Chapter 5: On appleas and rituals - Part 2

As I traced the last line, Mi Fan suddenly stiffened. Her tail bristled, and in an instant, she leapt onto the table, unfolding her red kukuri with a movement so quick I barely saw it. The umbrella, with the dragon design still vibrant, opened just as a gunshot split the air.

The sound was like thunder. The bullet tore through the room, heading straight for us.

The red kukuri intercepted the impact with a sharp metallic crack, but the blow was so strong it almost sent Mi Fan flying backward. I saw her body sway, her feet slipping. She struggled to hold her ground, the umbrella vibrating, almost about to collapse.

Before she lost her balance completely, I grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her toward me in one swift motion.

"I've got you, little lady!" I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my pulse was racing twice as fast.

The metal of the kukuri vibrated, resonating with the echo of the stopped bullet. We knew this wasn’t just a random attack. Whoever it was had decided we’d seen too much.

The danger had become tangible, real in a way I hadn’t expected. Mi Fan, no matter how serious she tried to be, no matter how much training she’d had, was still a child, and in this moment, her façade of the perfect bodyguard was cracking.

"Kuài! We have to get out of here, kuài!" she yelled, mixing in Zhounese with her panic. Her voice, which always tried to sound firm and grown-up, was trembling. For the first time, she was scared too, and I couldn’t blame her. We had underestimated our enemies.

With a speed that almost surprised me, I scooped her up into my arms, holding her red kukuri in front of us. I held it out like I’d seen her grandfather do so many times, a reminder of who I needed to be right now: the adult. Mi Fan tried to grab it back, insisting on her duty, but in this moment, she wasn’t the one who had to protect.

"I’m supposed to protect you, Mr. Mahayan!" she cried, her voice breaking with a mixture of fear and frustration. A second bullet hit the umbrella, tearing through the fabric worn down by time and countless adventures.

They could have fired again, but something stopped them. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was the name "Mahayan." I don’t know. But I took advantage of that pause to run. I ran as if the wind were carrying me, jumping through an open window I found, Mi Fan pressed tightly against my chest. The metal ball I dragged behind me was a reminder that this time, there was no easy escape. We were being hunted. And for the first time in a long while, danger wasn’t just a distant shadow.

As we ran, I could feel Mi Fan’s heartbeat against my chest, her breaths coming in gasps, her eyes fixed on me. For the first time on this journey, she wasn’t the “bodyguard,” and I couldn’t afford to be the joker. Now we were just two people, fleeing from something that had finally decided to reveal itself.

I leapt with Mi Fan in my arms, not hearing any footsteps or more gunshots behind us, but I couldn’t allow myself to stop. I ran at full speed, turning corners and deserted streets until I saw the orchard in the distance, its trees standing tall like an invitation to hide. Without a second thought, I vaulted over a low fence that separated us from civilization and dove into the apple trees. The bushes and branches surrounded us, wrapping us in natural darkness. It was the perfect place to flee, to disappear among the shadows of the trees.

My mind was racing. The red kukuri in one hand, gripped tightly, and Mi Fan in the other, still struggling, trying to break free with all her strength, her stubbornness stronger than her fear.

"You... you know..." I began, trying to calm myself, to calm her, to keep us grounded in the present, though my voice was shaking. "This is just like... like The Great Escape," I said, remembering the scene where Steve McQueen jumps the fence on his motorcycle. "Only we... we’re more elegant. No motorcycles..." We always tried to keep a sense of humor, even if it was just for me.

But this time, the joke felt forced, hollow.

Mi Fan kept struggling, stubborn as always, wanting to be the one to protect me. But I... I was terrified. Not for me, not for what might happen to us, but for her. I felt a pressure in my chest, the kind of fear that makes you forget who you are for a second. I clutched the kukuri, held Mi Fan tighter, and though the danger didn’t seem to be directly behind us anymore, I couldn’t let up for even a second.

"I’ve got you, little lady..." I whispered, more to myself than to her.

The silence of the orchard was deafening, amplifying the echo of my own fear. Every step echoed among the trees, every crunch of leaves beneath my feet seemed too loud.

And then, another gunshot. Different this time, deeper, more precise. A rifle. I recognized it instantly. The Mahayan family had also had its share of dealings in the weapons business, another poisoned legacy from Lassi. Damn it, even in this she had to leave us a burden.

"They’re getting away!" someone shouted in the distance.

I kept running, carrying Mi Fan with me, dodging branches and jumping over bushes, until the dense foliage opened into a small clearing. I stopped, panting, and Mi Fan sat down on my lap. Her gaze was full of frustration and annoyance. I could see the regret in her eyes; she wanted to be fighting, defending me, protecting me.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace, trying to calm her down.

"Easy, little lady..." I murmured, as gently as I could. "This isn’t your time to shine."

My claws were shaking as I looked at my hands, but when I lifted my head, something... something I hadn't expected stopped me cold.

Through the branches of a large apple tree, I saw something that shouldn’t have been there. The body of a she-wolf. She was hanging in an almost religious pose, as if she’d been placed there with a disturbing level of care, like a saint or a martyr. On the ground, beneath her body, the grass was marked with symbols and words written in various languages, arranged with a precision that chilled me to the bone. She wore a dress I recognized instantly: Lassi's dress. The same style, the same details. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

A shout escaped my throat before I could stop it.

"There they are!" someone yelled, and the sound of footsteps grew louder, swift and unyielding. There was no time to run. Without thinking, I lifted Mi Fan and helped her climb to the top of the tree.

"Don’t come down!" I ordered, my voice transformed into something colder, more authoritative. It wasn’t our usual voice. It was the voice I remembered from Lassi.

Mi Fan looked at me with those wide, calm eyes, but there was something different this time. Her gaze was confused, as if for a moment she didn’t recognize the person in front of her, as if we weren’t ourselves. Doubt flickered across her face, quick but noticeable. But she said nothing. She chose to obey, nodding slowly.

I grabbed the metal ball, letting it fall with a deafening weight, and improvised a weapon with the chain. In my other hand, I held the red kukuri, my only real defense at this moment.

"There’s no way any of them can beat me," I told myself, trying to calm down. I am who I am.

And then, someone emerged from the bushes. I didn’t think. I swung the metal ball towards a tree, splintering the wood with a sharp crack. A gunshot rang out, but it missed me. I had the advantage. My instinct told me to confront him, to take him down. But when I looked closely...

It was the sheriff.

"Stop!" he shouted, nervous, his shotgun trembling in his hands. "You’re trying to escape, murderers!"

Behind him, two more townsfolk appeared, workers from the orchard, armed with pitchforks and shovels. Their faces reflected the same panic as the sheriff's. They were farmers, not hunters. But they were ready to face us.

"Escape?" I tried to calm myself, slowly lowering the metal ball, but not letting go. I had to think fast. The sheriff wasn’t the one who’d fired at us in the House of History. This was a shotgun. The sound from before, that bullet that had nearly hit us, came from a six-shooter pistol. Something wasn’t adding up.

"I’m not the killer!" I shouted, pointing toward the tree. The she-wolf hung there, the symbols from the first murder, everything was right before their eyes.

The sheriff looked toward the body. His shotgun trembled in his hands. Horror filled his eyes.

"My God..." he whispered.

The other two townsfolk looked at the scene, their faces shifting from anger to disbelief.