Chapter Seventy-Eight: Peril at Every Turn

The carriage arrived at the nearest town just as the afternoon began; the weather was clear, ideal for traveling. Yet Young Lord Gong insisted they stop and find lodging. The Liu father and son wished to deliver their guest to the destination early and return home, but since the guest refused to continue, they had no choice but to comply and drove into town.

An Yi asked no questions, certain that Young Lord Gong had his reasons. Opposite their inn stood a pharmacy, and An Yi went straight in to buy medicine.

“You wish to purchase hellebore, realgar, and orpiment?” The shopkeeper squinted, scrutinizing her.

An Yi met his gaze calmly. “Hellebore is pungent, cold, and poisonous; it enters the Hand Taiyin and Foot Yangming meridians, as well as the Liver meridian, and is used to treat wind phlegm and kill parasites. Realgar is pungent, warm, and poisonous; it enters the Liver and Large Intestine meridians, and treats detoxification, eradication of parasites, drying dampness, and stopping malaria. Orpiment is pungent, neutral, and poisonous; it enters the yin aspect of the Liver meridian, useful for drying dampness, killing parasites, and detoxification. Three parts hellebore, the head removed and powdered; one part realgar, finely ground; one part orpiment, finely ground—this combination cures nasal polyps and obstruction of breath.”

The shopkeeper laughed. “So you are a lady physician! Forgive my ignorance.”

“To sell poisonous medicines, the shopkeeper’s caution is only proper,” An Yi replied with a faint smile.

The shopkeeper weighed out the three medicines and handed them to her.

An Yi took the herbs, paid, and turned to see Young Lord Gong watching her thoughtfully, his eyes flickering. She walked over and said, “My master once said that the southern regions are rife with miasma and insects. It’s wise to prepare medicinal powders for prevention.”

Young Lord Gong smiled, nodding slightly.

An Yi knew he did not believe her, but she had no desire to explain further; too much explanation would only seem suspicious. She left the pharmacy first. Young Lord Gong followed her into the inn, and they each went to their rooms.

Young Lord Gong sat cross-legged on his bed to meditate, while An Yi was next door, busy preparing poisons and antidotes.

Night fell. An Yi stepped out, glanced at the closed door next to hers, considered for a moment, then walked over and knocked. “Are you inside? It’s time for dinner.”

Young Lord Gong opened the door and came out. “Have you finished preparing the medicinal powder?”

“Not yet. When it’s ready, I’ll give you a packet for self-defense.” An Yi looked up at him, her gaze clear, her expression steady.

A glimmer flashed in Young Lord Gong’s eyes; he chuckled softly. “Very well.”

In the dining hall, Young Lord Gong called for a waiter and ordered three dishes and a soup. They sat opposite each other, eating in silence, their manners refined.

At dawn, before setting out, Young Lord Gong wandered about the town again, buying a heap of supplies. “Today we will travel through the night.”

An Yi’s eyes shifted slightly. Yesterday they had stopped early to rest; today he insisted on traveling all night. What was his intention?

Young Lord Gong offered no explanation. An Yi did not press, boarding the carriage—one boiled water for tea, one closed his eyes to rest.

Leaving town, they passed the pavilion fifteen li out, then turned onto a narrow path. The carriage wheels churned the earth, clouds of dust rising. The carriage jolted fiercely; An Yi could not sit steadily, continually bumping against the sides. Helpless, she opened her eyes and lifted the curtain to look outside.

She saw the road was rough and uneven, clearly not well traveled, barely wide enough for a single carriage. Her eyes flickered with suspicion as she glanced back at Young Lord Gong, who held a chess manual in one hand and a black piece in the other, his expression relaxed, utterly unaffected by the bumping.

An Yi was full of doubt, opened her mouth, hesitated, but did not ask why he had abandoned the main road for this side path.

Young Lord Gong sensed her gaze, looked up, and smiled faintly. “Let’s play a game of chess.”

An Yi shook her head, closed her eyes again, pretending to nap.

A sharp glint appeared in Young Lord Gong’s eyes; with a snap, he placed a piece on the board.

The sun slanted westward, the evening glow blazing. The carriage moved slowly along the narrow path, surrounded by evergreen broadleaf forest. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in a patchwork of light and shadow. The woods were quiet, broken only by occasional birdsong. Unnoticed, night crept in, and the breeze brought a chill.

An Yi watched the shifting shadows of the trees outside, a growing unease in her heart, as though some hidden danger lurked deep in the forest.

Suddenly, a dozen masked men burst from the woods, swords and knives gleaming, surrounding the carriage.

“So, they’ve come—unable to wait even a moment longer. I’m very curious: who is so eager to take my life?” Young Lord Gong opened the carriage door, saw those blocking the way, and sneered coldly, his eyes flashing with murderous intent.

Now An Yi understood why Young Lord Gong had acted so conspicuously: he meant to lure the assassins out. But didn’t he realize how reckless and irrational this was? With only himself and her—who knew no martial arts—against a group of fierce killers, their odds of victory seemed slim.

The thought barely flashed by before An Yi realized she had underestimated him. The Liu father and son leapt from the carriage, drew two large knives from beneath the seat, and charged forward.

An Yi’s eyes widened in shock—Liu father and son belonged to Young Lord Gong!

“They are not the Liu father and son; the real Liu father and son returned home this morning.” Young Lord Gong had barely spoken when six black-clad men burst from the woods, attacking the masked assailants.

Steel clashed, sparks flew—the battle was fierce and deadly.

An Yi watched from within the carriage, her gaze deep and calm.

Young Lord Gong’s eyes lingered on her face, noting the absence of fear; his brows moved slightly.

The masked men, realizing they had walked into a trap, fought while retreating. The black-clad men were about to pursue when Young Lord Gong called out, “Do not chase desperate foes. Let them go.”

Blades sheathed, the black-clad men saluted Young Lord Gong and faded into the shadows. The two men posing as coachmen leapt onto the carriage, shook the reins, and urged the horses on.

Young Lord Gong lit an oil lamp and closed the carriage door, shutting out the wind tinged with blood.

An Yi watched him, expecting him to say something. Instead, he closed his eyes to rest, imitating her. Irritated, An Yi pressed her lips, opened her bundle, took out some dry rations, and munched them with cold tea.

Young Lord Gong had said they would travel all night, and indeed, they did not stop for a moment.

An Yi, unable to sleep amid the jolting carriage, sat up, rubbing her bruised forehead. She looked at Young Lord Gong, steady as a stone in meditation, and was about to speak when the coachman knocked on the door. “Young Lord Gong, we’ve been circling the same place; we can’t get out.”

Young Lord Gong opened his eyes, pulled open the door. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Half an hour ago, we passed this same spot—the broken branch over there, I snapped it myself,” said the older coachman, pointing to a broken limb on the left.

“We’ve run into a ghost wall,” said the other.

“If it’s a ghost wall, we’ll have to wait for dawn,” the elder coachman said.

An Yi leaned out, looked up at the night sky. “There’s no such thing as a ghost wall. The darkness simply makes it hard to discern direction, muddling your senses so you keep circling. If you look at the North Star above, you can find your way; don’t use things on the ground as markers, and you’ll get out.”

Young Lord Gong glanced at her. “Do as she says.”

“Yes, Young Lord Gong,” said the two coachmen in unison.

The North Star is a key landmark for orientation in the wild. The two coachmen, accustomed to using ground markers, had forgotten to look up. With An Yi’s reminder, they soon drove the carriage out of the woods.

Day broke. The carriage stopped by a small stream. Young Lord Gong washed up, then sat on a large stone, gazing at the sky. The older coachman built a simple stove with rocks; the younger went into the woods to hunt.

Having washed, An Yi idly searched for herbs, finding several slender-leaved water flowers by the stream. As she was about to dig them up, she remembered this was not Jingtang Village nor Little East Mountain; her face clouded, and she went to sit beneath a tree.

The younger coachman returned after a quarter hour with a wild rabbit and two pheasants.

Neither Young Lord Gong nor An Yi moved. The coachmen swiftly cleaned the game, fetched pots and bowls from the carriage, stewed the pheasant, and roasted the rabbit over the fire.

The rich aroma of meat wafted enticingly. The coachman first served a bowl of pheasant to Young Lord Gong, then one to An Yi.

An Yi saw two green leaves floating in her soup, inspected them, sniffed, and said, “The soup is poisoned. Don’t drink it.”

Young Lord Gong had just taken a sip, but quickly spat it out. “How could the soup be poisoned?”

An Yi pointed to the leaves. “This is buttercup, also called wild celery—a poisonous herb. Taken internally, it causes severe gastrointestinal inflammation and symptoms of poisoning. Yet I checked around earlier and found no buttercup; how did it end up in the soup?”

The younger coachman, furious, kicked the pot over. “Cowardly rodents, using such underhanded tricks! If you have guts, come out and face me blade to blade!”

“Gong Yanqiu, you are surrounded by capable people—even the little girl knows her medicine. I truly underestimated you. You got lucky this time; next time, I’ll use a different poison. Little girl, I hope you can recognize it,” came a voice.

“Bai Wuming, since you’re here, why not show yourself? Hiding is no act of a true hero,” Young Lord Gong called out.

“We’ll meet when the poison takes effect and you’re at death’s door,” the voice lingered, already distant.

Young Lord Gong signaled the black-clad men in the shadows to pursue Bai Wuming.

“If not for you, I would have died of poisoning. Thank you,” Young Lord Gong said sincerely to An Yi.

“Though poisonous, buttercup does not cause death,” An Yi replied calmly.

“After poisoning, one loses consciousness and becomes helpless; you’ve saved my life,” Young Lord Gong said earnestly.

“Since we travel together, we should look out for each other,” An Yi said quietly.

“Look out for each other,” Young Lord Gong laughed, raising his brow. “Good. We shall look out for each other.”

An Yi glanced at him, then rose and poured her soup on the ground, heading to the stream to wash her bowl.

Young Lord Gong watched her back, his gaze deep.

The pheasant soup was ruined, but the rabbit could still be eaten.

After finishing the rabbit, they put out the fire, boarded the carriage, and continued.

Following the stream for six li, then turning right for three more, they should have reached the main road. But three li, then another three, and another, from morning until noon, the carriage continued winding through an apricot orchard.

The fourth time they passed the large apricot tree laden with fruit, the coachman, alarmed, opened the door. “Young Lord Gong, we’ve returned to the same place.”

At night, it’s understandable to lose one’s way—but to circle the same spot in broad daylight was truly strange.

Young Lord Gong raised a brow at An Yi. “Xi’er, how do we find our direction this time?”

An Yi jumped from the carriage, scanned the surroundings, and noticed that apart from this tree, the other apricot trees had lost their leaves and bore no fruit. She drew out her knife to cut the bark.

“Stop,” came a sharp voice.

“Who’s there?” Young Lord Gong flew from the carriage, standing alert beside An Yi.

“Little girl, how did you notice something off about this tree?” The voice from the shadows shifted, now male, now female.

“Apricot trees bloom in March or April, fruit in June or July. To bear fruit in October is unnatural,” An Yi replied gravely.

“You’re quite knowledgeable, little girl,” the hidden figure laughed.

“It’s just common sense,” An Yi answered.

“What’s your name, little girl?”

“Before you ask someone’s name, you should first offer your own. That’s manners,” An Yi replied.

“Hahaha, what a witty girl—I like you. Gong Yanqiu, leave the little girl behind and I’ll let you go.”

“I don’t need your permission,” Young Lord Gong seized An Yi’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Once in the Mist Apricot Grove, not even Gong Yuntao could leave without my consent. You think you can walk out? Foolish dreams,” the hidden figure mocked.

Suddenly, thick fog enveloped them, making it impossible to see even a foot ahead.

An Yi stared, astonished. She had always thought such things in martial novels were fiction; now she realized the five elements, eight trigrams, and secret arts existed. This Mist Apricot Grove was a formation.

Without the fog, they had wandered for hours with no exit; now, with fog obscuring everything, escaping seemed impossible. When they returned once more to the false tree, An Yi knew they were trapped. She blinked and said, “Young Lord Gong, you go; I’ll stay.”

Young Lord Gong’s brows knitted tightly. “Very well.”

“Elder, I’m willing to stay. Please let them go,” An Yi called loudly.

“You are truly willing, little girl?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me your name first.”

“My name is An Yi—‘An’ as in peace, ‘Yi’ as in surprise.”

“An Yi, Little An, Little Yi Yi—ha! I like your name, Little An.”

“Elder, since I’ve agreed to stay, will you tell them how to leave?” An Yi asked.

“Certainly, of course.”

Young Lord Gong released An Yi’s hand and followed the hidden figure’s instructions: five steps left, three steps right, then stopped. After a moment, he drew his whip, threw it around An Yi’s waist, and tried to pull her over. With a crack, the whip broke in two.

“Gong boy, playing tricks with me? You’re far too inexperienced,” the hidden figure laughed triumphantly.

Young Lord Gong’s face changed dramatically, shocked at his failure. The mist slowly dissipated; An Yi’s figure vanished, only the carriage remained.

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