Once trapped amid a crowd, escape became all but impossible if a crushing stampede began. Flesh might be soft, but bodies piled together under immense pressure suffocated people like iron plates grinding against one another. Anyone unlucky enough to fall would immediately be trampled into pulp.
There was no time to discuss a plan. Wei Xun scooped Baozhu up with his left arm, caught Yang Xingjian's belt with his right hand, and sprang into the air. Other bodies instantly filled the three spaces they left behind.
Carrying both of them, he leaped onto the long rope the tightrope performer had left suspended overhead and set Yang Xingjian down first. Old Yang had no skill at rope walking. Though temporarily spared the danger of being trampled into mincemeat, he cut a wretched figure, clinging to the thin hemp rope with all four limbs as he lay suspended in midair. His headcloth had fallen off, and he wailed like a howling ghost, though the surrounding din made his words impossible to hear.
Wei Xun briefly hesitated over where to put Baozhu, but she had already leaned close to his ear and shouted, "Get somewhere high! As high as possible!"
At her command, Wei Xun cradled her in both arms and raced along the rope as though on level ground, flying toward the nearest Pagoda. His peerless Mirage Step remained swift as lightning even with someone in his arms. Baozhu felt only the fierce wind whipping past her ears and saw the scenery streak before her eyes. In the space of a blink, he had begun ascending the tower.
With a few bounds, he swept like a wisp of blue smoke onto the top of the five-story Pagoda. Setting Baozhu down, Wei Xun asked, "Is this high enough?"
They were thirty zhang above