The Night of Flight and Fire

When I woke up, my whole body was drenched in cold sweat.

The first thing I saw was darkness — and a deep rumbling noise. Startled, I scrambled backward, swinging my hand out in reflex.

Smack!

The crisp sound echoed clearly in the silent night.

I froze. Then slowly, I lowered my hand and blinked into the shadows — only to realize that the “darkness” I’d struck was, in fact, Gu Yi’s face.

I gave a dry laugh, watching as five distinct fingerprints appeared on his pale, handsome cheek.
He stared at me, wide-eyed and motionless. I stared back.
The silence stretched until the tension grew unbearable. Feeling I ought to break it somehow, I reached out, pinched his cheek, and let it snap back with a soft pop.

“Very… elastic,” I commented weakly.

The brightness in Gu Yi’s eyes grew until it nearly overflowed. He made a muffled grunt, turned sharply, and stormed off.

By the time we returned to camp, the moon hung high, and the stars glittered faintly overhead.
Several fires blazed, roasting beef and filling the air with the smell of sizzling fat.

I ate in haste, then climbed into the carriage, ready to sleep — but before I could settle, Gu Yi’s boot landed squarely on me.

“From now on,” he said through clenched teeth, “you are not allowed to sleep in the carriage.”

So out I went again.
Luckily, the weather had turned mild; the thin cotton robe was enough to keep me barely alive.

Over the next few days, Gu Yi’s behavior grew stranger by the hour.

During the day, I was allowed back into the carriage — only for him to glare at me, frown, and order me out to walk beside the horses. Then, after a short while, he’d change his mind and summon me back in again.

His eyes followed me constantly, sharp and searching, as if trying to find some invisible flaw.

After several days of this, I understood.

Gu Yi — delicate, fair-skinned, as refined as a noblewoman — had never once been struck in his life. Now he carried five bright fingerprints across his face. How could a petty, vengeful man like him not seek revenge?

Still, sleeping outside had its benefits. I could grind away at that iron chain under the moonlight — a bit of labor saved each night brought me closer to freedom.

By the fourth or fifth day, the chain was thin as a wire. One good tug would break it.
I decided that tonight would be my night to escape.

After dinner, I strolled casually around the carriage, subtly shifting the chain to widen my range of motion.

Inside, Gu Yi sat reading The National Treatise, flipping back and forth through the same few pages. Without looking up, he remarked lazily, “You’re unusually well-behaved today.”

I gave a humble little shrug. “I shouldn’t have made you angry before. That was my fault.”

His brows lifted, and a hint of pleasure softened his expression. “So you finally understand.”

He smiled, almost kindly, and handed me a few sunflower seeds — even divided half of his pet rat A’bao’s treats for me. The rat was so offended that it turned its back to me and waved its tail indignantly.

…Was it jealous?

When night came, I leaned against the carriage wheel and pretended to sleep. I needed him to drop his guard.

Suddenly, something poked me. I looked up — and nearly fell over. Gu Yi was standing there, smiling.

“Come sleep inside tonight,” he said.

“Huh?”

He lifted the curtain, shifted aside, and patted the soft bedding. “You’ve been good today. Take this as a reward.”

“…”

I climbed in reluctantly, curling up in my usual corner. My eyes were closed, but I could hear him breathing — short, uneven, restless.

I held my breath, pretending to fall asleep, waiting for the right moment to snap the chain and slip away.

Just then, a low voice floated over my head.
“I still don’t know your name.”

My heart thudded. What did that matter now? I’d be gone soon. But lying was tiresome, so I muttered, “Qiao Qiao.”

“Your family name?”

“Don’t have one.”

He paused, then nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. You were abandoned as a child — a wildling with no name or kin. Then perhaps…” His tone softened, almost gentle. “Perhaps this prince should grant you a surname?”

His sincerity might have touched another heart, but not mine.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it.”

I yawned, turned my back to him, and feigned sleep.

He huffed, clearly offended by my indifference, then rolled over with exaggerated force — his head hitting the carriage wall with a satisfying thud.

Silence fell.

Eventually, his breathing steadied.

I waited.

When I was sure he’d fallen asleep, I crept toward the door. My foot had just crossed the threshold when—

Whoosh!

A throwing dart embedded itself in the wood right beside my ankle.

“Qiao Qiao,” came Gu Yi’s low voice, smooth as ice. “Behave yourself.”

I immediately yanked my leg back, curled up, and began snoring as loudly as I could.

And so the night dragged on. Every time I thought he’d finally fallen asleep, he’d shift, cough, or tap the floor — a subtle warning, keeping me on edge.

I wanted to strangle him. The night was dark, the wind was high — perfect for murder, really.

As I silently imagined chopping him into eighteen neat pieces, a faint rustling reached my ears. My fox senses sharpened — the sound of footsteps, light but numerous.

Three… four dozen, maybe.

They hadn’t noticed us yet. I hesitated — should I wake Gu Yi?

Before I could decide, a tall shadow appeared beyond the trees.

“You hear that too?” Gu Yi’s voice was calm, quiet.

I nodded.

Before I could speak, a diamond-shaped dart sliced through the night, piercing straight into the carriage wall with a thunk.

I shivered.

Gu Yi lifted the curtain, baring a flash of white teeth. “They’re here.”

In an instant, flames roared to life, casting the barren forest in blazing light.

Inside the carriage, Gu Yi deflected a dozen darts in rapid succession. The cramped space and my inconvenient presence hindered him, though. “Stay here,” he ordered. “It’s dangerous outside.”

Then he was gone — a blur of motion vanishing into the chaos.

The attacks on the carriage slowed noticeably after his departure.

Curiosity got the better of me. I peeked out.

The camp was a battlefield. General Lan shadowed Gu Yi like a loyal dog, blocking attacks aimed his way. The other soldiers fought tooth and nail around the four carriages, their cries mixing with the clash of steel. Severed heads rolled through the firelight.

Screams tore the air.

Good. Heaven favored me tonight.

With one decisive jerk, I snapped the weakened chain and crouched low, watching.

There were about thirty assailants, all dressed in black — assassins. They were clearly here for Gu Yi.

But though they outnumbered his men, they couldn’t withstand his skill. Soon, the tide turned. The assassins were surrounded.

Gu Yi was drenched in blood, his elegant composure gone. His face was cold, his eyes gleaming with madness.

He wiped a splatter of blood from his cheek and pointed his sword at one of the surviving attackers.
“Who sent you?”

The man hesitated — and before he could answer, Gu Yi’s blade flashed, slicing him clean through.

Pulling the sword free, he murmured, “I don’t like waiting.”

He turned to the next. “Who sent you?”

That one barely opened his mouth before his head hit the ground.

By the time the third was dragged forward, he was trembling. “It—it was the Empress!” he cried.

The blade still fell.

He collapsed, eyes wide, as though unable to comprehend why he’d died even after answering.

Gu Yi smiled faintly, wiping the blood from his sword. “I only asked your age. Why don’t people ever listen properly?”

And so it went. One by one, every assassin fell, blood pooling beneath Gu Yi’s boots.

The firelight flickered over his calm, beautiful face — and I realized, without a doubt, that Gu Yi was a monster.

If I stayed with him any longer, I’d end up just like them.

When no one was watching, I leapt down from the carriage, grabbed the reins of a nearby horse, and vaulted onto its back.

With a hard kick, I sent it galloping into the night.

Wind tore at my hair, carrying the scent of smoke and blood.

Behind me, a voice called out — faint, strained, breaking with something like sorrow:

“Qiao Qiao… where are you going?”