Lu Zhao slept deeply until the intense afternoon sunlight streamed through the narrow observation window, casting dazzling patches of light across the dusty floor. Only then did he jolt awake.
His first instinct was to reach out and touch Gu Xun's forehead.
His touch met coolness. That scorching fever had finally broken.
Lu Zhao exhaled a long, silent sigh of relief. The weight that had hung heavy on his heart throughout the journey finally settled back into place. Only then did he feel the aching soreness in every muscle, as if they'd been dismantled and reassembled. His right arm, overtaxed from excessive use of his ability, was particularly stiff—lifting it felt like a struggle.
Gu Xun still slept, his breath steady and deep, a faint flush returning to his cheeks. Lu Zhao didn't disturb him. He rose quietly, checked the makeshift barrier at the doorway constructed from bed slats, then went to inspect the water storage tank. The bottle was already full. He screwed the cap tight and set it aside, then retrieved a dusty but still functional military canteen from the sentry post. After washing it clean, he placed it beneath the spout to collect water.
After finishing these tasks, hunger pangs struck again. He recalled the bitter roots he'd dug up yesterday, and his stomach churned in protest. He walked to the observation window and peered out cautiously. The sentry post sat on a hillside with decent visibility, overlooking a relatively gentle valley below, thick with dense shrubs and weeds.
Perhaps... he could venture farther afield to see if he could find more food, or... signs of small animals. Relying solely on those roots was not a sustainable solution.
He glanced back at the sleeping Gu Xun, hesitating. Leaving Gu Xun alone carried risks, but finding more supplies was equally urgent.
Ultimately, he decided to venture out, though not too far. He left the steel pipe within Gu Xun's reach and found an old piece of rebar inside the outpost, one end sharpened to serve as a makeshift weapon.
Before leaving, he double-checked that Gu Xun remained stable, then reinforced the door barrier. Only then did he slip silently out of the sentry post and blend into the underbrush below the hillside.
This time, luck seemed to favor him. Not only did he find more edible tubers and several types of wild berries, but he also discovered fresh, rabbit-like tracks beside a nearly dried-up stream. He attempted long-range attacks with wind blades, but the difficulty of hitting a moving target far exceeded his expectations. Several failed attempts only scared away potential prey, leaving him empty-handed.
By the time he returned to the outpost with his gathered plants, the sun had begun to sink in the west.
As he pushed open the door, he saw Gu Xun had already woken up. She was propped up against the bed frame, holding that military canteen and sipping water in small mouthfuls. Hearing the sound, she lifted her head, her gaze meeting Lu Zhao's.
"You went out," Gu Xun said calmly, his tone neutral, neither approval nor disapproval discernible.
"Mhm." Lu Zhao responded with a hint of unease, setting the wild fruits and tubers he'd gathered in the hem of his jacket onto the table. "Found some food."
Gu Xun's gaze swept over the food before settling back on Lu Zhao, lingering for a few seconds. New scratches marred Lu Zhao's face and hands, and his clothes were stained with dirt and grass clippings, making him look rather bedraggled.
"Thanks," Gu Xun murmured softly.
Those two words made Lu Zhao pause in his movements. He lowered his head and began fussing with the wild fruits, muttering, "It's nothing. Can't let us starve to death."
They shared the food they'd found. The wild berries were tart and astringent, but far more palatable than the bare roots and stems alone. Silence spread through the small sentry post, yet it no longer felt as cold and rigid as before.
After eating, Gu Xun seemed to regain some energy. He looked at Lu Zhao and said, "My ability recovers my own energy very slowly. It mainly purifies external anomalies and heals external injuries. This time, I overexerted myself... It will take time."
Lu Zhao nodded in understanding. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "So... what do we do next? Stay here until you recover?"
"We can't stay too long," Gu Xun shook his head. "Though it's temporarily safe here, supplies are limited. And those drones... I can't shake this uneasy feeling." He paused, looking at Lu Zhao. "How far can your wind sense?"
"About... within a hundred meters it's clear, but beyond that it gets fuzzy and drains my energy."
"That's sufficient," Gu Xun mused. "Tomorrow, we'll rest one more day. The day after tomorrow, at dawn, we depart. You handle reconnaissance and scouting. We'll avoid open terrain and stick to the edges of the hills as much as possible."
His tone had returned to its usual calm, methodical style, which inexplicably reassured Lu Zhao. It felt as though as long as Gu Xun could still think and make decisions, there would always be a way forward.
"Understood," Lu Zhao replied.
Night fell once more, and the sentry post felt considerably warmer than the previous evening. The two men lay on separate plank beds, several paces apart.
Lu Zhao stared at the indistinct shadows on the ceiling before murmuring, "Back then... at the hardware store. Thank you."
He was referring to the moment Gu Xun had stepped in front of him and told Jiang Jin, "If you want to lay a hand on him, you'll have to kill me first."
In the darkness, Gu Xun fell silent for a moment before responding softly, "You came back too."
He meant that Lu Zhao hadn't abandoned him to leave alone, but had chosen to walk with him instead.
After the brief exchange, silence settled over the sentry post once more.
Lu Zhao rolled over, turning his back toward Gu Xun. He realized he seemed to have grown accustomed to the faint, steady rhythm of another person's breath in the air. That instinctive repulsion born of excessive closeness between men was quietly fading, blurred by shared life-and-death experiences, mutual vulnerability, and this silent companionship.
It hadn't vanished, merely been overlaid by something more complex and genuine—responsibility, dependence, trust, and perhaps even a hint of fledgling-like attachment he hadn't yet acknowledged.
Within this abandoned sentry post, something was silently breaking through the soil and taking root.