Against the Current

The northwest wind howled, casting a deep gloom over the forest.

Two men lay in the snow, having just fought a desperate battle to the death.

A groan escaped Lin Jinlou as he slowly opened his eyes. He felt moisture at his lips and a parched dryness in his throat, instinctively licking them. Soon, someone lifted the back of his head and offered him water. He drank greedily, then tried to struggle upright, but a pain that pierced to the bone made him cry out. The agony sharpened his senses, and when he turned his head, he saw Xianglan cradling his head in her arms, feeding him water from a warming bottle.

He took a few more sips, swallowing slowly, before asking, "Lu... Lu Shaotang?"

Xianglan whispered, "Dead..."

"Why... didn’t you flee for your life? Why come back here?"

"..."

"...Search Lu Shaotang’s clothes. A soldier on campaign must carry some medicine for wounds."

Xianglan bit her lip, carefully laid Lin Jinlou down, and went to search Lu Shaotang’s corpse. Her hands were already numb with cold, stiff and unresponsive, so she tucked them under her arms to warm them before hurriedly rummaging through his belongings. Sure enough, she found a Brocade Pouch attached to his belt. Opening it, she discovered three porcelain bottles and a few other scattered items, which she quickly brought to Lin Jinlou.

Lin Jinlou instructed her to empty the contents of the bottles for him to examine. One contained pills, another a powder, and the third an ointment. He sniffed the pills, placed one under his tongue, and told Xianglan to open his robe and apply the ointment to his wounds. The application sent a wave of excruciating pain through him. His face turned deathly pale as he fought back a scream, his body drenched in cold sweat, as if he had been pulled from water. Xianglan took out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat and blood from his face, then tore the sweat towel from Lu Shaotang’s waist to bandage Lin Jinlou’s wounds. Suppressing her discomfort, she also removed a headscarf from one of the fallen soldiers to wrap around Lin Jinlou’s arm.

After lying still for a moment longer, Lin Jinlou struggled to rise, leaning on a tree trunk with one hand and supporting himself with Xianglan’s help. After several failed attempts, Xianglan urged, "If you can’t bear it, rest a while longer."

Panting heavily, Lin Jinlou shook his head. "No. The rebel army will likely arrive soon. Staying here is certain death." He ordered Xianglan to hand him Lu Shaotang’s crossbow and arrows and to bring over Lu Shaotang’s horse. Gritting his teeth, he mustered all his strength to stand and, with great effort, hauled himself onto the horse’s back. Then he reached out to pull Xianglan up.

Xianglan shook her head, her face etched with worry.

Too exhausted to argue, Lin Jinlou slumped over the horse’s neck and pointed toward the dense forest. "This way."

Before setting off, Xianglan took a pair of fur gloves from one of the archers and put them on, tied the warming bottle to her belt, and draped the blanket over Lin Jinlou. Then, leading the horse, she trudged forward, step by uncertain step.

Xianglan’s entire body was numb from the cold. The wind cut into her face like a knife, and she could barely keep her eyes open. After a while, they finally emerged from the dense forest. The heavy snowfall had obscured any visible path ahead. Xianglan wanted to ask Lin Jinlou for direction, but he lay motionless over the horse’s back. Alarmed, she quickly checked on him and, finding he still breathed, let out a sigh of relief. She looked up at the vast, uncertain road ahead—there was no choice but to press on with determination. Faint shouts and the clamor of battle echoed from behind. Not daring to look back, Xianglan quickened her pace, urging the horse forward.After walking for an unknown length of time, the path beneath her feet gradually steepened, clearly descending the mountain. Xianglan’s deerskin boots were ill-suited for the rugged mountain trail, and she slipped several times, tumbling to the ground. Each time, she hurriedly stood up, rubbing her sore spots with one hand while clutching the reins with the other, pressing onward.

About an hour or perhaps half an hour later, Xianglan felt utterly exhausted and could no longer continue. Suddenly, she spotted a faint glimmer of firelight ahead. A mix of surprise, joy, and fear surged within her. She tugged the horse forward a few steps, only to hear the clamor of fighting. Xianglan halted abruptly. The sounds of battle grew closer, as if a group was besieging a convoy, which, in panic, began rushing toward her.

Xianglan was terrified. She glanced left and right, finding refuge only behind a cluster of green pines and cypresses and jagged boulders. But the horse was too large to hide quickly. In desperation, she yanked Lin Jinlou down, pressing him beneath her. She scrambled up and saw that he had landed on his back, avoiding pressure on the chest wound, which relieved her. She dragged and pulled him behind the rock, panting heavily. Just as she turned to fetch the horse, she saw it had already turned and trotted away.

There was no time to dwell on it. Xianglan first checked on Lin Jinlou, who remained unconscious. Peeking cautiously from behind the rock, she heard the uproar and shouts growing louder. Terrified screams erupted from the convoy—high-pitched, indicating the presence of women. As the sounds drew nearer, several carriages charged forward, engulfed in flames, likely struck by fire arrows. Elderly, weak, women, and children scrambled out, fleeing in all directions. By the firelight, they wore luxurious garments of fur and silk, clearly from wealthy families. The attackers swarmed in, brandishing blades, while men in servant attire fought back desperately. A sudden cry of agony pierced the air—a man in a fox-fur coat was decapitated. The head rolled toward her, revealing the face of Zhao Gang! Xianglan shuddered in horror, grabbing the crossbow from Lin Jinlou’s waist, her body trembling uncontrollably.

The sounds of fighting gradually subsided. Hidden among the rocks and cypresses, Xianglan watched helplessly as the attackers slaughtered the convoy members. The struggle was brutal, and the pursuers suffered heavy losses, leaving only four men standing, one of whom was severely wounded, groaning in a pool of blood. They dragged several heavy chests from the burning carriages and pried them open, revealing glittering gold, silver, and precious antiques. They cheered in triumph.

Suddenly, one of them dragged a woman from nearby, shouting excitedly.

The remaining men rushed over.

The woman screamed and struggled, kicking and biting, but they subdued her, lifting her up and carrying her away, exchanging lewd glances and jokes.

The woman thrashed her head wildly, shrieking, “Beasts! Beasts! Let me go! Let me go!” Her voice sounded strikingly familiar.

Xianglan instantly recognized her—it was Zhao Yuechan!

She froze, rising to her feet without thinking. She saw the three men pin Zhao Yuechan to the ground. Xianglan shrank back, closing her eyes, unable to watch. Soon, Zhao Yuechan’s cries and the men’s vulgar laughter echoed around her.

Xianglan covered her ears with her hands, sitting dazed against the rock. How could Zhao Yuechan be here? And among those killed was her brother, Zhao Gang. Were these carriages carrying the entire Zhao family?Zhao Yuechan wept and struggled, while Xianglan felt her heart being wrenched repeatedly. In the past, Zhao Yuechan had harbored extremely vicious intentions toward her, and Xianglan had once hated her to the bone. As time passed, that hatred gradually faded, turning into disgust. Now that this person was facing retribution, she should have felt a sense of vindication. Yet, as she listened to Zhao Yuechan's miserable wails, she suddenly realized she felt no satisfaction. Instead, an indescribable sorrow, mingled with sympathy, pity, and fear, overwhelmed her. At this moment, she could only see Zhao Yuechan as pitiful.

After an unknown length of time, the sounds gradually quieted. Xianglan mustered her courage and peered outside again. She saw the three men holding torches, gathered around several chests, lifting them one by one onto the only carriage that had not been burned. Halfway through the loading, the severely injured man groaned on the ground and called out a few words. A tall, lean man then gestured and spoke, seemingly urging the others to carry the injured man onto the carriage as well. But the carriage was too small—if they loaded him, there would be no room for the chests. The other three shook their heads in refusal.

The tall, lean man was visibly displeased and shouted a few angry words. A quarrel broke out among them, but Xianglan, being too far away, could not make out what was said. Suddenly, one of the men exchanged a glance with another, who nodded slightly and abruptly drew a blade from his waist. With a "thud," he stabbed the severely injured man in the chest. The man's legs twitched, his head lolled to the side, and he breathed his last.

The tall, lean man let out a grief-stricken cry, raised his own blade, and swung it back at the assailant's hand. The man screamed in agony as his hand fell to the ground. The two immediately grappled with each other, while the third man stood by and watched indifferently. The tall, lean man clearly possessed some martial skill—within a few exchanges, he managed to strike down his opponent with a fatal blow. He then turned and fixed a cold gaze on the remaining man.

To Xianglan's surprise, the man laughed and said something. After a long silence, the tall, lean man seemed persuaded. Together, they loaded the remaining two chests onto the carriage. But just as the man bent down to drag Zhao Yuechan away, the tall, lean man suddenly seized his head and plunged a dagger into his chest several times. The man groaned and collapsed. The assailant stabbed him a few more times until he lay still.

Breathing heavily, the tall, lean man slumped to the ground. Xianglan's heart pounded with terror. In mere moments, he had disposed of the others and now intended to claim all the plundered treasures for himself.

At that very moment, Lin Jinlou suddenly began to cough violently, blood spraying from his mouth and nose. The sound was as startling as a thunderclap, sending a cold sweat down Xianglan's spine. She frantically wiped the blood from his face with her sleeve and whispered urgently into his ear, "Eldest Master, quiet down! There are bandits outside..."

Lin Jinlou, his eyes half-closed, continued to cough uncontrollably. He grabbed a handful of snow, mixed with dirt and grime, and stuffed it into his mouth, hoping to muffle the sound, while curling his left leg. Xianglan, frantic with worry, seized the crossbow and gripped it tightly in her hand.

The tall, lean man had clearly heard the commotion and began to follow the sound. The closer he came, the more he noticed the chaotic traces in the snow. He tightened his grip on the single-edged blade in his hand.Xianglan hid behind the rock, her heart pounding like a drum. Her hand rested on the crossbow trigger, but her fingers were numb from the cold. Just then, a figure darted into view. In her panic, Xianglan tried to press the trigger, but her frostbitten fingers had lost all sensation and she couldn't pull it.

The tall, lean man was clearly taken aback. He glanced at Lin Jinlou, covered in blood, then looked at Xianglan, and suddenly burst into laughter. Looking down at them from his superior position, he said, "I never expected... what a lucky find today." As he spoke, he grabbed Xianglan.