DBTC 03

Chapter : 03

Departure

Dawn had not yet broken, but figures were already moving in the Qin family’s small yard.

Zhao Wan was not truly awake. The exhaustion from her first night as a married woman had kept her in a daze until the small hours, and now the sounds outside roused her. Her whole body ached; her eyelids were too heavy to lift.

She forced herself to sit up, fumbling for her lotus-root purple dress. Her fingers trembled—the soreness in her waist and limbs made every movement as slow as wading through mud.

The door opened silently.

Qin Hu stood in the doorway. Dark short jacket, belt cinched tight at the waist. His gaze rested on her, deep and heavy.

Zhao Wan looked up and met his eyes.

Those eyes, usually still as deep pools, now churned with intense emotion—satisfaction, guilt, but more than anything, a focus so burning it was almost scalding.

He didn’t speak. He strode over, bent down, slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her in one smooth motion.

“Brother Qin…” Zhao Wan gasped, her hands instinctively clutching the fabric at his collar. Through the thin summer clothes, the heat radiating from his arms enveloped her instantly. Memories of last night came flooding back, and her cheeks burned crimson.

Qin Hu carried her toward the door. He glanced down at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Sleep a little more,” he said, his voice lower and rougher than usual. “I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

He knew. He knew she hadn’t slept well, knew her body was aching now, knew he’d lost control last night. A flicker of guilt passed through him.

But more than that, seeing her like this—helpless in his arms, dependent only on him—filled his chest with a solid, grounded certainty.

Zhao Wan was both mortified and flustered. Especially as they passed through the main hall and she caught sight of her father already standing in the yard—she wanted to bury herself alive. “Put me down… I can walk…” she murmured, squirming weakly.

But Qin Hu’s arms tightened, his stride unbroken.

“Don’t move.”

Just two words, not loud, but carrying an unyielding finality.

Zhao Wan bit her lip and stopped struggling.

In the yard, Zhao Mingyuan watched this scene, his expression complex. Finally, he turned his gaze away and let out a faint sigh. Qin Chuan was inspecting the ropes on the mule cart and didn’t look up.

Qin Hu carried Zhao Wan steadily to the horse cart.

The carriage had been lined with bedding. In the corner sat a bamboo basket containing a comb, a bronze mirror, a jug of water, a palm-leaf fan, and oil-paper packets of snacks. He lowered her carefully into the carriage, pausing for a moment with his arm still around her waist.

That pause was so brief no one else would have noticed it.

But Zhao Wan noticed.

She kept her eyes down, not looking at him.

He reached for the white fine-mesh veiled hat, settled it carefully over her head, and smoothed every fold of the light veil to properly conceal her face and her current embarrassment.

“Lie down,” he said briefly. “Save your strength.”

Through the veil, their eyes met for an instant, then each looked away.

Qin Hu turned and leapt onto the driver’s seat. His back was straight as a pine.

Zhao Wan curled up in the bedding, watching his silhouette, her heart in turmoil. Her embarrassment lingered, her body still uncomfortable. Yet the feeling of being held in his arms, the care in his every word and action, stirred unfamiliar ripples in her heart.

Soon, Zhao Mingyuan also climbed into the carriage, sitting across from her. His gaze rested on her for a moment, filled with tenderness and understanding, before dissolving into a nearly imperceptible sigh.

Qin Hu took one last look around the courtyard where he had lived for over twenty years. His eyes were cold and hard.

“Move out.”

The whip flicked lightly. The carriage wheels groaned over the hardened earth, rolling out of the village and onto the official road—scorched and disfigured by the drought.

The jolting began.

Zhao Wan drifted between sleep and waking, weary and sore. Occasionally, through a gap in the carriage curtain, she could see Qin Hu’s upright back ahead. Sweat soaked through his dark jacket, clinging to the straining muscles of his back.

He seemed oblivious, only occasionally raising a hand to wipe his brow. Most of the time, his sharp, hawk-like gaze swept vigilantly across the desolate wilderness.

The sun grew fiercer.

The carriage slowed to a stop at a roadside spot where rocks cast some shade.

Qin Hu jumped down, his voice slightly hoarse from thirst: “Rest. Eat.”

Zhao Wan was roused. She had just moved to the edge of the carriage when the curtain was swept aside by a large, knuckled hand.

Qin Hu leaned in, meeting her flustered gaze.

Without a word, he reached in again with his strong arms, lifted her steadily, and set her down carefully on the oilcloth spread in the shade.

“Sit and eat.”

He placed a noticeably thicker flatbread and the most generous portion of preserved meat before her. Then he took his own portion, sat down a short distance away, and ate in silence.

His eyes, like a hawk’s, continually swept the end of the official road and the withered grass in the distance.

Zhao Wan held her flatbread, nibbling through her veil. Yet her gaze kept drifting to him. Watching his sweat-soaked but always straight back, watching the vigilance in his profile.

Qin Chuan silently took his own rations and walked to the covered mule cart behind them. He sat nimbly on the driver’s seat, eating while keeping watch over the rear and flanks.

The two vehicles moved one behind the other, maintaining a cautious distance.

And then—

On the official road ahead, three staggering figures came into view.

A man with hollow, sunken eyes, starved nearly to bones. A woman with a sallow, expressionless face. Between them, a boy so gaunt his bones showed, his eyes unnaturally large and empty.

Their clothes were tattered, their steps unsteady. They shuffled to within a dozen paces of the Qin family’s carts, then seemed to exhaust their last ounce of strength, unable to move another step.

Zhao Wan’s heart clenched instantly. She could see the hunger and desperation in the man’s eyes as he stared at the food in Qin Hu’s hand.

What made her blood run cold was the way his gaze slowly swept over the carriage—and finally settled on her.

Even through the veil, she could feel the greed in that look.

The man’s lips trembled. His feet inched forward—

Less than half an inch.

*Twang—*

The vibration of a bowstring cut through the dead-silent official road, jarringly sharp.

Zhao Wan barely saw Qin Chuan move. The youth set down his flatbread, reached back with one hand, seized the hardwood hunting bow at his side, nocked an arrow, and drew—all in one fluid motion.

The bow was drawn seven-tenths of the way. The arrowhead gleamed coldly, aimed steadily at the cracked earth less than a foot before the starving man’s feet.

Qin Chuan’s eyes, at this moment, were cold as ice.

The man’s facial muscles convulsed violently. He dropped to his knees with a thud, his voice cracked and rasping: “Kind sir… master… have mercy… the child is about to die…”

Zhao Wan’s fingers tightened on her handkerchief until her knuckles went white. She felt both terror and anguish. That boy’s empty, enormous eyes pierced her heart especially. There was so much food on the carts…

“No.”

Qin Hu’s voice came from ahead.

Flat, hard, devoid of any warmth.

He didn’t even turn around.

The man opened his mouth, his throat emitting a hoarse, rattling sound. But his eyes fell on Qin Hu’s hand resting on the hunting knife at his waist, and on the youth behind him who still had his bow drawn, eyes wolf-fierce—

Every word that rose to his lips froze in his throat, frozen by a deeper terror.

He had no strength left.

Nor did he have the courage for a desperate gamble.

In the end, all he could squeeze from the depths of his throat was a stifled, broken whimper—like the final cry of a dying beast.

He didn’t even dare to look up at the carriage again. He spun around, nearly dragging the numbed woman and the dazed, vacant child along with him.

Stumbling, lurching.

They “fled” down the seemingly endless, blazing white official road.

Soon, they were completely swallowed by the shimmering, distorted heat haze—as if they had been nothing more than a cruel, fleeting mirage under the scorching sun.

Qin Hu’s gaze followed them, then slowly swept the surrounding area.

Zhao Wan followed his line of sight and saw only dead, withered yellow. But she suddenly understood—that scene just now was not merely about driving that family away. It was a message for anyone who might be watching from the shadows.

Qin Hu withdrew his gaze, the coldness on his face gradually fading. He packed up efficiently, his voice returning to its usual steadiness: “Father, Wan’er, let’s move on.”

He leapt onto the driver’s seat. Behind him, Qin Chuan stowed his bow on the mule cart. The two vehicles started again, one after the other, leaving that brief patch of shade behind.

Zhao Wan leaned back in the carriage, her palms still clammy with sweat. Through the curtain, she watched Qin Hu’s straight back ahead, then turned to look at Qin Chuan’s silent profile on the cart behind.

The carriage rolled back into the blazing white sunlight. Zhao Wan lowered the curtain gently.

That boy’s empty, enormous eyes still lingered before her.

She closed her eyes.