Chen Wuya stood at the tail of the convoy, his fingers lightly brushing the hidden layer in his shoe sole. The strip of cloth was still there, its pattern pressed against his skin like a mark that would never fade. He did not look again at the tracks behind the covered wagon's rear wheels, nor did he raise his head to search for the figure with the torn cuff. He merely hitched his bundle higher in silence and, at the order to move out, stepped forward with the convoy.
The yellow-earth road stretched beneath their feet, while mountains rose on either side and pine forests spread in dense swaths. Wind blew in from the mouth of the valley, flinging grains of sand against his face. He kept his head down, his steps slow and heavy, his shoulders slightly slumped as though the coarse-cloth bundle on his back had bent his spine. Every so often, someone glanced back at him. He pretended not to notice, only muttering under his breath, "This road... it's really brutal."
Zhao Tianying rode at the front, his cloak swaying lightly in the wind. They had traveled for less than half an hour when he abruptly reined in his horse. The hoofbeats stopped, and he turned to look behind him. His gaze swept across the line of escorts before finally settling on the thin figure at the very rear.
Chen Wuya was lowering his head and patting the dust from his trouser legs. His movements were sluggish, beads of sweat seeping from his temples and streaking muddy lines across his grimy cheeks. He took a breath and muttered to himself, "We've barely walked at all, and my legs are already about to break."
Zhao Tianying said nothing. He merely nudged his horse's belly lightly and continued onward.