Low-Flying Swallow (3)

Song Zhiyi woke amid violent jolting, his head splitting with pain. Mountain wind, like countless sharp blades carrying the scent of rotting leaves, forced its way into his nostrils without asking.

He barely managed to open his eyes. The scene before him was blurred and hazy, only gradually coming into focus after a long while. He discovered that he was hanging upside down over someone's shoulder. The swaying torchlight ahead illuminated jagged cliff walls, and twisted runes could vaguely be seen carved around a cave entrance.

Song Zhiyi's thoughts were a mess. He struggled to recall what had happened before, and the image of the inn door being knocked upon slowly surfaced in his mind, along with the piercing agony that had struck the back of his neck the instant the door opened.

"Awake, are you, little brat?" A hoarse snicker suddenly came from behind him, as piercing as a night owl's cry.

The burly man carrying him gave a hard swing and slammed him heavily onto the ground. Song Zhiyi felt the world spin, as though countless bees were buzzing inside his head, while sparks burst wildly before his eyes.

His lower back struck the icy mountain rock, and the chill instantly spread through his whole body. Only then did he realize that his hands had already been tightly bound, leaving him unable to move in the slightest.

They were inside a dim mountain cave. An unbearable stench of damp mold hung in the air, mixed with a thick smell of blood that made one want to vomit.

Only a scant few of the torches embedded in the cave walls were still stubbornly burning. Their flickering flames cast everything in the cave into shifting shadows.

Suppressing his physical discomfort, Song Zhiyi secretly observed his surroundings. Deep in the cave,