempt.
"You!" Zhan Haochen was about to lunge forward, but Cheng Yao pressed a hand to his arm and shook her head at him.
"Come on then, what are you waiting for!" Zhang Dapeng taunted him again and again, and Zhan Haochen fought to rein in his boiling anger.
Finally, he kicked the pile of dry kindling across the room, and Zhang Dapeng swaggered away.
"This is too much," Madam Zhan sobbed nonstop, and Zhan Qingrou burst into full tears.
How could anyone be so cruel?
Cheng Yao silently picked up the dry twigs again and carried them to the far corner of the room.
She waited until Zhang Dapeng and the head bailiff had gone to the other room to start their own fire and cook, too preoccupied to pay attention to their side, then lit the fire once more.
The rest of the prisoner convoy huddled toward the warmth, and some of them even scavenged bits of debris to add to the flames, building more small fires.
Xiao Fu and Hongxiu worked nearby to tidy up, clearing a space for everyone to rest for the night.
Zhan Haochen carried over bricks to build a small makeshift earthen stove.
Cheng Yao boiled ginger soup as usual, this time adding a little brown sugar to give everyone an extra boost of energy.
After tramping through the rain all day, everyone was groggy and worn out.
The rations they had for dinner were soaked black flour buns, mushy on the outside and hard as a rock on the inside, reeking of mildew. Swallowing them down whole left everyone feeling achy and miserable all over.
After she had served the ginger soup to everyone in her own family first, the other prisoners worked up the courage to come ask for a share, not daring to show up empty handed. They brought half a ginseng root, a small bag of coarse salt, a silver bracelet, a pair of pearl earrings—every little precious thing they owned that they could spare. To others, these items might not be worth much, but Cheng Yao saw in them the determination of the whole group to stick together through hardship.
What she was collecting was their loyalty, and that was worth far more than any trinket.
She brewed pot after pot of the soup, and when her arms ached too badly to keep going, she stepped aside and let Zhan Qingrou take over.
Ever since Cheng Yao had saved their whole family a few days earlier, Zhan Qingrou had treated her with far more respect, and was willing to do whatever Cheng Yao asked her to. Even now, the young woman who had never once done a chore in her life, who had never even lit a fire before, bit the bullet and stepped up when Cheng Yao called on her.
Cheng Yao shook her sore wrists, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. That was the way to handle Zhan Qingrou. They were all prisoners now, no one was going to coddle anyone else.
She sat down beside Zhan Haoting and noticed his face looked off. When she pressed her palm to his forehead, she confirmed he was running a fever.
She quickly made a soft shushing gesture to Xiao Fu, motioning for him to carry Zhan Haoting to a secluded nook so they could "change his dressing".
Xiao Fu promptly called Zhan Haochen over, and the two of them helped move Zhan Haoting into the shadowed corner, then stood guard all around to make sure no one disturbed them.
Cheng Yao followed her usual routine and brought Zhan Haoting into her spatial pocket dimension.
First, she filled the bathtub with steaming hot water for a fragrant, bubbling petal bath. Then she hummed a tune to herself while slowly savoring a steak and a glass of red wine, completely unaware that Zhan Haoting had woken up quietly.
He had no idea where he was. All he could see before him was a thick, inky blackness that seemed impossible to pierce. He reached out wildly but grasped nothing at all. If he hadn't heard her singing, he would have done anything he could to get away from this place.
Then he caught the unique floral scent that clung only to her, and heard the splashing of water. It sounded as if she was taking a bath.
She was in such a good mood that her singing was beautiful, though the melody was a little strange, and the words she sang were not from any language used in this dynasty.
Who on earth was she?
Zhan Haoting was swallowed up by the overwhelming silence and darkness. There was no sound of other people around, no rustle of wind, even the air he breathed carried a coolness that was utterly untouched by the hustle and bustle of the mortal world.
In an instant, he realized he was no longer with the rest of the exile convoy.
He shifted his body slightly.
On the battlefield, he had never flinched or changed his expression even when facing thousands upon thousands of enemy soldiers, but in this strange, unknown place, a flicker of unease crept over him.
So he gave a few deliberate, heavy coughs, and all the movement and sound from the inner room came to an abrupt halt.
