Chapter 97
Chapter 97
Bang!
Another gunshot rang out.
The short-haired woman lowered her arm, her face utterly expressionless, as though she had not been the one to pull the trigger.
She simply stood there, staring at the companion on the ground who would never suffer again. After a few seconds, she holstered her pistol.
The middle-aged woman was the first to move. Without a word, she crouched down and deftly removed the blood-soaked backpack from the dead woman. She strapped it across her chest, layering it over the pack she already carried.
The weight of both packs bore down on her shoulders, but she did not so much as furrow her brow.
Beside her, the silent man watched her actions and let out a soundless sigh.
“Keep moving.”
The short-haired woman’s voice broke the silence.
The group set off again.
No one commented on what had just happened, nor did anyone cast a welcoming glance at the newly joined Qingshui and Song Yunqing.
After the bloody battle they had just endured, everyone seemed to have sunk into a state of weary numbness.
The short-haired woman and the woman with the low ponytail walked at the front. Big Guy carried his pointed shovel at the rear.
Qingshui and Song Yunqing naturally fell into place in the middle of the group. The middle-aged woman carrying two packs and the silent man walked a few paces ahead of them.
Qingshui had no thoughts on the arrangement.
The persistent low-grade fever wrapped around her mind like a layer of hot, damp cotton, making her thoughts sluggish and heavy.
The incessant voices in her head seemed to have quieted somewhat, but they had not disappeared. They lingered as background noise, their constant whispers and occasional shrill jeers mingling with her physical discomfort. She felt as though a vast part of her had been hollowed out.
It was not sadness or fear, nor was it the collapse that came from utter exhaustion.
It was simply a pure, all-consuming blankness.
She could feel her legs moving. She could see the swaying figures ahead and the desolate scenery sliding past on either side. She could hear the footsteps and labored breathing around her, some soft and some heavy…
But every sensation seemed to reach her through a thick pane of glass.
None of it felt real. She felt no connection to any of it. It was as if she were merely an observer, watching coldly as this empty shell trudged onward.
The silent man’s ragged breathing ahead rang unnaturally clear in her ears, the only sound in that blank expanse that felt even remotely real.
Her eyes moved mechanically as she began to study the people around her without conscious thought.
Beside her, Song Yunqing remained expressionless. Her eyes were vacant, her steps unsteady, and she showed no reaction to anything around her. She looked like a pale puppet being drawn forward by invisible strings.
Behind her came Big Guy’s steady, ponderous footsteps. Thud. Thud. Thud. Like a heartbeat. Aside from those footsteps, he made almost no sound at all.
Up ahead, the silent man’s breathing was indeed noticeably labored. Fine beads of sweat had formed at his temples and were trickling down his cheeks.
The middle-aged woman beside him carried two backpacks that looked anything but light, yet her gait was steadier than his. Her breathing was rapid but even.
At the very front, the short-haired woman and the ponytailed woman still appeared relatively composed from behind.
The short-haired woman held her back straight and her shoulders squared. Even while fleeing for her life in such a wretched state, she maintained a peculiar poise. The ponytailed woman’s steps were lighter, and she periodically scanned their surroundings.
Sister Wen…
Qingshui’s gaze settled on the back of the mature woman with the particularly distinctive bearing.
From the woman’s decisiveness and composure when she fired the gun, as well as the effortless sense of command she exuded as they traveled, Qingshui caught a familiar air about her.
…The police?
That vague possibility sparked a faint glimmer in Qingshui’s blank mind.
The next second, her body suddenly swayed beyond her control, and she nearly fell.
The persistent low-grade fever was slowly draining her energy and wearing down her resistance.
This intermittent exhaustion was more torturous than having all her strength depleted at once. It kept her forever balanced on the brink between “I can hold on a little longer” and “I’m going to collapse at any moment,” tormenting her over and over again.
Just as she barely managed to steady herself, her vision dimming in waves, a cold hand suddenly reached over from beside her and gripped her arm.
The grip wasn’t strong. It was even a little stiff.
Qingshui glanced sideways. It was Song Yunqing.
Song Yunqing was still staring straight ahead, her face wearing the same numb expression that made her seem as though she might fade away at any moment, as if the hand gripping Qingshui’s arm didn’t belong to her at all.
Qingshui looked at that hand and paused for a second. Then, without saying anything, she quietly relaxed some of the strength holding her upright and gently leaned part of her weight against Song Yunqing.
The two women, equally weak and numb, like little more than empty shells, leaned on each other in that strange, fragile posture and continued following the group.
They walked from noon until the afternoon sun began its descent.
The expressway seemed endless, winding along the mountainside. On one side stood a sheer cliff face; on the other yawned a dizzying, forest-covered ravine.
By dusk, the horizon had begun to blaze with golden-red and orange clouds.
By then, Qingshui was leaning more than half her weight against Song Yunqing.
The two stumbled along, moving with difficulty as if they were joined at the hip.
Song Yunqing’s breathing had also grown labored, but she never released her grip on Qingshui’s arm.
Up ahead, the short-haired woman and the ponytailed woman suddenly stopped. They exchanged a few quick words in hushed voices.
Fragments of their whispers drifted indistinctly on the wind and reached Qingshui’s ears.
“…go check… behind us… whether they’ve caught up…”
The world seemed to fall silent for an instant. The group stopped, and everyone instinctively held their breath. Apart from the wind and the faint calls of distant birds, there was no unusual sound.
After a while, someone seemed to quickly scout the route behind them.
“…No…”
The short-haired woman’s voice immediately rang out. “Get ready to rest.”
The group started moving again, but this time, they did not continue along the expressway.
The short-haired woman led them up the slope on the side where the road hugged the mountain.
The climb was far from easy. The slope was steep, littered with loose stones and slick moss.
The women were clearly experienced. They did not climb too high, stopping about twenty meters above the road when they found a small, relatively level ledge covered in thick vegetation.
The ledge was cramped, barely large enough for them to curl up and rest.
Several jutting boulders provided natural cover, while dense shrubs and a few small trees effectively blocked the view from the expressway below.
By the time Song Yunqing had half-supported, half-dragged Qingshui onto the ledge, the last rays of sunset had just slipped behind the distant mountains.
Grayness spread swiftly through the air. The forest was about to be swallowed whole by darkness.
Qingshui collapsed beside a cold boulder and leaned against Song Yunqing, feeling as though every bone in her body were crying out in agony.