Lord Yue fought the air until his arms went entirely numb. The scales on his hands began to tear, leaking pale yellow lesions. Each breath he took felt like a dagger driving directly into his ribs. Despite the pain, he refused to stop swinging the wooden branch in his hands.
Even as the sun rose on the horizon, he kept pushing. With every strand of morning light that touched the earth, the rot weakened his body, draining his energy and hollowing his soul. His eyes begged him to close and rest.
His stubborn defiance against his own body caused a bead of blood to drip from his nostrils, staining his pristine white clothes. His eyes grew bloodshot, and the fingers gripping the branch began to tremble violently.
Unable to stand a second longer, his knees buckled. Lord Yue stumbled, slamming the wood deep into the mud to anchor himself. His desperation broke only when the horse tied to the nearby tree let out a low, anxious neigh.
He chuckled. "Worried about me?" he asked with a gentle smile amidst the pain.
Fighting against his drooping eyelids, he managed to drag himself to his feet. If he collapsed here, Yase would have to carry him back to the carriage, and he refused to become a heavier burden than he already was.
Throwing the wood aside, he limped back to the carriage.
He noticed the gravekeeper was still asleep against the tree. The fire had long been snuffed out by the cold wind, leaving only scattered ashes behind. Lord Yue wiped the traces of blood away with the back of his sleeve, and with every remaining ounce of willpower, he pulled himself inside the carriage.
He settled himself within the narrow confines of the coffin. His pale hands reached for the edge of the lid to seal it, but before he could close it fully, his strength gave out. Darkness took hold, and Lord Yue slipped into deep unconsciousness.
When Yase finally woke up, the sun had fully claimed the sky, casting its golden warmth across the shrubs. He blinked, his eyes immediately searching for his lord for the first thing in morning. Upon noticing the ends of his lord's robe inside the carriage, he let out a low sigh. Pushing himself to his feet he walked straight to the horse and rubbed its scruff gently to ease the morning chill.
"Morning. Ready for the journey?"
He couldn't quite remember the exact moment sleep had taken him. The last clear memory he held was of the magnificent shadow executing flawless sword forms in the dead of night.
Picking up the discarded wine gourd from the ground, he wiped it clean and walked to the back of the carriage. He reached out to pull the curtain shut, but the moment his eyes fell upon the dark spots staining the wooden plank of the carriage floor, his whole body froze solid.
His heart thudded wildly inside his ribs. Every instinct told him to rip open the curtain and look inside the coffin, but he fiercely restrained himself.
Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, he tightly gathered the drapes and yanked them shut. Turning on his heel, he urgently ran to untie the horse, hitching it to the carriage before snapping the reins to begin the frantic journey toward Shilin.
Not even a single shichen had passed before Yase reached Shilin Town. The town was far from the capital, stripped of the prosperity found in other places within Yan State. Built around old quarries, its stone roads were uneven and dirty, worn down by years of neglect.
Overhead, the houses stood crooked, leaning against one another. Smoke rose weakly from a few chimneys, carrying the foul scent of cheap grain and damp firewood. There were no green fields to feed the town here. Hunger hollowed people faster than winter ever could.
Barely any honest trades remained in Shilin. Theft occurred as commonly as breathing. Sometimes silver, sometimes food, and sometimes…people. It did not matter whether they were alive or dead.
Along the narrow streets, cold eyes watched the passing carriage from behind half-open doors, their gazes sharp as starving dogs eyeing meat.
Yet Yase drove steadily through the winding paths as if he had memorized every alley and broken shrine within Shilin.
The urgent thud of the horse's hooves finally came to a halt before a small secluded house nestled in the heart of the town. Unlike the rotting hovels surrounding it, this house stood alone, enclosed by a makeshift fence woven from paddy straw and dried branches.
In the front yard, an old man crouched low, his wrinkled hands using a small shovel to cover fresh soil around a newly planted sprout before watering it carefully. Upon hearing the wheels, he dusted the dirt from his hands and stood up.
The dog tied to a nearby pole barked furiously at the intruder but stopped abruptly the moment it saw Yase descending from the carriage.
Yase leapt down from the coachman's seat and sprinted to the back, hoisting the heavy coffin onto his shoulder without flinching. The old man's brows furrowed, his sharp gaze instantly drifting toward the burden carried by the young man.
He parted his lips and uttered a few words that made Yase's grip on the coffin tremble slightly.
"You arrived late. The scent of death is heavy."