Then again, he’d asked and they’d chosen to come. And wasn’t that too part of the deal between friends? You came when they asked, or sometimes, when they didn’t. Because you trusted they’d do the same for you. Just like in the village. When a dike broke, when a fire started in a house, you didn’t stop to ask if they would help you when your time came. You acted—because weighing give and take, weighing the benefits and liabilities of aid would just see homes destroyed, animals killed, plants washed away.
And if you did more for one person than they did for you? If they died owing you a debt? Then perhaps that too was fated. The karmic balance would restore itself at some point. In the future, in this life or another, all debts balanced eventually. That was the promise of the Dao, of karma.
A cough from Bao Cong drew Wu Ying’s attention and he rode toward him, pulling out a mundane water bottle. He passed it to the man, letting him drink before Wu Ying took a swig as well. It was a pity he’d lost the Never-Ending Flask, but its sacrifice had given them a few minutes when they had needed to run. Precious time to set up the talismans. To pull away and hide.
As for the flask—it was just goods. And those, those could be repurchased.
If they survived.
***
Surprisingly, for all their concern, they made it through the day without issue. They rested for a few hours in the deep of the night, when it was too dark, too dangerous, to ride their horses on earth that might be littered with potholes or staffed by bandits. As usual, with the coming of war, chaos reigned. And while the army had kept bandits back for a time, now that it had gone, they’d creep back in between the coming of one army and the next. Raiding, stealing, and killing before they moved on like the locusts of civilization they were.
The cultivators rested for a few hours in the dark, taking turns sleeping and watching. Wu Ying volunteered to stay awake; his dantian had mostly refilled as they had rode, unlike his friends’. And so while his friends slept or cultivated, he watched over them. Until early morning light filtered in and it was time to go.
Hard tack, dried sausages, jerky, and compressed meal were stuffed into mouths as they rode, switching animals every few hours. Bao Cong looked better, as did most of the others. But that just meant a harder, longer ride today. Speed rather than stealth was their protection now.
For a week, the group rode at a hurried pace. Only twice did they run into additional cultivators. The first time, they’d managed to spot their enemies beforehand and lay low, hiding until the patrol rode off. The second time, they were forced to do battle. Luckily, they were scouts from the Wei army, individuals who were more intent on escaping with their knowledge than standing and fighting the group. After an exchange of blows and the death of one of the Six Jade Gates Sect members, the scouts had broken away. The brief battle saw the laming of a couple of horses, leaving Wu Ying’s group with insufficient spares for a proper rotation. As it was, the horses were tired, barely able to keep up the pace the group had set.
“I’ll run,” Wu Ying volunteered. He’d done it before. It was not pleasant, but he was stronger than he had been. And even if he grew tired, it was nothing that would stop them.
A moment later, Tou Hei jumped off as his horse as well. “You are not the only one who doesn’t fear a little hard work.” He laughed, the ex-monk still able to find some humor in their situation.
Whether it was because he was ashamed or because he saw the wisdom in a matter, Yin Xue descended from his stallion as well and stroked the side of his horse’s neck. “We will run until the animals have recovered a little.”
Together, the three cultivators ran alongside the animals, leading them and their friends on the journey back to the crossing, back to the river, back home.
They ran past numerous fleeing peasants, merchants who flinched and glared at the cultivators. It was clear who they were, especially when on the second day of running, Wu Ying and the others changed back into their Sect robes. There was no point in hiding who, what, they were. Not anymore.
Li after li of paved ground and crushed earth passed beneath their feet under the insistent beat of the horses’ hooves. Another animal lost her shoe, growing lame soon after. They left the animal behind, abandoned with a merchant for a few coins, before they took off again. Even as they ran, Wu Ying glanced back to see the merchant pulling hair dye from his pack and beginning the process of mixing it into the mare’s body. Wu Ying had no doubt the once-brown horse would be stained black in a few hours.
They kept moving, even as the sun was blotted out by heavily laden clouds. With them, rain and wind arrived, washing out the roads and slowing their pace. It only became more miserable as they grew soaked under their cloaks and their mildly weather-resistant Sect robes.
Bao Cong grew grumpier, the ache in his leg and the constant pounding of rain driving him into sullen silence. Li Yao caught a cold on the second night, her small frame chilled to the bone. Even her improved cultivator constitution could only do so much, especially when so much of her chi was expended during the day while she rode, helping them replenish waning stamina. None of them were particularly energetic, but still, they pushed on.
Late at night, when the group stopped, exhausted and tired, Wu Ying prepared their meals. Pulling from the herbs he had purchased, and some from the ones he had found around the camps, the cultivator cooked new meals and steeped medicine soups, providing them to his friends. He may not be a full-fledged apothecarist, but his studies had given him at least a basic understanding of what would benefit them. It was a waste of herbs, a waste of money, to do it the way he did, but both of those were of little consequence to Wu Ying at this time. They had to escape, and their pursuers, while likely just as inconvenienced by the rain, would also likely be better prepared and provisioned.
All they could do was go on.
They headed north and west until they reached a small fishing village, one that bordered the river separating the two states. By this point, they believed themselves far enough that the passing of coin and the subtle threat of their openly displayed weapons was enough to make a fisherman take them across the river. Even the threat of patrols on the other side, one that shot arrows without hesitation at ships that swung too close, was muted for the fisherman. After all, Wu Ying and his team were immediate threats, unlike the potential threat of patrolling soldiers.
When the team finally landed on the other shore, the group relaxed, a palpable tension fading. For a time, they lingered by the shore, staring at the flowing waters and the border across the misty river. Wu Ying was not sure who began laughing first, but in short order, they were all chuckling and smacking each other on the shoulder as the relief of their escape ran through them.
Eventually, Li Yao sobered and recommended they keep moving. Even if they had outpaced their pursuers, they were still too close to the border. But as they took off at a more sedate pace, a much more relaxed air drifted through the group. They had managed to do it. Now, all Wu Ying had to do was traverse a war-torn country to return the cultivation manual.
As if the heavens itself knew what they had gone through, the rainstorm finally let up, giving them their first glimpse of the sun in days.
***
Two weeks later, a tired and dirty group stumbled into Lord Wen’s abode. They’d had to swing wide, taking even more time on their journey back, running into demon beasts and bandits along the way, as they avoided the dueling armies near the border. Luckily, word from the local populace had allowed the group to avoid the armies and their patrols, often for nothing more than the favor of dealing with the latest menace that had been driven to their home.