Jiang Huai’s clothes dried quickly by the fire, and he hurried to put them back on. As he dressed, he glanced at the prison uniform’s distinctive style and frowned. If he wanted to escape, this outfit would be a problem; he’d need to change into something else. But where could he find new clothes? The only option would be to sneak into a farmhouse and steal them. If he had money, he could leave some behind as compensation, but alas, he had none.

Regret suddenly washed over Jiang Huai. When Sun Yong had been crushed to death, he hadn’t thought to search the body. If he had, he might’ve found some silver. But back then, he hadn’t planned to escape, so money seemed useless. There was no point dwelling on it now.

Jiang Huai glanced again at Xiao Jingzhao. Perhaps from sheer exhaustion, Xiao Jingzhao was slumped against the cave wall, seemingly fast asleep.

Is he really that tired?

A flicker of doubt crossed Jiang Huai’s mind, but it was quickly replaced by elation. If Xiao Jingzhao was asleep, Jiang Huai wouldn’t need to scheme about how to sneak away. He could leave outright.

The only concern was whether the mudslides had truly subsided. But Jiang Huai figured he could find another place to hide and wait out the night. Once dawn broke, he’d figure out a way to descend the mountain.

As for what he’d do to survive after escaping, Jiang Huai couldn’t come up with a concrete plan just yet. But anything seemed better than waiting for death.

The firelight flickered on Jiang Huai’s face, illuminating his conflicted expression. Watching Xiao Jingzhao sleep more deeply, Jiang Huai quietly rose. He added a few pieces of wood to the fire to keep it burning a bit longer, then turned and left without a word.

Jiang Huai focused solely on getting away and didn’t notice that Xiao Jingzhao, who appeared to be sleeping, had already opened his eyes. Silently, Xiao Jingzhao watched Jiang Huai’s retreating figure, his gaze icy. After a moment, he closed his eyes again.

Jiang Huai walked for a while before his eyes lit up—he had found a hidden spot not far away, perfect for spending the night. He jogged over and settled in, determined not to light a fire to avoid being tracked by Xiao Jingzhao.

Thankfully, his time by the fire earlier had warmed him up, and with the rain having stopped, Jiang Huai felt confident he could tough it out.

Leaning against the dirt wall, Jiang Huai felt a long-lost sense of freedom. Even though Xiao Jingzhao treated him better than the other prison guards, Jiang Huai could never truly relax as a prisoner.

To be honest, Jiang Huai marveled at how he hadn’t had an emotional breakdown yet. He considered himself pretty resilient to have endured so much.

Hugging his knees, he thought of his relatives, friends, teachers, and classmates from the modern world. Tears rolled down his face. But he didn’t dare cry too loudly, fearing Xiao Jingzhao might hear him and track him down. He clamped a hand over his mouth, swallowing his sobs.

Suddenly, a faint rustling sound reached Jiang Huai’s ears, like someone approaching. His nerves immediately tensed. Though his face was streaked with tears, he pressed himself tightly against the dirt wall, trying to stay hidden.

The rustling grew louder, and Jiang Huai’s heart pounded. He thought his escape had been discovered. But then, a small animal scurried past, crawling on its belly. It was the source of the noise.

Jiang Huai exhaled sharply, realizing his back was drenched in cold sweat. He wiped it away quickly, fearing the combination of sweat and the chilly wind might give him a headache. He couldn’t afford to get sick—not without money for treatment.

As his nerves settled, a doubt crept into Jiang Huai’s mind. Why was Xiao Jingzhao sleeping so soundly today?

Having spent considerable time with Xiao Jingzhao, Jiang Huai knew how light a sleeper he was. The slightest noise would wake him. Yet here Jiang Huai was, gone for so long, and Xiao Jingzhao still hadn’t come looking for him.

Two possibilities came to mind: either Xiao Jingzhao was genuinely asleep and hadn’t noticed his departure, or he had noticed but chose to let him go.

Between the two, Jiang Huai found the latter more likely. Realizing this, he felt a strange sense of relief.

As long as I survive tonight, I can run further at dawn. Maybe I can really get away this time.

Jiang Huai kept strategizing in his mind, trying to figure out how to completely evade capture. He thought for so long that he began to feel drowsy. Deciding he needed to rest for the battle ahead, he curled up to sleep.

Yet, just before drifting off, a nagging unease gripped him. Why does everything feel… too smooth?

Wait…

Jiang Huai suddenly jolted awake. He realized what was wrong. After escaping such a harrowing mudslide, how could Xiao Jingzhao have fallen asleep so quickly? Especially when Xiao Jingzhao himself had warned that the danger might not be over? Yet he had dozed off by the fire without a care in the world.

Unless…

Unless he wasn’t sleeping but unconscious.

Unconscious?

Had Xiao Jingzhao injured himself while pulling Jiang Huai to safety? Jiang Huai racked his brain, trying to recall details. But during the frantic escape, he had been too consumed by his own exhaustion and fear to pay much attention to Xiao Jingzhao’s condition. Now that he thought about it, Xiao Jingzhao’s breathing had seemed unnaturally heavy. His hand, too, had felt warmer than usual.

Could he have fallen ill after being soaked in the rain?

Jiang Huai froze. He wanted to dismiss the idea, but the more he thought about it, the more details came to mind that confirmed his suspicion.

Unable to sit still, Jiang Huai wrestled with his guilt. He had thought the worst-case scenario for his escape was failure and death. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Xiao Jingzhao might be in danger. Even though Jiang Huai had added firewood before leaving, it wouldn’t burn indefinitely. Without the fire to ward off wild animals, an unconscious Xiao Jingzhao could be attacked—or worse, succumb to the cold if the fire died out.

Clenching his fists, Jiang Huai tried to push these thoughts aside. Maybe it’s not that bad, he told himself. But then, memories of Xiao Jingzhao’s actions resurfaced.

There was the time Xiao Jingzhao saved him from Sun Yong, risking injury in the process. Then, during the mudslide, Xiao Jingzhao had dragged him to safety despite the risk to his own life. And just a few days ago, when Jiang Huai slipped on a rain-soaked slope, it was Xiao Jingzhao who grabbed his arm and pulled him back up.

If it hadn’t been for Xiao Jingzhao, Jiang Huai might have tumbled down the hill and broken bones—or worse. In this remote wilderness, medical help was out of reach, and even if it were, Jiang Huai couldn’t afford it. A single misstep could have left him crippled for life.

Gritting his teeth, Jiang Huai stood up and hurried back the way he came. He still remembered the route, and the flickering firelight in the distance guided him. Relieved to find the fire still burning, Jiang Huai slowed his pace.

Seeing the fire ahead, he hesitated for a moment, glancing behind him. After a deep breath, he steeled himself and moved forward. He even picked up some firewood along the way, pretending as though nothing had happened.

Arriving back at the fire, Jiang Huai dropped the wood and turned to Xiao Jingzhao.

Xiao Jingzhao’s brows were furrowed, his face flushed red in the firelight. Jiang Huai reached out to touch his forehead, but before he could, Xiao Jingzhao’s hand shot up and grabbed his wrist.

“You left, didn’t you?” Xiao Jingzhao’s voice was hoarse but eerily calm.

Jiang Huai’s heart skipped a beat. Both his suspicions had been correct: Xiao Jingzhao had been unconscious, but he also knew Jiang Huai had tried to escape.

Jiang Huai thought about explaining himself—after all, he had returned with firewood. But under Xiao Jingzhao’s piercing gaze, every excuse died on his lips.