DBTC 10

Chapter – 10

The Inn

Qin Hu and Qin Chuan did not delay. After replenishing their water supplies, the two of them silently turned toward a crude blacksmith’s shop at the end of an alley, where a faint glimmer of light still burned.

The shop door was ajar, and from within came the sporadic, feeble sound of hammering—*ding*… *dang*…

The forge fire glowed a dull red, illuminating a stooped old blacksmith. His movements in raising and lowering the hammer were slow but stubborn.

Qin Hu pushed the door open. “Do you have any good weapons?” he asked in a low, measured voice.

The old blacksmith lifted his cloudy eyes and let his gaze rest on Qin Hu for a moment—taking in his broad shoulders and steady gait—then swept past him to the upright, youthful figure of Qin Chuan behind.

“Guest, there’s no fine ironware to be had. The officials keep a tight rein. Even raw iron is hard to come by.”

Qin Hu’s gaze fell on a half-wrapped, oilcloth-covered shape amid a pile of junk in the corner. “Let me see the arrows.”

The old blacksmith shuffled over, nudging aside the debris with his worn straw sandals to reveal several bundles of dusty arrowheads. The shafts were rough, the fletching残缺 and ragged.

“This is all that’s left,” he said. “Ordered by hunters from the northern mountains a while back—they never came to pick them up. Been sitting a long time. Accuracy’s a bit off, but the punch is still there.”

Qin Hu crouched down, pulled out one arrow, and ran his thumb over the arrowhead—the raw iron was coarse, but the edge remained, giving off a faint bluish gleam. He narrowed his eyes, checked the shaft for warping, and pinched the remaining fletching between his fingers.

He didn’t say much. He took out copper coins from his chest and placed them on the scrap iron anvil. The old blacksmith lifted his eyelids slightly but made no sound.

Qin Hu gathered the arrows, wrapped them in old leather, and had Qin Chuan tie the bundle securely to the outside of his pack with hemp rope.

Leaving the blacksmith’s shop, Qin Hu changed direction and headed toward the desolate street in the center of town. During the day, there would have been vendors here; now only broken pottery shards remained, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

At the mouth of the alley, the little tea house still had a bean-sized oil lamp burning, its flame dancing against the greasy, grimy paper window. They didn’t go in, merely walked past at a slow pace. Through the gap in the open door, fragments of lowered but anxious conversation leaked out:

“…Chang County… been surrounded for days, completely sealed off… outside the walls, a sea of people as far as the eye can see…”

“Grain prices have doubled again… and Luan County, not far from here, is probably in danger too—I’ve heard there are already routed soldiers drifting that way…”

Luan County!

Qin Hu’s pace didn’t falter, but in that instant, his normally calm eyes sharpened like blades. Beside him, Qin Chuan’s breath caught, and the knuckles of his bow-hand turned white.

The two melted into the darkness without a word, heading back toward the inn.

Once they’d turned into a dark alley, Qin Chuan lowered his voice: “Brother, Chang County is under siege—Luan County might also be…” Luan County was a crucial stop on their route south.

Qin Hu’s stride remained steady: “There’s only one road. Worrying is useless.” He paused, then glanced sideways at his younger brother. “Once an arrow is nocked, it has to be loosed. Hesitation is the path to death.”

Back at the inn, the mules and horses in the stable chewed their night fodder quietly. Qin Hu went to see Zhao Mingyuan and Han Zhen. The five gathered in the cramped guest room, the oil lamp no bigger than a bean.

Qin Hu relayed the news about Chang County and Luan County. Zhao Mingyuan’s hand trembled slightly, but in the end, he only let out a sigh. Han Zhen sat straight-backed, his gaze heavy and resolute; he gave a firm nod. “Understood. Between the third and fourth watch—we leave on time.”

Outside the east room door, Qin Hu paused to listen—only the faintest rustling came from within. He pushed the door open and entered.

Zhao Wan had just bathed. The room was thick with steam and the faint scent of soap. She had changed into plain white sleeping clothes, which made the skin of her neck look warm and luminous.

Her long hair hung damp and loose over her shoulders, droplets of water tracing down the line of her shoulder and disappearing into her collar. Her cheeks were flushed from the steam, glowing softly in the lamplight.

She was turned slightly toward the bronze mirror, running a half-worn peach-wood comb through her long hair. Hearing the door, she turned around; her eyes still carried the mist of the bathwater, their light softly rippling.

Qin Hu closed the door behind him and slid the bolt home. He walked over and stood behind her, taking the comb from her hand. His rough fingertips accidentally brushed the nape of her neck, making her shiver slightly.

He didn’t speak. With one hand gathering her damp hair and the other holding the comb, he drew it from top to bottom. When he reached a tangle near the ends, he eased his pressure and worked the knot free with his fingertips. She tilted her head slightly, the tips of her ears flushing pink.

The night grew thick. Zhao Wan lay down, her black hair spread across the pillow. Qin Hu blew out the lamp.

He pulled her into his arms. Pressed against his chest, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Did you hear any news in town today?” Zhao Wan asked softly.

Qin Hu was silent for a moment. “Chang County is surrounded. Luan County, not far from there, is likely in trouble too—I heard there are already routed soldiers drifting in that direction.”

Her body tensed slightly in his arms. His hold tightened. “We have to leave immediately. Tomorrow at the turn of the third and fourth watch—we depart at first light, to get out of the city as early as possible.”

Zhao Wan was quiet for a while, then pressed herself closer to his chest. “Mm.” She paused, her voice growing even softer. “It’s just… this whole journey, you’ll all have to work even harder. With my looks… I always draw too much attention…”

Before she could finish, his kiss came down on her. He cupped the back of her neck, caught her wrist. There was no roundabout in the entanglement of their lips and tongues—only a searing, heated affirmation.

He kissed her until her breathing was ragged, then pulled back slightly—but still close enough that their noses touched, their breaths mingling hotly.

He breathed heavily. “Nonsense,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You are my Qin Hu’s… lawfully wedded, *earnestly sought* wife.”

“Not a burden.” His thumb rubbed firmly over her slightly swollen lips. “You are my responsibility. And my longing.”

He kissed her again—denser, more solid.

It was a long time before he released her, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath still rough.

“From now on,” he said, his voice carrying the remnants of ragged breathing, “don’t ever say things like that again.”

Zhao Wan’s nose stung faintly. She didn’t speak. Instead, she looped her arms around his neck, drew herself closer, and offered her lips to him again.

A muffled groan escaped Qin Hu’s throat. He deepened the kiss, his broad palm tracing along her spine.

But—at the very last threshold—he forced himself to stop.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing heavily. Every muscle in his body was taut, trembling slightly. Sweat rolled from his temple and dripped onto the side of her neck.

It was a long while before he raised his head, his voice rasping: “…Sleep now. Replenish your strength.”

The night deepened. He still held her tightly, his arms steady and strong, alert to every stirring of wind and shadow beyond the window.