Zhang San's expression changed. He tossed the others aside, drew his blade, and dashed out.
Li Si followed close behind, unwilling to fall even a single step behind him.
The children instantly fell into panic, shrinking into a tight cluster. Minnow pulled the smallest child close. His gaze softened, the way one might soothe a frightened bird.
Wei dropped heavily onto the ground. Exhaustion weighed on him so completely that he barely cared who had arrived outside.
He looked at Minnow and wrote slowly on the dirt:
Why haven't you run?
Minnow's voice was cool, his composure visibly steadier now.
"Where would we run? There are corpses everywhere outside."
When Wei stared blankly, Minnow guessed he could not hear. So he crouched and wrote instead:
"They're too afraid to go down the mountain. They tremble all night. I had no choice but to teach them their lessons. At least it keeps the fear away."
Minnow's gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the dark mouth of the cave as he listened for any sound. Yet he soon glanced back, seeing the children clutching the hem of his clothes, their eyes still full of fear.
After a brief hesitation, he sighed—like someone who had made a quiet decision—and returned to sit among them.
Wei watched him for a moment, then slowly wrote on the ground:
Those killers were Yuan warriors… disguised… murdering… slaughtering villages… I don't know why.
The handwriting came in fragments. Each word forced him to pause, his finger trembling slightly across the sand, as if he were not writing simple characters but reopening old wounds buried in his chest.
Minnow crouched beside him, reading the words in silence. He did not question him. He did not offer comfort. He simply handed Wei a dry twig.
Then, beside the jagged lines Wei had scratched into the sand, he carefully wrote four neat characters:
"You are brave."
The strokes were delicate and clear.
Wei froze, staring at the words.
The fire crackled suddenly, a flame leaping high before settling again.
For a long time.
The firelight flickered in his pupils, but he saw none of it. Instead he saw another blaze—higher, fiercer.
Warhorses thundered through the courtyard gate, splintering wood beneath iron hooves. Black-clad raiders burst from clouds of dust, their blades flashing cold in the night. Someone shouted. Someone cried. Someone fell. Someone never rose again.
His father's tall figure stood before the doorway, unmoving. In the firelight that shadow stretched long—like a wall. Like a wall destined, sooner or later, to collapse.
Traps carefully laid through the forest.
On the cliffside, Chun turning away, wind lifting the edge of his robe before he vanished into the mist. Wei had not called out. He hadn't even known how.
The memories surged one after another, wave upon wave, squeezing the air from his chest.
Suddenly he raised his hand and slammed his fist down onto the words You are brave.
The characters shattered beneath his hand, ground apart until they blurred into meaningless streaks.
Sand forced its way between his fingers, scraping against his skin. His palm quickly reddened, the sting sharp.
Still he did not stop.
Not until the words were gone entirely, revealing the hard earth beneath.
Wei opened his hand. Blood smeared across his palm, mixed with sand and dust.
Minnow blinked in surprise, then quickly tore the cleanest strip he could find from his clothes and wrapped Wei's hand.
Wei picked up the twig again.
Without speaking, he continued writing.
"They're all dead."
He wrote the two words—and stopped.
The tip of the twig jabbed the same spot.
Once.
Again.
Small pits formed in the ground, grit scattering.
Suddenly he hurled the broken twig away.
Thunk.
It struck the wall and fell weakly to the floor.
Wei's shoulders were shaking.
Not violently.
But with the kind of tremor someone tries desperately to suppress.
Tears slid down his cheeks, slipping into the corner of his mouth. They tasted salty.
He wiped them away in a rush, as if he could erase the warmth with them. But the more he wiped, the more tears came, and his breathing grew ragged.
Minnow reached out and caught his wrist. His grip was not strong—but it was steady.
Lowering his head, he wrote two characters in the sand:
"Alive."
The strokes were slow and deliberate.
Wei saw them.
His throat moved.
Then he let out a quiet laugh—thin, strained, like gravel forced through his throat.
Lowering his head, he wrote heavily beside the word.
"Alone?"
The pressure was so strong his fingers dug through the sand into damp earth beneath, darker in color.
When he finished, he stared at the word.
Stared as if trying to tear it apart with his eyes.
He was not afraid of dying.
He was afraid—
of being the only one left alive.
The fire flickered though no wind touched it. Shadows leapt wildly along the cave walls. His chest felt tight, the air refusing to come.
Minnow said nothing. He simply placed a hand on Wei's back.
Very lightly.
Wei stared at the words on the ground: Alive. Alone.
Suddenly he lunged forward as if he had lost control, scrubbing at the sand with both hands. Sand flew everywhere, mud packed beneath his nails. He staggered to his feet and began stomping, grinding the words beneath his heels until the patch of sand was completely ruined.
But his legs grew weaker and weaker.
His steps slowed.
Finally he collapsed to his knees over the destroyed words, his shoulders slumping as quiet sobs escaped him.
Not loud wailing.
Just muffled, broken sounds, as if he were afraid of disturbing something.
Minnow bent down and gently guided Wei's head against his shoulder. He took Wei's hand, and a faint warmth spread between their palms.
Wei stiffened.
As though he had never grown used to such touch.
His fingers clenched suddenly, grains of sand pressing into his palm, the pain sharp and real.
Then a faint scent drifted into his nose—something like the soft fragrance of purple lilacs blooming back in his hometown.
The tightness in his muscles slowly eased.
His eyelids grew heavier.
His breathing steadied, inch by inch retreating from the brink of collapse.
The children in the cave did not dare approach. Frightened, they retreated a few steps and pressed against the stone wall, wide-eyed as they watched him.
Only the delicate-looking little girl did not step back.
She hesitated, then slowly walked forward. Stretching out her small hand, she gently placed it over Minnow's.
Beneath Minnow's hand was Wei's.
Three hands, stacked together.
The firelight swayed.
The wind murmured far away.