Having lost an entire night in Guangli, I insisted on traveling quickly to reach the Wen-Sian border. We slept little, and I even allowed Ren to pull on his hood so that we could make some progress during the day.
During those instances, I stuck close to the forest and kept a careful lookout for Wen soldiers. Ever since I’d run into the woman in Xiuxi, I’d felt like a fox being hunted. I didn’t miss the horrors of Jing Mansion, but I was more confident dealing with the dead than with members of the Wen military.
I needed to get us back to Sian before anyone realized who Ren was.
As we neared the village of Yueguan, we were forced to slow down. We’d journeyed all night, the sky barely blue against the approaching sunrise. There was still enough darkness for us to reach the checkpoint and cross the Xinzhong River to Sian.
But we were only a few miles away when Ren suddenly stumbled, his hand catching my shoulder at the last second.
I halted, grabbing his arm to steady him. My voice came out half a pitch higher than intended. “Ren? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I just feel a little faint. Can we rest for a moment?”
Torn between impatience and concern, I glanced at the road before us. Off to left, in the distance, the village of Yueguan hugged the base of Mount Yue, its houses merging with the forest that swathed the mountainside.
If we stopped now, the sun would be up by the time we approached the checkpoint. The guards would certainly question a ganshi priestess guiding the dead in daylight. Which meant that if we were to rest here, we’d have to hide until nightfall—losing more time as a result.
But Ren looked truly exhausted, even with his eyes shielded behind the Fu talisman. His complexion was unnervingly pale, his smile more strained than usual. I realized, somewhat ashamedly, that I’d pushed him too hard.
“All right,” I said, looping my arm around his waist and nudging him toward the safety of the trees. “You can sleep for a few hours, but first you must drink some ginseng tea.”
Ren curled his lip. “Must it be ginseng?”
“It’s good for strengthening qi,” I said. “You need it.”
“But it won’t be enough to warm the mala beads. I need human qi for that.”
“It’ll still be good for you. Now stop complaining and do as I say.”
We found a thick-rooted tree to settle under, protected from overbearing sunlight and unwanted human eyes. After boiling tea with the ginseng I’d previously bought, I made sure Ren finished both cups that I poured. I smirked faintly at his disgust, but he made no further comment.
“What’s that smell?” he asked, sniffing the air as he lowered his empty cup.
I lifted my nose, catching a whiff of sulfur.
“Mount Yue is known for its hot springs,” I said, remembering a visit I’d made with my family many years ago, before Wen declared independence. “Yueguan relies on the tourists who come to bathe in the springs, which are said to extend one’s youth.”
“Is that so?” said Ren. “Should we test that claim? I wouldn’t mind prolonged youth.”
I swatted his knee, then took the cup from him. “We don’t have time for such things. We’ve stopped only for you to get some rest. Now lie down and sleep before you fall face-first into the campfire.”
He laughed but readily obeyed, too tired to argue. The sound made me smile. At least he still had the strength to be merry.
Once Ren was wrapped in his cloak, having fallen easily into a deep sleep, I stamped out the fire and started for the village of Yueguan. It was risky to leave Ren on his own, but we were out of food, and he’d need it to maintain his strength. At least until we found another spirit to purify.
I used my staff as a walking stick as I navigated the rough mountain terrain to reach the village gate. Dawn flung rosy hues over the horizon, the sky lightening with my steps.
The scent of sulfur tickled my nose, growing stronger the closer I drew to the settlement. Warm humidity encased me, quite a contrast to the autumn chill that I’d grown accustomed to.
Through the trees, I caught flashes of the terraced pools cascading down the face of Mount Yue. White earth rimmedthe smooth green water, a balmy film of mist floating through the forest. The pools reached as far as the edge of the village, making it easier for the residents to construct restaurants and inns around the springs, which in turn allowed convenient access for guests. Before, visitors from Sian traveled in caravans to relax in Yueguan. Now the only tourists were Wen’s own citizens.
I ignored the temptation of a hot bath and entered the village proper to find the nearest establishment selling travel supplies. I purchased more easy-to-carry foods, like dried meats and fruits, and a small sack of potatoes.
On my way out of the village, however, I noticed a stall selling steamed snacks. The smell of sweet pork buns and lotus leaf–wrapped sticky rice wafted from the stacks of bamboo baskets. I thought of Ren, who’d been sharing my pots of congee for the past week, never once critiquing the food. Surely, having been raised in the palace, he would’ve preferred more flavorful meals.
Street food wasn’t nearly the same as roasted duck dressed in plum sauce and vegetables laid out like jewels on porcelain plates, but it satisfied both stomach and heart in its own way.
After the week we’d had—and all he’d done for me—Ren deserved something pleasant.
