The days that followed brought a routine of relentless hardship. They set out at first light and sought shelter after sunset. The undulating hills demanded relentless effort—climbing steep slopes one moment, navigating thorn-filled valleys the next. The physical toll was immense, and food remained a constant, looming threat.
Those bitter roots and sour wild berries caused nausea when eaten in excess and offered limited sustenance. Lu Zhao attempted hunting several times, but lacking tools and experience, his gains were meager—at best, a sluggish mutant field mouse. The taste of its meat was indescribable, yet they shared it to survive.
Through this ordeal, a silent understanding blossomed between them.
Without words, Lu Zhao naturally took the lead, keeping his wind perception at its peak. When his face turned pale from sustaining his ability too long, Gu Xun would seamlessly take over the guiding role, choosing gentler paths to let him catch his breath.
When scouting campsites, Lu Zhaohui would proactively gather firewood and survey the surroundings, while Gu Xun would employ his seemingly unremarkable wilderness knowledge to identify edible fungi (after repeated confirmation of non-toxicity) or locate potential water sources.
Once, while scaling a slippery rock face, Lu Zhao's foot slipped, nearly sending him tumbling down. In that split second of imbalance, a cool yet steady hand seized his wrist. Gu Xun's grip wasn't overwhelmingly strong, but the unwavering support instantly calmed Lu Zhao's panicked heart. He steadied himself, turned to meet Gu Xun's calm gaze, and the "thank you" that had formed on his lips remained unsaid. Instead, he simply nodded. Gu Xun released his hand, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world.
Another time, Gu Xun had accidentally eaten a wild fruit that appeared harmless but carried a mild paralytic effect, causing his arm to go temporarily numb. Lu Zhao noticed but said nothing. Throughout the day, he stayed close, almost never leaving Gu Xun's side. Whenever they needed to climb or cross an obstacle, Lu Zhao would extend his hand in advance or silently support Gu Xun's waist. At first, Gu Xun seemed inclined to refuse, but seeing Lu Zhao's stubborn, focused profile, he eventually accepted this silent protection.
By nightfall, when they found shelter and lit a small campfire, the one-step "safety distance" between them dissolved unnoticed. They naturally sat on the same side of the flames, sharing its faint warmth, their shoulders occasionally brushing lightly against each other in exhaustion.
At first, such contact still caused Lu Zhao's body to stiffen momentarily. Yet that lingering awkwardness, born of stereotypical perceptions, quickly melted away in the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of the person beside him. He grew accustomed to the air's mingled scents—the ash of burnt grass, the dust, and that crisp, clean fragrance emanating from Gu Xun.
He even began noticing details: Gu Xun's unconscious habit of tapping his knee with fingertips when deep in thought; the subtle movement of his Adam's apple when he drank water; the occasional slight furrow of his brow in sleep, as if still resisting some lingering pain.
These observations were silent, fragmented, yet like water wearing away stone, they quietly altered something.
Lu Zhao no longer dwelled on the concept of "homophobia." The vague fear and rejection embodied by that word seemed so pale and hollow in the face of the real, tangible Gu Xun—in the face of their repeated life-and-death bonds and days of mutual support. It hadn't been replaced by some fervent emotion, but rather overlaid by something more solid—trust.
He trusted Gu Xun's judgment, trusted that Gu Xun would shield him in danger, and trusted that Gu Xun would never harm him.
That evening, they luckily found a shallow mountain stream with clear water. The two finally had the chance to thoroughly wash away the grime accumulated over many days. As Lu Zhao slipped off his sweat-stained, grimy shirt, revealing the youth's slightly thin yet well-defined torso, he noticed Gu Xun's gaze linger briefly on a fresh, bloody gash on his back, torn by thorns.
"It's nothing, just a small scratch," Lu Zhao said instinctively, his tone casual.
Gu Xun said nothing, merely stepping closer. A faint, almost imperceptible white light glowed from his fingertips as he gently brushed the wound. A wave of cool, soothing sensation washed over the area, instantly easing the burning sting by more than half.
"Thanks," Lu Zhao acknowledged plainly this time.
Gu Xun withdrew his hand, uttering a faint "Mhm" before turning to clean himself up.
Lu Zhao watched his retreating figure, raising a hand to touch the nearly healed faint scar. Some final tension within him seemed to relax completely.
Night fell. By the new campfire. Lu Zhao handed Gu Xun the last piece of roasted tuber, one that tasted somewhat normal, while he himself gnawed on the more bitter variety.
"We're almost there," Gu Xun said suddenly, taking the food and gazing into the heavy night sky to the northwest.
Lu Zhao followed his gaze. Beyond the silhouettes of heavy mountain ranges lay the location marked as "Hope" on the map.
"Mm," he replied, his voice devoid of excitement or fear, only the calmness born of enduring the journey. "We're almost there."
Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. This realization now felt as natural as breathing, as certain as the path beneath their feet.