As twilight descended, the Yan family caravan pressed on, making the most of the clear weather. They were less than an hour’s journey from Anyang Prefecture.
Everyone was filled with anticipation, looking forward to a well-deserved two-day rest upon their return. However, in the middle of the line, the temperature deep within the folds of fabric on one of the flatbed carts had been steadily rising after a full day of scorching sun.
The friction of the goods during the journey generated heat, causing iron filings to spark into a faint flicker of fire. The flame licked against oiled paper, quickly igniting the oil-soaked silk handkerchiefs packed within.
Silently, the fire began to spread from the heart of the cargo.
The faint scent of burning wood and the acrid stench of scorched feathers began to drift through the air.
A driver twitched his nose and asked in confusion, "Do you smell that? It smells like something's burning."
His companion took a long swig from his wineskin and shook his head tipsily. "What smell? I don't smell a thing."
"Fire!" A deafening cry echoed across the plains.
Startled, everyone halted and looked ahead, only to see the second carriage near the front engulfed in roaring flames.
The drivers and guards braved the heat, desperately clawing at the goods that hadn't yet been touched by the fire, shoving them onto the ground.
Just as the others were about to rush forward to help, more cries broke out.
"Fire!"
"Mine is on fire too!"
Terrified screams rang out one after another, and the entire group was instantly plunged into chaos.
"Put it out! Find some water, quick!"
But there were no rivers nearby; water was nowhere to be found.
They were forced to use snow to quench the flames. But after a day of bright sunshine, there was precious little snow left on the ground. They could only watch helplessly as the fire grew larger and fiercer.
The draft horses, feeling the searing heat against their hindquarters, grew restless, tossing their heads and struggling against their harnesses.
Seeing this, the drivers scrambled to hack through the leather traces. Thick, billowing smoke rose into the sky, and to the onlookers, it felt as though the world was ending.
The head steward’s face went deathly pale. He collapsed to his knees, his very soul seeming to have fled his body in shock.
He wailed toward the heavens, "How could this happen? How could it just catch fire out of nowhere? What are we going to do?!"
This was a shipment worth a hundred thousand taels of silver. It had been burnt to nothing. The Master would surely have his head for this.
The servant with the wineskin had never been more sober. Eyes wide with terror, he pointed at the charred skeletons of the carts and bellowed.
"Heavenly fire! It must be heavenly fire! The Heavens are angry; this is a divine punishment!"
His words were like a boulder dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of panic through the crowd.
In an instant, everyone was shouting, "Heavenly fire!"
They clung to the phrase like a drowning man to a straw, desperate for a convincing excuse that might save their lives. For a fire to break out for no reason in the dead of winter—if it wasn't heavenly fire, what else could it be?
They dragged the charred wooden frames and a few scraps of soot-stained fabric back to the Yan Manor. There, Yan Fengnian lay in bed, his eyes wide with fury as he glared at the steward kneeling before him.
"What did you say? Everything... burned?"
The steward held up the blackened scraps of silk, tears streaming down his face.
"Everything was going smoothly, but then, just as we neared Anyang Prefecture, heavenly fire suddenly descended. Over a dozen carts ignited all at once!"
"The fire moved with unnatural speed, eerie and strange. In less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, everything was incinerated. The men risked their lives to save what they could, but we only managed to pull these few scraps from the flames."
Yan Fengnian’s eyes turned bloodshot. A surge of heat boiled in his chest, and a metallic sweetness rose in his throat before he spat out a mouthful of fresh blood.
His heart turned to ash. Blood continued to trickle from his mouth as he rasped, "One hundred thousand taels... that would have turned into two hundred thousand. Only one day... and you tell me it's gone?"
The steward, his face splattered with the Master's blood, froze, his body as stiff as a wooden puppet.
Throughout the room, the servants remained knelt on the floor, too terrified to make a sound.
In contrast to the chaos back at the Yan estate, the second day of travel for Song Jinzhao and her companions was remarkably smooth. A campfire crackled in a quiet clearing deep within the mountain woods. Song Gaoli rubbed his hands together, his eyes fixed on the clay pot bubbling away on the iron rack as he swallowed hungrily.
