A thin mist still hovered over the Wei residence’s main courtyard when the merchant caravans—prepared over many days—gathered in a cacophony of horse hooves, servant shouts, and wooden wheels grinding the earth. It was departure day.
Lin Xi stood on the pavilion’s steps, dressed in a muted bluish-grey travel outfit that was elegant yet resolute. Her face was composed, but her clear eyes concealed turbulent waves of anxiety, hope, and determination she struggled to tame.
A Qiao, her loyal servant, stood before her, brows knit, eyes pleading. “Miss, please allow me to come. I can cook, tend wounds, write if you tire. I won’t be a burden—promise.”
Lin Xi took a slow breath and regarded A Qiao’s earnest face. She had intended to refuse—the journey was more than trade; it was investigation, a quest, and potentially perilous. But then, A Qiao clasped her hand. “You once saved me from disgrace. I vowed to follow you wherever you go. Though our stories differ, our pain is the same—harrowing, blood-stained. We were both cast away by those who ought to protect us.”
Lin Xi lowered her gaze for a moment, sheltering something stirring deep in her chest. Amid the chaos ahead, A Qiao was one of the few who never demanded she be Wei Lianhua, but accepted her as she was.
“Very well,” she whispered. “But if you fall ill, I’ll send you back.”
A Qiao beamed and hurried to pack.
Soon after, Lin Xi’s carriage began to move. She glimpsed her father Wei Jian standing with Su Wanrong and the other children. His gaze was hollow, as if fixed on a burden—not his daughter. Wei Min rolled his eyes, while Wei Junlin offered a smug, contrived smile. Only Lin Shuyin, standing behind, watched Lin Xi with a face that wavered between worry, longing, and guilt she dared not voice.
The carriage rattled forward. Lin Xi inhaled sharply, pulling aside the little curtain to view the Wei gates grow smaller.
This isn’t just about trade, she realized. I’m unearthing what time and lies have buried.
A blue sky stretched overhead, yet her heart remained overshadowed. The journey had only begun. With each mile, she drew closer to truth—and wounds she could no longer evade.
The route from Jingzhou to Gaoling passed peacefully—a silence almost too perfect for a convoy carrying the Wei name and priceless wares. Yet Lin Xi knew storms lurked beyond calm.
They arrived in the jagged solitude of Langzhong Valley—a place whispered in market corridors as a haven for merciless bandits. Grey clouds pressed low overhead, as if watching.
Perched on her horse, Lin Xi scanned the guards. Her eyes fixed on a tall, masked man at the rear— a band of facial scar bisecting his brow. Who was he? She wondered. He had spoken little since joining.
Moments after the last carriage exited a rocky pass, the valley echoed with horse whinnies and savage shouts. Dark shapes leapt from undergrowth and boulders—bandits in numbers like starving wolves.
“Protect the main carriage!” a guard shouted.
Lin Xi signaled swiftly. The men raised weapons and formed a defensive line. Inside, she feigned fear and retreat, like a helpless noblewoman, while concealing a hidden dagger under her sleeve.
Suddenly, a bandit lunged at her carriage from the right. As his blade aimed true, another sword flew like lightning—striking the bandit’s chest. He collapsed in a cloud of dust.
Lin Xi looked up to see the masked guard still mounted, his left hand having thrown the knife with deadly precision.
Without pause, he spurred toward Lin Xi. “Don’t just stand there—if you can fight,” he said icily from behind the mask.
Their eyes met. Without hesitation, Lin Xi leapt from the carriage, cloak billowing, feet firm on the earth. With swift grace, she drew her dagger and plunged into the fray.
Dust and blood spiraled in the air, accompanied by the clash of steel—a savage, almost haunting, melody.
Lin Xi moved with the fluidity of a seasoned warrior. One by one, bandits fell. At her side, the masked guard wielded his stolen blade with equal mastery. Though strangers to each other, their moves were perfectly synchronized—as if trained together for years.
“What’s your name?” Lin Xi asked in between strikes.
“Xiao Bai.” He replied before striking a final blow into a fleeing bandit’s chest.
Amid the chaos, Lin Xi heard A Qiao’s footsteps fumbling toward them—helping, unarmed but determined.
When the last robber fled, Lin Xi, chest heaving, stood covered in dust and sweat. Beside her, Xiao Bai hovered. They shared a moment of silent, curious acknowledgment.
“Thank you,” Lin Xi finally offered, concise yet heartfelt.
Xiao Bai nodded once, turned away, revealing only the scar on his brow—a silent testament to secrets he kept close.
One thing was clear: a new chapter had begun, where masks cloaked more than appearances—they shrouded hearts.
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As the sun dipped west behind the cliffs, a campfire’s smoke began to mingle with lingering scents of dust and copper-smell. The caravan halted. Some wagons were locked down, others opened to inspect their precious cargo. Horses whinnied and chains rattled among hurried footsteps and heavy breathing of the guards.
Lin Xi moved quietly through the wagons, checking spices, silks, and jewels. She examined her companions—some nursing shoulder wounds, others sprained limbs, all recoverable. A Qiao bustled about, distributing bandages and administering care.
Under a pine tree’s shadow, Xiao Bai tended his wrist, his movements slow but precise.
Lin Xi approached him. He lowered his head; his healing hand did not pause.
Without knocking, she gripped his arm. “Let me,” she said softly, leaving no room to refuse.
Xiao Bai exhaled quietly and extended his arm. Lin Xi knelt beside him, their knees almost touching. She tore her garment to fashion a makeshift bandage, moving with calm precision. Her hands were cool, steady, though she only hours ago had swung a blade against humans for the first time in years.
A gentle hush settled. Warm, but prickly.
“How did you know?” Lin Xi asked, voice low. “That I can fight?”
Xiao Bai paused, continuing to dress the wound without meeting her gaze. “Your eyes. There was no fear.”
Lin Xi smiled faintly. “Many nobles are taught to look down on commoners. I didn’t seem afraid.”
“He sees the difference,” Xiao Bai said evenly. “You assessed their movements like a wolf waiting for the kill.”
Lin Xi studied him. “So you knew from the beginning.”
“When your carriage was hit—you didn’t panic,” he answered, still eyes on his wound. “A true lady might have screamed. You held on.”
Lin Xi chuckled. “Next time, I’ll scream—so it’s less suspicious.”
Silence reclaimed the night. Dry leaves whispered. In the distance, A Qiao scolded a talkative guard.
After securing the binding, Lin Xi patted his arm gently. “If you’re hurt again, say so. Don’t pretend to be invulnerable. I don’t like owing favors to someone who could die in silence.”
Xiao Bai looked up—meeting her eyes for the first time. His gaze was cold, but not empty.
“I don’t like saving someone unwilling to be saved,” he replied.
Lin Xi’s chest tightened—but she didn’t respond with anger. Instead, a sense of kinship bloomed. She rose gracefully, dusting off her gown stained with dried blood.
“Then don’t save me next time,” she said softly as she turned, “Just be close enough to throw your blade again.”
Xiao Bai remained silent, head bowed, fingers tightening the bandage Lin Xi had applied.
Night fully fell. But in the glow of the campfire, two wounded souls sat mere paces apart—broken in different ways, united in silent solitude.