The signal led them east, away from the broken granary and deeper into the forested ridges outside Changning. The path narrowed with every step, forcing them single file through thickets of thorn and mist-covered stones.
Baoqin walked in the middle, sandwiched between Wenyan and Lianfang. She didn't complain, though her feet dragged and her cloak caught on every branch.
Wenyan kept his hand near the hilt of his blade. "If this is a trap, we won't have space to fight."
Lianfang scanned the woods. "It's not a trap. It's a test."
"Of what?"
She looked ahead. "Whether we're worth helping."
Just before dawn, they reached a ruined shrine carved into the cliffside. Its paint had long faded, but the stone guardian lions still held their poses—fierce and watchful.
A figure waited near the entrance, shrouded in gray robes, face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat.
He didn't speak. Simply turned and entered the shrine.
Wenyan exchanged a glance with Lianfang, then followed.
The inside smelled of incense and dust. A fire smoldered in a shallow pit, casting a golden glow on the man's face. His eyes were sharp, but not cruel. Older than Wenyan, younger than Shen Liang. Dangerous in a quiet way.
"You're late," the man said.
"We weren't sure you were real," Wenyan replied.
"Most valuable things aren't."
He motioned for them to sit.
"You carry a child," the man said, studying Baoqin. "Why?"
"Because we're human," Lianfang answered evenly.
He nodded once. "A foolish reason. But a noble one."
He introduced himself only as Qi. No surname, no title.
"I manage safe crossings," he said. "For those who need to disappear."
"Are you part of Shen Liang's network?" Wenyan asked.
"Not exactly. But I owe him. And he speaks well of you."
Qi threw a scroll onto the floor between them. Wenyan picked it up. Inside, a detailed map—paths marked in red ink, coded symbols near guard stations, and a small emblem beside one forest trail: two open hands, palm to palm.
"The emblem means sanctuary," Qi said. "But only if shown at night, to the right person. Do you understand?"
Wenyan nodded. "We do."
Qi's gaze sharpened. "Then I must ask: who is she to you?"
He was looking at Lianfang.
Wenyan paused. "She was once Xiang Lianfang."
Qi sat back. "Then you're both either fools… or flames."
"Does it matter which?" she asked quietly.
He smiled. "Only to the wind."
They spent the day in the shrine's back chamber. Qi prepared rice and bitter tea while Baoqin explored the stone etchings with curious fingers.
Lianfang knelt by a small relief of the moon goddess, pressing her hand against the carved face.
"She was always my favorite," she whispered.
Wenyan knelt beside her. "Why?"
"She's alone. But still radiant."
That night, as Baoqin slept and Qi cleaned his blade by the fire, he spoke again.
"You understand this is a one-time offer. I give you this path, you vanish. No returns. No second rescues."
Wenyan answered, "We don't intend to be found again."
Qi looked at Lianfang. "Your brother is close. You've stirred something dangerous in him. Not revenge. Shame."
"I know," she said.
"If he catches you, it won't be a trial. It'll be a warning to every daughter in the empire."
"I know that, too."
Qi nodded slowly. "Then we are understood."
He turned to Wenyan. "Dawn. You'll take the lower pass, cross the river where the rocks form twin spirals. From there, follow the path of ash trees. At the third grove, wait until moonrise."
"What happens then?"
"You'll see."
In the last hour before light, Lianfang stood by the edge of the cliff, watching the stars disappear one by one.
Wenyan joined her, cloak drawn tight against the cold.
"Do you believe him?" she asked.
"I believe in his self-interest. That's close enough."
She didn't laugh. Just leaned her head against his shoulder.
"What are we running toward, Wenyan?"
He thought for a long time before answering.
"A place where you can sleep without flinching."
Lianfang closed her eyes. "Then I'll keep walking."
And when the first bird called from the valley below, they turned toward the east—and stepped into another unknown.