The convoy continued along the winding road like a long serpent.
The once-vast procession now looked painfully thin, with fewer than thirty percent of its original numbers remaining.
The escorts, more than half of whom had been killed or wounded, were far from the only ones to suffer devastating losses.
Most of the servants who had tended to daily necessities, and the maids who had accompanied their masters, were gone as well.
The once-lively, bustling convoy was now steeped in quiet and desolation.
Yet surprisingly, rather than sinking after this brutal upheaval, morale had risen higher than ever.
A fierce flame of hope burned in every member's eyes.
They firmly believed that as long as they loyally protected Zhang Ling'er, they would gain the immortal opportunity they had always dreamed of once her seal was lifted.
"Miss..." Her personal maid, Xiao Cui, tremblingly offered her a cup of tea. The girl, only fourteen, was one of the surviving servants.
Zhang Ling'er accepted the tea, but her gaze drifted toward the blue-cloth carriage in the center of the convoy.
Ever since that night, Jing Wen's carriage had been moved to the middle of the procession.
She took a small sip. Bitterness spread across her tongue-much like the taste of being rejected time and again over the past few days.
Night fell, and the convoy made camp in a mountain hollow.
Zhang Ling'er changed into a moon-white gauze dress, with only a plain silver pin in her hair.
She studied herself carefully in a bronze mirror. The girl reflected there had exquisitely painted features, but her delicate vulnerability was deliberately cultivated.
"This is best..." she murmured, brushing her fingertips over the mirror. "Neither too glamorous nor too plain."
Moonlight flowed like water as Zhang Ling'er walked barefoot toward Jing Wen's carriage.
Tiny