44: The Journey

The mountains rose and fell, their slopes now barren, with trees stripped bare. A meandering path, choked with wild grass, threaded through fields cracked wide enough to fit a finger, the soil parched and broken. Dry weeds bristled along the way, and here and there, the gleam of bleached bones caught the eye.

Yi Fan glanced at the sun dipping westward, wiped the sweat from his brow, and tossed his water flask to Yan Gui, who trudged listlessly behind, his limbs limp with exhaustion.

“There should be a village not far ahead. Just hold on a bit longer.”

Nearly a year had passed since he’d left Hangzhou. He and Zhuge Liuyun had disembarked from their boat midway, parting ways soon after. Yi Fan wandered with Yan Gui, while Zhuge Liuyun set out in search of Yan Chixia, likely bound for Jiangxi.

Over the past year, Yi Fan had roamed the provinces of Jiangsu and Zhejiang, witnessed famous rivers and mountains, explored the peaks of Anhui, met many people, and experienced much. Then, three months ago, the emperor died, and overnight, the world seemed to turn upside down. Chaos broke out across the land—war, bandits, and disorder everywhere.

Yi Fan realized he’d been away from home for too long. It was time to return. Heading south, he neared the borders of Guobei County, less than three hundred li away, only to find the region suffering a devastating drought. With the authorities indifferent and the common folk destitute, hope was scarce.

As dusk drew near, Yi Fan dusted himself off and urged Yan Gui forward.

After several more li, they spotted a village in the distance. On closer inspection, it was a place of utter desolation—ruined houses sagging, wild grass taller than a man, and a well at the entrance dried to the last drop.

They searched several homes but found not a soul. The rice jars were spotless, save for the skeletal remains of dead rats. Clearly, this village had been abandoned for some time.

Selecting a house that was still mostly intact, Yi Fan pushed open the door, only to be assailed by a foul stench. He held his breath, flicked his sleeve, and summoned a gust to clear the air. Inside, two skeletons lay—judging by their forms, a mother and child. Whether they had starved or died of thirst, he could not tell.

Yi Fan let out a sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, he closed the door and searched the remaining houses. Not far off, he found another skeleton, this one hanging from a beam—a man, likely the husband and father, who had hanged himself. Thus, calamity and disaster had wiped out the family line.

“Well, fate has brought us together. I’ll spend the night in your house, and in return, I’ll lay your bones to rest.”

He found a torn piece of cloth, gathered the family’s remains, and buried them together in a pit in the center of the house, leaving no marker. “Nameless in life and unmarked in death—may dust return to dust, earth to earth. I hope you’ll be reborn in a more peaceful age.”

By now, night had fallen. Yi Fan recited a prayer for the dead, then sent Yan Gui to fetch wood. They built a small fire, and Yi Fan took out some dry rations.

He shook his water flask—half full still. He drank, then tossed it to Yan Gui. “Don’t drink too much. We may not find water tomorrow.”

Yan Gui accepted the flask, shook his head, and set it aside, slumping against the wall to stare blankly outside, lost in thought.

Yi Fan paid him no mind, eating his cold rations alone. He saved half for tomorrow, tucking it away in his bundle. Out here, far from any village or inn, who knew how long it would be until they found signs of life again? If they ran out of food and water, he wouldn’t starve, but it would be a miserable journey.

As for wild animals? With springs dried up and the trees dead, even the beasts that survived were little more than skin and bones, and to hunt them would mean venturing deeper into the mountains—hardly worth the effort.

This drought had claimed countless lives.

The moon climbed high, and the night grew cold. Suddenly, Yi Fan opened his eyes, gazing outside. Yan Gui had already sprung up, his eyes glowing green with excitement, fixed on the door.

A mournful wail rose, echoing through the village, soon joined by others in a chilling chorus.

“Dead and still unwilling to let go of the mortal world? Even as vengeful spirits, there’s no one left here for you to haunt.”

Yi Fan muttered, nudging Yan Gui. “They’re yours. Fill your belly.”

At once, Yan Gui leaped out over the wall. Soon, shrill cries pierced the night, then silence once more fell over the village.

Before long, Yan Gui returned, grinning and patting his stomach, then settled back in his spot and howled at Yi Fan.

Yi Fan nodded. “All right, now that you’re fed, get some sleep. We still have a long way to go tomorrow.”

…

Five days later, Yi Fan finally found the main road. There, the boundary stone for Guobei County lay toppled, tangled in weeds—so overgrown he nearly missed it.

In just a year, bustling Guobei County had fallen into utter ruin. Yi Fan could only sigh.

Still, he was finally within the county’s borders. He exhaled, told Yan Gui to pick up the pace, hoping to reach the county seat by nightfall.

Wind and dust swept down the abandoned road. Before long, the sound of hurried footsteps approached from behind, and a man in traveler's garb, clutching a staff, ran past, his face twisted in panic. He didn’t pause at the sight of Yi Fan, but sped on.

Soon, the road filled with shouting. More than a dozen ruffians came chasing, each one fierce and wild-eyed. Their leader pointed a blade at Yi Fan. “Hey, Daoist, did you see anyone run past?”

“I saw no one.”

“Really?” The thug grinned wickedly, eyeing Yan Gui in his bamboo hat. “I hate liars the most, Daoist.”

“Boys, chop him up.”

The gang laughed, drawing their weapons, their eyes gleaming with malice, as if Yi Fan were nothing but livestock awaiting slaughter.

Yi Fan snorted coldly. With a flick of his sleeve and a single step, he was suddenly beside the leader. He seized the blade and squeezed—there was a sharp crack, and the weapon shattered.

The thug froze, swallowed hard, and glanced nervously at Yi Fan’s hand. “D-Daoist, I was just joking. Don’t take it seriously.”

“Get lost.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” The man nodded frantically, backed away, and kicked his companions. “You heard him. He said get lost! What are you waiting for, an invitation to dinner?”

With that, he led the retreat. The others exchanged wary glances, shot fearful looks at Yi Fan, and hurried after him.

Yi Fan’s face remained expressionless. Over the past year, he’d seen more than enough of their kind—and killed more than a few. By now, he could hardly be bothered. There were simply too many.

In these troubled times, human life was worth less than weeds.

Once the bandits had fled out of sight, he moved on, rounding a bend in the hills, where he found a corpse lying by the roadside—the same man who had run past earlier.

Yi Fan gave the body a brief glance, then continued on his way. After more than two hours, at last, the outline of Guobei County came into view in the distance.