Bai Zhi's hand slipped down.
Chen Wuya's left hand suddenly clamped into a crack in the rock, his knuckles whitening with effort. His right hand swiftly tightened around the hemp rope and hauled her back onto his back. He let out a low roar. "Hold on tight to me!" His voice was hoarse, as though forcibly torn from a parched, cracked throat. Blood streamed down his arm, dragging a broken red trail across the rough rock face.
Above them, a dark shadow flashed. An iron anchor trailing chains came screaming down, smashing a protruding stone to pieces. Fragments splashed across his face, burning with pain. Using the recoil, he kicked off the rock and shifted sideways, twisting half a turn in midair before landing on a narrow ledge three feet away. His footing slipped, and the old wound in his right leg spasmed violently, nearly bringing him to his knees.
But he did not let go.
Instead, he hoisted Bai Zhi higher on his back, gripped one end of the hemp rope between his teeth, and freed his right hand to brace against the ground. Her breathing was faint, and the skin pressed against the back of his neck was frighteningly cold. The black dart lodged in her shoulder swayed lightly with his movements. The poison had already spread, turning even her fingertips a bluish gray.
"Hold on a little longer," he muttered, not knowing whether he was saying it to her or to himself.
At the edge of the rock wall above, several figures appeared one after another. Dressed in black and masked, they held long hooks and chains as they stared down at them from above. They did not strike at once, yet they had already formed a blockade. The fog below had yet to disperse completely, but