Chronicles of Fates Path

Saishan Town at dusk radiated a peculiar charm—lanterns dangled from crooked eaves, their warm glow reflecting off cobblestones dampened by a late-afternoon drizzle. The refugees' wagons formed a temporary camp beside the granary, where oxen munched on sparse hay. A low murmur of commerce drifted from the central square as local merchants haggled with newcomers over stale grain and root vegetables.

Lan Zhuoran stood outside the clinic, waiting while Yin Feiyan received another round of salve for her arm. He could hear her muffled voice conversing with the medic. Gao Tianrong, perched on an upturned crate nearby, tapped his foot impatiently. Despite the town's relative hospitality, both men remained on edge.

A pair of town guards passed by, spears at their shoulders. They spared the travelers a cursory glance but continued on, likely more concerned with petty theft or drunken scuffles than with rumored fugitives. Lan Zhuoran exhaled, easing his posture. At least we're not under immediate suspicion, he thought.

Moments later, Feiyan emerged from the clinic, wincing at the sharp smell of antiseptics lingering on her bandages. "He says my arm's improving," she reported quietly. "Another day or two of rest, and I might even handle a blade again if necessary."

Lan Zhuoran managed a small smile. "That's good news."

Gao Tianrong hopped off the crate. "Then we should leave soon. The longer we linger, the more likely some mercenary or bandit hears about an injured traveler with valuable possessions."

Feiyan dipped her head, agreeing. "We'll check with Madam Sun—see if the caravan's able to move on tomorrow."

As they crossed the main street, they passed a row of humble stalls. The aromas of grilled fish and spiced broth teased their senses, though the meager coin in their pouches limited temptation. A grimy peddler tried hawking "cures" for all manner of ailments, rattling a tin cup in Feiyan's direction. She politely refused, hastening her step.

Back at the granary camp, the refugees bustled about, preparing simple meals. Madam Sun conversed with Supervisor Gong, who'd come to collect a nominal "security fee." Lan Zhuoran overheard snippets—apparently the town demanded payment for every additional day a large group occupied its space. The caravan folk looked resigned, rummaging pockets for coins or small valuables to offer.

"This town milks travelers for every copper they can get," Gao Tianrong muttered. "They're not entirely different from bandits, just more official."

Lan Zhuoran's expression darkened. "They might be desperate. Everyone is in these times."

Feiyan massaged her bandaged arm, but relief glinted in her eyes—this meant the caravan could stay another night unharassed. As the sun dipped below the wooden palisade, she settled on a low bench near one of the wagons, forcing a smile. "At least we can sleep without worrying about crossbow bolts flying at us."

Nearby, children giggled around a small fire, while a father recounted stories of distant mountain temples. The flicker of lanterns illuminated faces etched with weary hope. Gao Tianrong spotted a young boy with patched trousers gazing at his bow in awe. The archer smirked, flipping a small pebble in a playful demonstration of aim, earning a delighted grin.

Madam Sun approached, wearing the fatigue of a day's negotiation like a cloak. "Supervisor Gong's letting us stay one more night. After that, we'll have to move or pay an even higher fee. We can't afford that."

Feiyan inclined her head. "We'll depart together tomorrow, then."

Gao Tianrong's gaze swept the dimly lit granary yard. "Any rumors of Syndicate activity?"

Madam Sun shook her head, lowering her voice. "Some mention of bandits to the south, and soldiers from a local warlord passing through recently. But no direct word of black-cloaked mercenaries."

Lan Zhuoran felt tension release slightly from his shoulders. "That's something, at least."

They shared a small meal—a thin stew laced with bits of dried meat. The caravan's mood, while subdued, felt lighter than in the wild. Even the older refugees managed guarded smiles. Feiyan ate sparingly, eyes distant, occasionally rubbing the relic strapped beneath her cloak. Lan Zhuoran gently squeezed her arm, acknowledging the burden she bore.

As night settled fully, the lanterns strung along the granary posts swayed in a mild breeze. Gao Tianrong took his usual watch at the edge of camp, exchanging a silent nod with Lan Zhuoran. Feiyan found a quiet corner near a wagon, trying to rest while leaning on her splint. She murmured thanks to Madam Sun, who insisted on draping an extra blanket around her.

Lan Zhuoran settled beside the dying embers of a communal fire, half-dozing until faint footsteps roused him. A middle-aged refugee sidled over, glancing nervously around. "Heard you're skilled fighters," he whispered. "My wife's ill—real bad. She needs medicine or she'll die. The clinic charges a fortune. Could you… maybe help somehow?"

An ache twisted in Lan Zhuoran's chest. He sympathized deeply, recalling Feiyan's own precarious injuries. But he and his companions possessed neither extra medicine nor funds. All they had was the relic and a handful of silver saved for emergencies. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "We barely have enough for ourselves."

A flicker of despair crossed the man's face. He nodded, voice trembling. "No worries. I just… had to ask."

He slipped away, leaving Lan Zhuoran feeling powerless. Even in the safety of a town, suffering thrived. The presence of so many needy souls reminded him why protecting Skyfire Protocol mattered: a chance, however distant, to bring relief to a fractured empire. Yet each day's struggle underscored how vast the empire's wounds truly were.

As midnight approached, the camp quieted. Feiyan dozed fitfully, Gao Tianrong paced the perimeter, and Lan Zhuoran stared into the dark, burdened by the pleas he couldn't answer. Tomorrow, they would depart—heading ever closer to the capital. With each step, they risked Syndicate retribution. But to remain in Saishan Town was impossible, too. For the sake of Feiyan, the caravan, and countless others… we can't fail now, Lan Zhuoran resolved.

His thoughts drifted to the bandit skirmish and Ren's rumors about the Syndicate's secret backers. The relic in Feiyan's care was at the heart of a looming struggle that might engulf the entire empire. With a quiet exhale, he rose to relieve Gao Tianrong from watch. The lanterns burned low, casting flickering shadows on the granary wall—silent witnesses to a night of uneasy peace before their road beckoned once more.