Gu Chengyue still had matters at home. After cleaning the loaches, it was only mid-morning, so he didn’t stay for a meal. Before leaving, Lu Gu caught a plump rabbit from the backyard for him to take home, autumn rabbits were at their fattest.
After a brief show of politeness and a word of insistence from Shen Yan, Gu Chengyue accepted without further refusal and left with the rabbit.
The Gu family often sent gifts, and Lu Gu’s family wasn’t in the habit of taking without giving in return. Sometimes it was rabbits, other times chickens or ducks, or even mountain goods.
After seeing Gu Chengyue off, Lu Gu smiled and said, “We’ll cook them for dinner. When Brother returns, we can also try some osmanthus wine. If we get dizzy, we’ll just sleep early, no harm done.”
“Mm.” Shen Yan nodded, her smile lingering.
The loaches were plump, the osmanthus wine fragrant, and the evening autumn breeze was gentle as they enjoyed a quiet drink at home. Meanwhile, farther away, the sun was nearly set, and the caravan still hadn’t crossed the mountain ridge. They stopped at a flat, open area to rest.
A fire was lit, night watch shifts were assigned, and the rest unrolled their bedding to sleep.
Once the sun had fully set, only the firelight remained in the forest.
The group consisted of around twenty to thirty men. This mountain pass was frequently used by merchant caravans, and dangerous wild animals seldom appeared here. However, should any predators approach, each man carried a heavy broadsword and stood prepared to defend themselves.
Luo Biao was on watch tonight. Shen Xuanqing lay on the ground, his head pillowed on his arm, but sleep eluded him. He sat up and joined Luo Biao and the others in drinking and chewing on dried rations. They had to keep watch until midnight, and drinking on an empty stomach would burn their stomachs—so they ate dried rations to soften the effect.
As the drinks flowed, a man named Zhao Zhi began boasting wildly, claiming he had once fought a monstrous fish in the river—a beast bigger than a man that nearly capsized his boat.
Luo Biao and the others spat on the ground, calling him a liar. “You can’t even swim, yet you went fish-hunting? Pure nonsense!”
Zhao Zhi, indignant, swore that half the fish’s skeleton was still at his house and insisted he used to swim—until that incident scared him out of it.
As he rambled on between drinks, his speech grew increasingly slurred, a clear sign he was drunk. If not for the tree he leaned against, he’d have toppled over.
Qiu Laoda snatched the leather wine bag from Zhao Zhi’s hand and scolded, “We’re on watch, drinking to stay alert is one thing, but drowning yourself? If you were alone, jackals could waltz in and none of us would wake up!”
Zhao Zhi, though chastised, didn’t retort. He just sat there grinning foolishly - a drunk through and through.
Seeing this, the others set their leather wine bags aside. Night watch in the mountains was no joke. After this round, their bodies had warmed up enough.
Drunk and unable to hold it in, Zhao Zhi staggered to his feet, fumbling with his pants to urinate right where he stood. Qiu Laoda smacked him, jolting him halfway sober. Mumbling under his breath, Zhao Zhi lurched toward the trees instead.
“I’m going to sleep.” Shen Xuanqing, having drunk his share and exhausted from the day’s travel, smiled at Luo Biao and turned in.
After nearly half a month on the road, whenever they passed through wilderness or forests, he would use his bow to hunt a rabbit or two, sharing the meat with the group. He could drink and swap stories with the best of them, fitting in well with the caravan. Qiu Laoda had even asked whether he'd be willing to join the caravan for good, no need to do lowly work like hauling goods, just managing a small crew of men.
But with elders and children at home, and having promised Lu Gu he wouldn’t travel next year, instead focusing on their shop, he could only say this trip was to broaden his horizons.
Before Shen Xuanqing could reach his bedroll, the men by the fire had already launched back into their wild stories. Then his ears caught it—a sound from deep in the forest. He knew it too well, the whistle of an arrow.
“Ambush!” he barked, whirling toward the darkness, his expression sharpening.
Years of roaming mountains, hunting foxes well into autumn nights, had honed his senses beyond the ordinary.
“What?!”
Even the snoring men scrambled up, yanking blades hidden in the carts, gripping them tightly in alert.
Amid the clamor, Shen Xuanqing heard a muffled grunt from the trees where Zhao Zhi had gone. Before he could investigate, more black-fletched arrows hissed through the air, striking men down.
A man lifted his torch and scrambled for cover behind a tree. But in the pitch darkness, the flickering flame might as well have painted a target on his chest.
Qiu Laoda, hardened by decades of caravan work, took one look at the fallen men and roared, "Throw down those torches!"
The moment the words left his mouth, an arrow came whistling from the darkness—aimed straight at his voice. He twisted aside just as the shaft buried itself in the dirt where he'd stood.
Someone kicked dirt onto the fire. As the flames dimmed, Shen Xuanqing glimpsed the arrowheads - pitch-black, likely poisoned. A cold sweat drenched his back.
The horses reared and whinnied in panic. Though they had kicked dirt over the fire, embers still glowed, and a few dropped torches flickered stubbornly. Earlier, they had carefully cleared the campsite of dry grass and leaves to prevent wildfires trapping them in their sleep, so only bare earth surrounded them. The flames dwindled slowly.
The wounded men convulsed briefly, their agonized cries cutting through the night before abruptly silencing as death took them.
Shen Xuanqing grabbed his bow in one swift motion while throwing his blade across his back, his heart pounding. Armed, he ducked behind a tree, not daring to move. Tension coiled in his chest, yet he stifled his breath, listening for the archer’s position.
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