Chapter Seventy-Five: Peril on the River

During the day, An Yi could still linger on the deck, letting the river wind brush against her face. But once night fell, the wind grew sharp and bone-chilling, so cold that she had no choice but to retreat to the stifling, unventilated hold below deck, where the strange odor made her chest tight and her stomach queasy.

Luo Shi reached out and drew An Yi into her arms. “Good child, close your eyes and sleep a while. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Though An Yi doubted that a little sleep would ease her discomfort, she obeyed and shut her eyes, using her right hand to press the Nei Guan acupoint on her left wrist. She recalled a saying often repeated by her colleagues at the hospital: “A seasoned wanderer always brings a padded jacket in June.” She’d always dismissed such talk, having lived a life of routine, but now she understood it was hard-earned wisdom. This was her first long journey, and in her inexperience, she’d brought no medicines with her. Next time, she would be better prepared.

Her thoughts drifted aimlessly as she slipped into a fitful sleep. She didn’t know how long she’d been resting before Luo Shi shook her awake. “Xier, wake up, the boat is on fire!”

If last night’s inn fire was an accident, this one on the boat could not be. Especially since the vessel was now sinking. Chaos erupted in the hold as everyone surged toward the hatch, which was too small for the crowd and barely allowed anyone to squeeze through.

Wei Yang flew over, drawing his flexible sword in midair. With two swift strokes, he split the wooden hatch wider, and the crowd poured out onto the deck. But once on deck, they found the boat stranded in the middle of the river, with nowhere to flee.

At the stern, flames raged skyward, the boat listing slowly to the left as more and more people gathered on deck.

“Boss, the breach is getting bigger, it can’t be patched! What should we do?” a crew member cried, panic-stricken.

“Boss, the raft is gone!” another reported, delivering further dismay.

The crew could swim; in fair weather, they might have made it to shore. But on this freezing night, with the river icy cold, their skills would be of little use.

The boatmaster tore the gourd from his belt, pulled the stopper, and took two swigs of liquor before tossing it to a nearby crewman. “Drink some strong wine to warm up, then overboard!”

To go down with the ship was certain death; to take to the water was a slim chance at survival. With that, the boatmaster stripped off his outer garments and leapt into the river. The rest of the crew followed, one after another.

With the crew abandoning ship, panic on deck only grew. Someone wailed, “What do we do? The boat’s sinking, I can’t swim, I don’t want to die!”

An Yi wanted to echo the cry—she couldn’t swim either, and she too did not want to die.

Yet as if fire and sinking weren’t enough, the swish of hidden weapons cut the air. Wei Yang, quick as lightning, pulled Luo Shi aside. A man standing behind her took a blue-glinting caltrop to the chest.

“Aaah! Someone’s dead!” a voice shrieked in terror.

Wei Yang advanced, sword flashing, to clash with a black-clad assailant who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. As a cold-blooded killer, he only protected those he cared for; the rest meant nothing to him. The deck was too crowded—within moments, three more had fallen to his blade.

His opponent was just as ruthless, hacking down a man and nearly cleaving his head in two. The stench of blood and mangled bodies drove the others into a frenzy; swimmers and non-swimmers alike threw themselves into the river, desperately flailing for the shore, but the freezing water quickly sapped their strength.

Soon, only the two combatants remained on deck, with Luo Shi, An Jian, An Yi, and young Zhu Sheng—the latter abandoned by Madam Liu, who had cruelly left her youngest behind. Water surged across the deck; soon, the boat would sink entirely, the fire doused by the river, the surface cloaked in darkness.

With a crack, someone severed the mast.

“Big sister, grab the mast and paddle away!” Wei Yang shouted.

Distracted for an instant, he caught a sword in his left shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he spun up a flourish, thrusting at the black-clad man’s face.

Luo Shi and her children pushed the mast into the water, preparing to jump. Young Zhu Sheng, who had been quietly sobbing, suddenly burst into loud wails.

Luo Shi hesitated, then went to him, took his hand, and leapt into the river together. “There, little Sheng, don’t cry. Do as your brother and sister—hold on tight to the mast.”

Sniffling, Zhu Sheng clung to the mast.

Seeing An Jian and An Yi had also jumped, Luo Shi called, “Shuanzi, Xier, paddle with your hands!”

The shock of the icy water made An Yi shiver uncontrollably. She clung to the mast, tears welling up but refusing to fall. If she had known it would come to this, she’d never have suggested abandoning their cart for a boat—at least on land, escape might have been possible.

As the ship sank, it created a giant whirlpool. An Yi felt herself being dragged back toward the sinking wreck, fighting desperately to paddle away, but her hands were stiff with cold. This was it—she would die here.

Wei Yang and the black-clad man were evenly matched, both wounded now. As the boat disappeared, leaving them no footing, the black-clad man unleashed a volley of hidden weapons and vanished into the night.

Wei Yang swept aside the projectiles, gathered his strength, and darted past An Jian, seizing him and flinging him over his shoulder. An Jian, nearly unconscious from the cold, revived just enough to grab Wei Yang’s shoulder—unluckily, he latched onto the wound.

Wei Yang bit his lip to stifle the cry of pain, then grabbed Luo Shi and Zhu Sheng, pressed off the mast with his toes, and soared toward the shore. In his haste, he did not realize he had left An Yi behind in the middle of the river.

“Uncle!” An Yi called weakly.

The fierce river wind drowned her voice. She paddled feebly, relieved that the vortex was fading and its force diminishing—she would not be sucked under. Watching the river settle into calm, she sighed. She lacked the strength to reach the shore, but perhaps Wei Yang would realize his mistake and return for her.

Floating in the river, An Yi grew colder and colder. She struggled onto the mast—fortunately, it was thick enough to bear her weight. Soaked and battered by the biting wind, she spotted two corpses drifting nearby. With a bitter smile, she thought if Wei Yang did not return soon, she would be the third.

She waited, shivering, not knowing that Wei Yang, carrying three people, collapsed onshore after coughing up a mouthful of blood.

“Xier! Xier!” On the shore, Luo Shi was beside herself with remorse. Why had she tried to help? Madam Liu had abandoned her own child without a second thought—why had she intervened? Now, she had saved another’s son while her own daughter’s fate was uncertain in the river. Sobbing, she rushed toward the water.

“Mother, mother!” An Jian clung tightly to her waist. “You can’t save her like this. We need to revive Uncle first—only he can rescue her.”

An Yi’s consciousness was fading. She thought she heard voices calling her, but as she slipped into darkness, one thought drifted through her mind: Where would her soul go, this time?

The river flowed on, serene and indifferent. The long mast, bearing the unconscious An Yi and flotsam, floated downstream. Night deepened; those lucky enough to reach shore rested briefly, then helped each other leave.

Night passed. Morning came.

When An Yi awoke, daylight shone bright and warm on her. She was on the riverbank—more precisely, the mast had wedged against some rocks, saving not just her but another woman as well.

An Yi had little inclination to meddle in others’ affairs, but given the desolate surroundings, she decided it was safer to have company. She slowly climbed to her feet, stumbled over to the woman, and with great effort rolled her over. When she saw the woman’s face, she nearly groaned aloud—what twisted fate was this? It was Madam Liu. To travel with her was to keep company with a tiger.

Noticing a bulge at Madam Liu’s waist, An Yi lifted her clothes and found a large bundle. A quick feel revealed it was silver ingots. Her eyes flashed—she reached to untie the cloth strap.

Madam Liu had tied it tightly, and An Yi struggled in vain to loosen it. She finally pulled out her small knife, sliced the strap, and opened the bundle. Sure enough, there were ten silver ingots inside. That cunning Liu had managed to steal quite a haul.

An Yi tucked the silver away, scrambled out of the rocky patch, and looked toward the woods ahead. A wave of dizziness swept over her—touching her forehead, she realized she had a fever.

Finding herbs for a cold would be simple.

But how to boil them?

She would have to find a pharmacy in town.

But...

An Yi looked around, wondering where she was. Which way should she go—through the woods or along the riverbank?

She didn’t ponder long and decided to cut through the forest, keeping the river nearby in case she needed to turn back if she encountered cliffs or other obstacles.

It was an evergreen forest, still lush and green even in early winter. Not far in, An Yi found a narrow path and felt a surge of hope. If there wasn’t a town ahead, perhaps at least a village.

She pressed on, following the path, when she heard voices in the distance, one complaining, “Damn it, how are we supposed to search such a big forest? That kid took three poisoned darts—he must be dead by now. I say we give up and go back!”

“No way. The hall master said, ‘Alive or dead, bring back proof.’ Stop shouting. If the kid hears you, he might run.”

“He’s dead already—he can’t hear me.”

“All right, all right. You check this side carefully. I’ll look over there. Hurry up! Once we’re done, we can hit the Spring Pavilion tonight and see Little Peach Blossom.”

“Pah, I don’t like Little Peach Blossom—I like Little Emerald. Those soft, big, white buns of hers—feels damn good to squeeze.”

“Fine, fine, just hurry up. If we find him, the hall master will be pleased, and we can both have our fun tonight.”

An Yi frowned—these two were clearly no good, and lecherous at that. If she were caught by them, as a lone woman, she’d be doomed. She slipped off the path and hid behind two large trees growing side by side.

The coarse voices drew nearer, and An Yi silently cursed her luck. Why must they come this way? What should she do—strike first and kill him?

She pulled out her small knife and eyed its short blade with a sigh. Hardly suitable for killing, but better than waiting to be caught. Gripping the knife tightly, she tiptoed, peering through the leaves at the approaching short, fat man. She regretted not being better prepared—if only she’d brought some knockout powder. It would have been perfect right now.

She forgot she’d just come out of the river; even if she’d had such powder, it would be useless, drenched as it was.

With the man almost upon her, An Yi had no time to hesitate. Gritting her teeth, she was about to leap out and strike when she heard a sudden whistling sound. The man’s eyes went wide as he collapsed on the spot.

An Yi sucked in a breath. What just happened? She looked around cautiously but saw no one. Slowly, she stepped out from behind the tree and approached the fallen man, finding a small silver arrow lodged in his neck.

There was someone else in the woods!

Narrowing her eyes, An Yi gauged the direction the arrow had come from—it had to be from...

She looked up at the two trees she'd just hidden behind. Amid the green leaves, she caught a glimpse of purple. That person might be the one the thugs were searching for.

Whoever it was, he remained hidden in the tree, not planning to reveal himself. An Yi had no interest in finding out more. However, she decided not to leave immediately—there was still another thug in the woods. What if she ran into him? It was safer to wait until he left.

She returned to her hiding spot and sat on the ground. Already ill, the tension left her even weaker, and she slumped at the base of the tree.

A sudden crash—the person in the tree fell to the ground, startling An Yi half to death, though she managed not to scream. She struggled to her feet and went for a look, shocked to recognize him. “Little Master Gong?”

The fallen Little Master Gong was in dire shape—his face pale, lips purple, breathing faint, his pulse barely detectable.

An Yi hesitated, then helped him up. She wanted to leave him to his fate, but she was lost and needed a companion.

Supporting him, she retraced her steps to the riverbank—better safe by the river than risk running into more pursuers in the woods.

At the river, she laid him down, picked her way across the rocks, and found a chipped bowl. She washed it, scooped some water, and brought it back.

She gave Little Master Gong a few sips, then, lacking any medicine, resorted to pressing acupoints to revive him.

He opened his eyes and saw her close by. “Xier?”

“It’s me,” An Yi replied, slumping down, pressing her temples. She was barely holding on—her head spun, her body weak.

He tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t. “Help me up.”

“Just lie down. I don’t have the strength,” An Yi replied, grimacing in pain.

He noticed her pallor. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sick.”

“How did you end up here?” he asked.

Impatiently, she replied, “Don’t ask me so many questions. I don’t know how to answer you. Better think about how we’re going to get out of here.”