Chapter – 08
Tenderness
The convoy slowly rolled away from that hollow reeking of blood, under countless terrified, fearful gazes.
Inside the carriage, Zhao Wan’s complexion had already regained its calm beneath the light veil of her hat, though her fingertips still felt slightly chilled. She let out a soft breathâthere was no fear in her.
Zhao Mingyuan looked at his daughter’s composed profile, a tumult of emotions churning in his heart. He had read the sages’ books, knew benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustâbut when this world laid the word “survival” before him in all its bloody reality, those principles all seemed hollow.
He let out a long sigh: “Huzi⌠he has it hard.”
Zhao Wan nodded gently: “Father, I understand. The path he chose is the only one we can walk through.”
Before the sky went completely dark, the convoy reached the abandoned river god temple.
The temple was even more dilapidated than imagined. The half-collapsed gate barely stood, and the main hall’s roof had several large holes, but the walls were still mostly intact and could block the wind.
In front of the temple was a small open space, with a dry riverbed beside it, revealing cracked mud slabs and pale, bleached pebbles.
“We’ll stay here tonight.” Qin Hu jumped down from the carriage and quickly swept his gaze around.
Han Zhen, with practiced tacit understanding, drove the flatbed cart to block the side of the temple’s only entrance. Qin Chuan parked the mule cart on the other side of the temple wall, in a sheltered spot, forming an angle with Han Zhen’s cart.
“Chuanzi, check the temple.” Qin Hu ordered. Qin Chuan acknowledged with a sound, and slipped into the dark, yawning temple entrance with his hunting knife in hand.
Soon his calm voice came back: “Brother, no one inside. We can rest here.”
“Han Zhen, take your brother to gather some dry firewood. Clear out the temple interior. We’ll sleep inside tonight.”
Everyone moved to their tasks.
Qin Chuan efficiently unharnessed the animals and tied them up, carrying down fodder. Han Zhen murmured a few words to his younger brother. Han Yun nodded, the shock of earlier still lingering on his face, but he straightened his back and followed his brother toward the small grove, his eyes alertly scanning the darkness.
Zhao Wan helped her father prepare to get down from the carriage. The days of jolting travel had left her legs a little unsteady.
A solid arm reached into the carriage and lifted her in a smooth carry. Qin Hu’s presence enveloped her, carrying the scent of sweat and dust. “It’s dirty inside. I’ll carry you over first.” His voice was low, and he strode toward the side hall in large steps.
Zhao Wan lay in his arms, her hands gripping his shoulders. She could feel the bulging muscles of his arms, his heartbeat coming through his clothesâsteady and powerful. Her face warmed slightly, but she didn’t struggle, only gave a soft reply: “Mm.”
Qin Hu carried her into the side hall and set her down in a corner away from the broken tiles. He knelt on one knee, swept away the dust, and tore a strip of lining cloth from his own outer garment to spread on the ground.
“Sit and rest. Don’t move.”
With that, he rose and helped the tottering Zhao Mingyuan over to settle beside his daughter.
A campfire was soon lit beneath the broken wall outside the temple gate, sheltered from the wind. Qin Chuan took an iron pot and waterskin from the cart, setting up the pot to boil water. The Han brothers returned with an armload of dry branches; Han Yun’s face was smudged with ash, and squatting by the fire, he couldn’t help stealing glances at the sister-in-law in the side hall.
Qin Hu walked back to the carriage and took out dried rabbit meat wrapped in oiled paper and hard biscuits. He crouched by the fire, using his dagger to slice the meat and break the biscuits.
Just as the water was about to boil, Qin Chuan ladled out a bowl, sprinkled in some salt, and carried it to the side hall entrance: “Sister-in-law, Uncle, have some water first to wet your throats.”
Zhao Mingyuan took it: “Much obliged.” Zhao Wan took the bowl: “Thank you, Second Brother.” Qin Chuan grinned: “Sister-in-law is too kind.” He turned and went back.
Slices of meat were dropped into the boiling water, and a savory aroma spread. Qin Hu filled a bowl with the food and brought it to Zhao Wan, crouching in front of her. “Eat.”
Zhao Wan took it, her fingertips brushing against his rough, calloused fingers. “Thank you, Brother Qin.”
Qin Hu paused for a moment, gave her a deep look, and said “Mm” before turning to distribute the food to the others.
Supper was eaten in quick, silent efficiency. Han Yun ate with relish, while Han Zhen and Qin Chuan spoke in low voices about the route for the next day. Qin Hu’s ears remained constantly alert.
After the meal, Qin Hu moved closer to the fire. “I’ll take the first watch tonight. You take over after midnight. Qin Chuan, stay sharp.”
“Brother, don’t worry.” Qin Chuan replied, placing his knife within easy reach.
The night deepened, but the heat of the day had not fully dissipated. After seeing her father settled to rest, Zhao Wan dampened a cloth and wiped her face and neck. She looked toward the dancing campfire outside the temple gate.
Picking up the waterskin, she walked over softly and stopped beside him. “Brother Qin,” she said, holding out the waterskin, “have some water.”
Qin Hu turned his head. The firelight flickered across his face, now bright, now shadowed. He looked at her for a moment, then took the waterskin.
The moment their fingertips touched, Zhao Wan felt the rough calluses on his pads brush across her palm.
He didn’t pull away immediately. His thumb pressed against her palmâvery lightly, very quickly. Zhao Wan’s heart gave a leap; her fingers curled slightly, but she didn’t withdraw her hand.
Qin Hu pulled his hand back, tilted his head back, and took a few gulps. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a trickle of water slid down the line of his jaw, disappearing into his collar.
Zhao Wan watched his moving throat, watched the skin of his neck illuminated by the firelight, and found it hard to look away.
Qin Hu lowered the waterskin but didn’t return it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze fixed on the flames. The hand holding the waterskin showed whitening knuckles from the pressure.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” His voice was low.
Zhao Wan sat down beside him, her knee almost touching his arm. “Not sleepy,” she said softly. “I wanted to sit with you for a while.”
Qin Hu’s grip on the waterskin tightened a little more.
He turned his head to look at her, the firelight dancing in his eyesâsoft, then surging with undercurrents, finally settling into a gaze that was almost greedy. His eyes traced from her slightly damp temples, down her neck, to the curve of her waist as she sat with her knees drawn up.
Zhao Wan’s cheeks burned. She instinctively wanted to look away, but held her ground, only lowering her lashes.
“Tired?” Qin Hu asked.
Zhao Wan nodded: “Yes.” She paused, then looked up at him. “But with you here, my heart feels at ease.”
Qin Hu’s Adam’s apple moved, the veins on the back of his hand faintly visible. Suddenly, he reached down, picked up a dry branch at his feet, snapped it in half with a sharp crack, and threw it into the fire.
Sparks burst upward with a crackle, illuminating his taut jawline. “Go to sleep.” His tone was harder, but it couldn’t hide the tension beneath.
Zhao Wan didn’t move. She looked at his tense profile, then reached out and gently grasped his wrist, which rested on his knee.
Qin Hu’s whole body stiffened. He whipped his head around to look at her, a turbulent emotion in his eyes that she had never seen before.
Zhao Wan’s fingers trembled slightly, but she didn’t let go. Holding his wrist, she could feel the pounding pulse beneath his skinâfeverish, wild.
“Brother Qin,” she said softly, “I’m here.”
Qin Hu reversed his grip and took her hand, his hold so firm it was almost painful. His fingers slid between hers, interlacing tightly. His palm was hot and damp, completely enveloping her fingers.
Zhao Wan could feel his hand trembling slightly.
“Wan’er.” His voice was hoarse as he called her name, gripping her hand tightly, his gaze locked on her with a turmoil of longing and restraint.
He held on so tightly, as if she would vanish the moment he let goâand yet, at the very edge of that tension, he eased the pressure slightly, afraid of hurting her.
Zhao Wan’s heart quivered at its tip. She didn’t pull her hand back; instead, she placed her other hand over the back of their clasped hands.
Qin Hu’s breath caught. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, only the deep, fathomless undercurrent remained.
He loosened his iron grip and changed to a gentle hold, his thumb slowly stroking the back of her hand.
“It’s cold at night,” he finally said. “Go back to the carriage.”
Zhao Wan nodded and withdrew her hand. The moment her fingertips left his palm, she felt a faint emptiness.
She rose, took two steps, then turned back. Qin Hu was watching her, the firelight dancing in his eyes, leaving only a deep, gentle warmth.
“You⌔ Zhao Wan bit her lip. “Don’t stay up too long either.”
Qin Hu inclined his head.
Zhao Wan turned and walked back to the side hall. After she lay down, the warmth of his palm still lingered on hers; the spot on the back of her hand where he had stroked it still seemed to retain the rough texture of his touch.
She lay in the darkness with her eyes open, listening to the crackling of the fire outside the temple, and the flame in her heart refused to die down for a long, long time.
