DBTC 09

Chapter : 09

Entering the City 

Over the next two days, the small group traveled in silence through increasingly desolate wilderness.

More and more refugees huddled by the roadside. Their eyes were first hollow as dried-up wells, but as the wagon wheels rolled past and stirred up dust, those gazes would suddenly ignite with a disquieting, hungry gleam.

Whenever those starving eyes swept toward them, Qin Chuan, at the very front, would tilt his longbow slightly, his right hand holding three fingers loosely against a white-feathered arrow by the bowstring.

In the center of the group, Qin Hu kept his left hand resting on his saber hilt. His gaze was calm as it swept across the wasteland, silently steadying the entire party’s composure.

At the rear, Han Zhen had already drawn his waist saber halfway from its sheath, the cold steel glinting in the twilight.

Han Yun gripped his short club until his knuckles turned white, his eyes wide and glaring, forcing a fierce expression onto his youthful face.

One bow at the front, one blade commanding the center, one staff guarding the flank, one saber covering the rear—these four layers of vigilance carved a trembling yet resilient path through the sea of refugees for this band of six.

In the distance, refugees gathered and dispersed, but in the end, none dared to lunge at this seemingly flimsy yet tightly interlocking defense line.

Only the low moan of wind through dry grass and the creak of wheels over the dirt road accompanied them, grinding out a passage to survival.

After a long, dusty journey, when that earthen-yellow city wall finally appeared on the horizon, everyone let out an inaudible sigh of relief deep within.

But before they could draw closer, a killing aura far heavier than the wilderness had already begun to seep toward them.

The city wall rose high; beyond the battlements, spear points glittered like a forest of cold steel. Patrol soldiers moved back and forth, on high alert. The city gate was shut tight, the drawbridge raised, and the moat churned with murky, stagnant water.

Beyond the wall, the scene was even more horrifying. Refugees swarmed like ants across the open land outside the moat, stretching almost beyond sight. Tattered clothes, gaunt faces—many lay motionless in the dust, impossible to tell whether alive or dead.

A few makeshift cooking pits gave off thin black smoke; the air carried a mingled stench of bitterness, burntness, and the heavy, rank odor of a crowded mass of people.

Occasionally, a fast horse or a supply cart would approach; only then would the drawbridge slowly lower to the groan of winches, and after rigorous inspection, they would be allowed in. If refugees so much as edged closer, they’d be met with harsh shouts from the guards and the creak of bowstrings being drawn taut.

The crowd beneath the city wall remained deathly silent, save for countless pairs of eyes glowing dully in the dust, fixed on that sealed gate—a gaze that sent chills down the spine.

Qin Hu observed from a distance for a moment, then turned back and tapped lightly on the carriage wall. “Wan’er,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “ahead is Gucheng. We need to get inside. You and Father stay in the cart; keep your veiled hat on firmly, and *never* lift the hanging gauze.”

“Mm.” Zhao Wan answered softly. She, along with her long black hair, was entirely concealed beneath a heavy-veiled hat that reached her waist, her form blurred into a gray shadow.

Qin Hu had Han Zhen tidy up the three carts until they looked respectable but not ostentatious. Bows, arrows, and hunting knives were buried deep beneath the luggage, covered with odds and ends.

He stepped forward, and just as a group of merchants was being admitted and the drawbridge was about to rise again, he approached the gate guards to negotiate. He claimed to be a traveling merchant from the south who had lost his capital due to war, wishing to take his family back south, and handed over five taels of silver and forged travel papers.

After a long wait, a stern-faced officer strolled over, his gaze raking over them. He weighed the silver in his palm, glanced at the carriage, and curled the corner of his mouth in an unreadable smirk.

“In extraordinary times, extraordinary measures,” the officer said in a dry voice. “You may enter—special permit fee, twenty taels; three carts, an additional ten taels for ‘security adjustment.’ Total, thirty taels. One night only. You must leave by dawn.”

Thirty taels. Han Zhen’s brow twitched. But Qin Hu’s face remained impassive. He paused only a breath, then took out whole silver pieces and made up the rest in smaller ones, handing them over. “Thank you, officer, for your leniency.”

Once the silver changed hands, the shout “Clearance!” rang out. Qin Chuan’s mule cart took the lead toward the dim side gate. His eyes swept over the guards on either side, over the smoke stains on the inner walls of the gate passage.

Qin Hu’s carriage came in the middle, its curtain utterly still. Han Zhen’s flatbed brought up the rear; its wheels rolled over the threshold, and the heavy wooden gate boomed shut, sealing off the wilderness and the wailing beyond.

At the moment the gate closed, all of them unconsciously let out that held breath—only to have it weighed down again by the oppressive gloom of this unfamiliar city.

Inside, the city was desolate. Few pedestrians moved about, and half the shops had their shutters up. Patrol soldiers passed frequently, the clank of their armor unnaturally sharp.

Qin Hu headed straight for the “Yue’an Inn” in the western part of town. The inn’s front was modest, but its rear courtyard was spacious and relatively secluded.

“In these times, sir, you can see for yourself,” the innkeeper sighed as he led them in. “Those people outside… aiyo, ever since word came a few days ago that Chang County was under siege, the city went into lockdown. You’re lucky to have gotten in.”

Chang County? Qin Hu filed the name away without asking further. He checked the water buckets in the stable, examined the latch on the rear courtyard gate. At his signal, Han Zhen moved the important luggage upstairs to the rooms.

They took three good rooms. Qin Hu picked up his own and Zhao Wan’s luggage: “Father-in-law, you and Second Brother take the west room. Stay alert through the night. Han Zhen and Han Yun, take the south room.”

Zhao Mingyuan nodded and left with Qin Chuan. Han Zhen led Han Yun away.

Qin Hu entered the east room first, his sharp gaze sweeping under the bed, over the window frames, into the gaps of the wardrobe. Only after confirming it was safe did he step aside to let Zhao Wan in.

The door closed. This was the first time since their marriage that they were alone together in a strange room. The accumulated exhaustion of the past days, coupled with this temporary safety, made the atmosphere subtly tense.

Zhao Wan let out a soft breath. Stepping onto the solid wooden floor, she actually felt a little unaccustomed. She moved instinctively toward the window, but as she raised her hand, Qin Hu had already stepped in front of it.

“Let me,” he said in a low voice. He passed her, pushing the window open just a crack. Having done that, he didn’t step back; instead, in that position—his arms caging her between himself and the window frame—he looked down at her.

Their eyes met.

“I need to go out for a while,” he said, his voice very low, his warm breath brushing past her ear. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “Stock up on water, gather information.”

“Lock the door. Don’t answer to anyone except Father, Chuanzi, or Han Zhen.” His fingertip pressed gently against her palm. “If you’re tired, rest first.”

She turned, looked up at him, and raised her hand to brush the dust from his shoulder. “Be careful. Go early and come back soon.”

Her fingertips inadvertently grazed the side of his neck, and she felt the pulse leap there and the skin tense instantly beneath her touch.

Qin Hu’s eyes darkened, his breath growing heavier. Her lightest touch was enough to stir waves in his carefully contained emotions.

He stared at her face, so close, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he suddenly tightened his arms and pulled her into his embrace—a little roughly, so that she bumped against his chest.

A searing kiss landed heavily on her forehead, then on the space between her brows. His breath was scalding hot, lingering for an instant near her lips—but only pressing there, not going further.

“Wait for me to come back,” he rasped, the four words barely audible.

Then he released his hold, turned, and strode away—his back controlled, his movements clean and decisive.

The door closed softly. The latch slid home.

Zhao Wan remained alone in the center of the room, her back against the door panel, her heart still beating a little fast. The warmth of his lips still lingered between her brows; his scent still clung faintly about her.

She raised her hand, touching her fingertips to that spot between her brows. In this unfamiliar room, she felt a strange sense of peace.

Because she knew that no matter where he went, he would always come back.

She walked to the bedside and sat down, listening as his footsteps faded into the distance. As night deepened, she lay down, pulled the quilt around herself, and closed her eyes.