Xuan Shuang’s four hooves crushed through the accumulated snow as the wind howled past without pause.
Su Muchen lowered his head and stared at the tracker in his hand.
On the screen, there was only the steady green dot in the center, quietly glowing in the middle of the concentric circles.
All around it were empty gray rings.
Xuan Shuang continued running.
Five li.
Seven li.
Nine li.
Still, no other light appeared.
The knuckles of Su Muchen’s hand tightened until they began to turn white.
The wind scraped across his cheeks, carrying ice crystals and the scent of frozen earth.
He felt no cold. All his senses were focused on the screen, on those empty concentric circles, on the one light that still had not appeared.
He began to wonder whether Xiao’s locator had malfunctioned.
Whether the tracker had failed in the environment of Dàshèng.
Whether he would never be able to find Xiao at all.
Just as that thought surfaced—
Beep.
A very faint sound.
Like a needle falling into the snow.
At last, a very faint orange-red dot lit up in the upper-right corner of the screen.
It was dim, like an ember on the verge of going out, slowly flickering against the gray-white background.
The locator had finally responded.
Su Muchen’s breath stopped for a moment.
He stared at the light, confirming several times that it was not an illusion.
The light was still flickering.
Slowly. Unsteadily.
Like someone struggling to breathe in the distant snow.
He lowered his eyes to the data panel:
—Distance range: 2.8 kilometers. Direction: north-northwest. Signal strength: weak.
Su Ningning had told him that the tracker could only display an approximate location and could not provide precise coordinates.
The brightness of the dot represented distance; the brighter it was, the closer it was.
The device recorded the signal’s movement over the previous five minutes and displayed it as a dotted line on the circular radar.
If the trail was moving, it meant Xiao was moving.
If it remained stationary, it meant Xiao might no longer be able to move.
There was no movement trail on the screen.
It was as though Su Muchen had been suddenly yanked back from a frozen state. His voice came out louder than he had expected.
“There!”
Xiao Yuan subtly adjusted his riding posture without slowing down.
“Which direction?”
Su Muchen’s voice was still trembling slightly, but it had already steadied somewhat.
“North-northwest. About 5.6 li away.”
Xiao Yuan lowered his body slightly and adjusted the horse’s direction.
Having spent years fighting on the northern frontier, he could roughly identify the terrain and directions here.
The sound of Xuan Shuang’s hooves became more hurried against the snow.
The guards accompanying them also sped up to keep pace.
After traveling another li or so, the orange-red dot on the screen suddenly disappeared.
The concentric circles on the screen were empty once again, as though nothing had ever appeared there.
Su Muchen’s heart skipped a beat.
He stared at the blank screen, his voice tightening.
“…It’s gone.”
Xiao Yuan did not slow down. He merely asked in a low voice, “What’s gone?”
“The signal… it disappeared.”
Xiao Yuan’s posture did not waver. He turned his head and quickly surveyed the surrounding terrain.
There was a low ridge ahead, with snow-covered slopes narrowing on both sides.
“It hasn’t disappeared. The mountain wall must be blocking it.” He spoke quietly. “There’s a valley ahead. We just need to cross over it.”
Su Muchen did not answer.
He simply stared at the screen, waiting for the orange-red dot to light up again.
When Xuan Shuang crossed over the ridge, the dot indeed lit up again on the screen.
It was brighter than before, like a flame rekindled.
The numbers on the data panel were changing rapidly:
—Distance range: 1.4 kilometers. Direction: due north. Signal strength: medium.
The orange-red dot gradually stabilized.
But Su Muchen did not relax. He gripped the screen even tighter, as though trying to make certain the dot would not disappear again.
—Distance range: 800 meters. Direction: due north. Signal strength: medium to strong.
The light was growing brighter and brighter, steady and flickering rapidly.
Su Muchen was almost certain now.
That was the signal from the implantable locator inside Xiao.
—He was there.
But when they reached the location indicated by the tracker, all Su Muchen saw before him was snow.
No one.
No tracks.
Only an expanse of snow flattened by the wind and the dead trees surrounding it, as though nothing had ever existed there.
The tracker began emitting a continuous, high-pitched tone.
Su Muchen did not wait for the horse to stop. He jumped straight down.
Xiao Yuan had no time to grab him.
Both of Su Muchen’s feet sank into the accumulated snow, which reached his calves.
He lost his balance and fell forward, then immediately scrambled back up.
He did not care about the pain. He staggered toward the direction indicated by the tracker.
The tracker’s continuous tone was becoming more and more urgent.
He stopped.
There was only snow ahead.
Su Muchen stared at it.
At that moment, the moon, which had been half-hidden behind the clouds, finally broke through and illuminated the area.
A corner of black clothing was visible beneath the snow.
He froze for a second.
Then he ran.
The snow was too deep. Every step sank into it, and every step required force to pull his leg back out.
But he did not stop.
When he dropped to his knees, both knees sank directly into the snow, and the icy meltwater instantly seeped through his pants.
He reached out and brushed the snow from Xiao’s face.
His face was so pale that it was almost the same color as the snow. His lips had already begun to turn faintly purple. His eyes were tightly closed, and he did not move.
“Xiao!”
There was no response.
He looked as though he were asleep.
Su Muchen did not call his name a second time.
He pressed his fingers against the side of Xiao’s neck.
There was still the faintest pulse.
Breathing—yes, but extremely shallow, so shallow that Su Muchen had to lean close to feel it.
Body temperature—extremely low.
Right shoulder—dark red blood had seeped through the clothing, spreading beneath Xiao’s body into a patch of frozen discoloration.
“He’s still alive!”
As he spoke, Su Muchen did not stop moving.
He remembered Su Ningning telling him that there was a vital-signs monitor in the first-aid kit.
He opened the lower compartment and took it out.
He wrapped the monitor’s wristband around Xiao’s left wrist. Once the sensor points on the inside of the band made contact with his skin, the screen immediately lit up.
The numbers began changing.
Su Muchen stared at them for two seconds.
Body temperature: 32.1°C. Hypothermia was already taking hold of his body.
Blood pressure: 62/44 mmHg. Heart rate: 52 beats per minute and continuing to fall.
This was not the compensatory tachycardia normally seen with ordinary blood loss. Instead, the hypothermia had already slowed his heart, leaving him on the verge of cardiovascular failure.
He had no time to be shocked. He quickly secured the monitor to Xiao’s wrist, keeping the screen continuously visible.
At the same time Su Muchen was moving, Xiao Yuan had already ordered the guards to prepare.
“Set up a shelter. Start a fire. Secure the perimeter!”
Then he stepped forward and brushed all the snow off Xiao.
The simple shelter was quickly erected. The guards spread a thick blanket across the ground, and several of them worked together to lift Xiao onto it.
Su Muchen’s hands were already numb from the cold, but the work ahead required the use of his hands. He held them near the charcoal fire to warm them.
Xiao Yuan grabbed his hands and said, “Sparks will fly. Don’t get too close.”
He removed his own gloves and covered Su Muchen’s hands with his, warming them beside the fire and making sure those healer’s hands were not harmed in the slightest.
Before long, sensation returned to Su Muchen’s hands.
Xiao Yuan took the dark gray case from one of the guards and handed it to Su Muchen.
Su Muchen steadied his breathing and his hands.
His gaze fell upon the wound, and his fingers were already moving. There was no hesitation.
He opened the first-aid kit, took out scissors, and cut away the clothing around Xiao’s right shoulder, exposing the wound.
The skin around the bullet hole had already turned white. Dark-red clotted blood crusted the edges, but fresh blood was still seeping from deeper inside.
Without hesitation, he took hemostatic gauze from the first-aid kit and pressed it directly over the wound.
He heard Xiao Yuan’s voice behind him.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Hold this down for me,” Su Muchen said. “Hard.”
Xiao Yuan crouched down and pressed his palm over the hemostatic gauze Su Muchen was already holding in place. He asked no questions.
Blood quickly soaked through the gauze and stained his hand.
“Help me,” Su Muchen said.
Xiao Yuan carefully turned Xiao over and helped hold him steady.
The two worked together with perfect understanding.
Su Muchen took saline from the first-aid kit and flushed the area around the wound, cleaning away the clotted blood and fibers from the clothing.
When the blood had been cleaned away and the full extent of the wound became visible, both he and Xiao Yuan froze for a moment.
—A pattern of a red spider lily.
On the right side of Xiao’s back, beneath the shoulder blade.
The pattern was not a tattoo. It looked more like some kind of mark embedded deep beneath the skin, as though it were a trace carved into him by time itself.
It was a deep crimson, like coagulated blood spreading outward along the contours of the petals.
Along the edges was a faint touch of gold, like gilding hidden deep within an ancient artifact, appearing only briefly when touched by light.
At that moment, it resembled a blooming red spider lily, faintly glowing in the snow.
Beautiful in a strange and eerie way.
Su Muchen’s movements stopped for a moment.
He had confirmed before that there had been no red spider lily mark on Xiao’s back.
Xiao Yuan’s gaze also fell upon the pattern.
He said nothing.
Su Muchen quickly collected himself and returned his full attention to treating the wound.
Xiao’s injury was a through-and-through gunshot wound.
The entrance wound in the front was smaller, while the exit wound in the back was larger. The bullet had passed through completely, with no foreign object lodged inside.
It was a blessing in the midst of misfortune.
After disinfecting the wound, Su Muchen quickly sutured the exit wound. His movements were clean and precise, every stitch accurate.
Then he applied sterile gauze and an elastic bandage, securing it with pressure to ensure the wound would no longer bleed.
He took out an antibiotic injection and administered it intravenously.
Next, he took out a triangular bandage and secured Xiao’s right arm against his chest.
Then he tore open an aluminum foil emergency blanket.
“Help me move him,” he said to Xiao Yuan. “I need to wrap him up.”
Working together, they completely wrapped Xiao from head to toe.
As Su Muchen wrapped him, his hand touched Xiao’s body.
It was cold.
Not the ordinary cold of winter.
It was a kind of chill almost devoid of the warmth of life.
Cold enough that Su Muchen’s hand froze for a moment.
He nearly lost control. His voice forced its way through clenched teeth.
“Su Jinye!”
As though he had heard the voice, Xiao’s eyelashes moved.
A tiny tremor.
Su Muchen’s voice began to shake.
“Didn’t you say… you were only a shopkeeper? Shopkeepers aren’t allowed to clock out early.”
He did not wait for a response. He continued wrapping Xiao’s body, tightening the edges of the emergency blanket as though he were wrapping something fragile that he could not allow to break.
“Xiao, listen to me. I won’t let you die!”
Xiao did not respond.
But his eyelashes trembled faintly again.
After a moment, he opened his eyes.
Very slowly, as though he needed to concentrate all the strength in his body on that single movement.
His gaze was unfocused. Then, little by little, a faint glimmer appeared in his eyes, like an ember slowly being lit.
The corner of his mouth moved, almost imperceptibly.
In a hoarse, weak voice, he murmured something.
Su Muchen lowered himself closer before he could hear it.
“…Young Master.”
He paused for a moment before slowly continuing.
“Why did you… not listen?”
Then he closed his eyes again.
His breathing settled into a steady rhythm, but it did not disappear.
Xiao Yuan stood behind him. He did not urge him, only asking quietly, “Can he be moved?”
Su Muchen was silent for a moment as he quickly assessed Xiao’s condition.
Although he wanted to establish an IV immediately, the temperature here was too low and there was no warmer. The IV fluid might freeze.
He said, “Yes. But he can’t ride a horse. The jolting could reopen the wound.”
Xiao’s body could not withstand any shaking right now.
The distance alone from here back to the administrative office was enough to kill him on the way.
Xiao Yuan did not hesitate. He turned to the guards and issued a military order.
“Prepare a sled. Two horses to pull it. Take the northern slope trail and return via the shortcut along the frozen river.”
Winter transport of wounded soldiers was common in the northern frontier, and the guards had brought all the necessary equipment for transporting casualties during the rescue.
Su Muchen crouched beside Xiao and tightened the edge of the emergency blanket again.
The monitor was wrapped inside the blanket.
He slipped his hand beneath the edge and pressed it against the side of Xiao’s neck, confirming that the weak pulse was still beating.
Very weak.
But still there.
The sled was ready soon.
Two cold-resistant northern warhorses pulled a long wooden sled.
A thick blanket covered the sled, with securing straps along the edges. It was standard military equipment for transporting wounded soldiers during winter.
Su Muchen inspected the straps, making sure Xiao’s body would be firmly secured during the journey and would not shift when they turned or encountered rough terrain.
Then he gestured for Xiao Yuan and the guards to carefully lift Xiao onto the sled.
He raised Xiao’s head slightly, using folded clothing to support it.
Then he picked up the first-aid kit and looked up.
“Can this sled carry two people?”
The guard froze for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes. When transporting wounded soldiers in winter, there is sometimes a medical orderly who rides along to monitor them.”
Su Muchen immediately climbed onto the sled and knelt on Xiao’s right side, his knees pressing into the blanket, his body leaning slightly forward. He braced his left hand against the edge of the sled to maintain his balance.
He secured a strap to the side of the sled and fastened himself to it, preventing himself from sliding off when the sled jolted.
The position was not comfortable, but it allowed him to remain close enough to check Xiao at any moment.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Xiao Yuan mounted Xuan Shuang.
Xuan Shuang ran ahead of the sled, with the two military horses following behind and pulling it.
The remaining guards spread out on both sides, forming a moving defensive line.
Riding atop Xuan Shuang, Xiao Yuan led the way ahead of the sled, occasionally turning his head to check on what was happening behind him.
When the sled began moving, Su Muchen’s body swayed slightly, but he quickly steadied himself.
His eyes never left Xiao’s face.
He maintained his kneeling position, reaching out every so often to feel Xiao’s pulse at his neck and make sure the faint beat was still there.
Afterward, he withdrew his hand and braced it against the edge of the sled again.
“Don’t sleep,” he said quietly.
There was no response.
Only the sound of the wind and the faint crunch of the sled moving over the snow.
“Can you hear me?” he asked.
Still no response.
He checked Xiao’s pulse again and felt that the beat beneath his fingers was slightly weaker than before.
He did not panic.
He simply withdrew his hand and continued kneeling beside him in the same position.
After a while, he reached out and gently patted Xiao’s cheek.
“Su Jinye.”
Riding atop Xuan Shuang, Xiao Yuan heard the call.
He did not turn around.
Xiao’s eyelashes moved faintly.
Su Muchen saw the tiny reaction.
For the rest of the journey, he did not speak again.
He simply repeated the same actions at regular intervals—checking the pulse, confirming his breathing, withdrawing his hand, and waiting for the next cycle.
The snow on the northern slope trail was deeper than on the official road, but the journey was nearly half as long.
The shortcut along the frozen river was covered by a thick layer of ice. The sled glided more smoothly over it than across the snow, with almost no jolting.
Every three li along the route, the guards had lit torches. Their flames formed an intermittent line in the night, like a glowing rope leading the way.
Those were people Xia Lanshi had ordered to be sent out.
Su Muchen maintained his kneeling position.
His legs had already gone numb, but he did not change his posture.
He lowered his head and stared at Xiao’s face, confirming that he was still there.
For the final few li, the guards took turns carrying him back on a stretcher.
Su Muchen carried the first-aid kit and refused to mount a horse. He stayed closely beside the stretcher the entire way, keeping his eyes fixed on Xiao’s condition.
When the lights of the administrative office finally appeared in the distance, Xia Lanshi was already waiting at the entrance to the southern courtyard.
He had been standing there for a long time.
Every quarter of an hour, he would ask a guard, “How much farther?”
The answers had changed from “fifteen li” to “ten li,” and then to “five li.”
He continued standing there, his gaze fixed on the boundary between the night and the snow, waiting for them to return.
When sounds finally came from the distance, Xia Lanshi lowered his hand from the white jade peace pendant.
He did not run. His steps were simply faster than usual, the hem of his robes fluttering in the wind.
When he reached the entrance, the first thing he saw was the figure on the stretcher, wrapped in a silver blanket.
Xiao’s complexion was almost the same color as the snow.
His gaze lingered on that figure for a moment before shifting to Su Muchen beside him.
“Take him into the southern courtyard. All the military physicians are standing by.”
Su Muchen had been walking for a long time, but he did not stop.
He picked up the first-aid kit and followed the stretcher into the southern courtyard.
The largest guest room in the southern courtyard had already been rearranged.
The original bedding had been pushed against the wall. A large wooden table stood in the center of the room, covered with white cloth.
The charcoal fire burned more vigorously than usual. Several oil lamps hung in the corners, illuminating the entire room.
Hot water had already been prepared, steam curling upward from the copper basin.
Alcohol, medicine, white cloth, needles and thread, knives and scissors.
Everything was neatly arranged across the table.
The military physicians stood quietly against the wall, waiting for instructions.
Xiao was lifted onto the wooden table.
Su Muchen walked to the table.
Under the lamplight, he checked the wound again.
The bleeding had already improved.
The monitor remained attached to his wrist. The numbers on the screen were still low, but they were no longer dropping.
However, Su Muchen knew that the real challenge had only just begun.
Infection.
Hypothermia.
Recovery after blood loss.
He loosened the triangular bandage securing Xiao’s right arm.
“Take off his shirt,” he told the military physician beside him. “Be careful. Don’t pull on the wound in his right shoulder.”
Xiao’s black combat uniform had long since been soaked through with blood and snow and had to be changed immediately.
The military physicians stepped forward and tried to cut it open from the front.
They had never seen clothing like this before.
When they touched the material, they sensed something unusual.
It was not ordinary fabric. It seemed to be an extremely fine, densely woven material, and its edges had no traditional stitching. Instead, they had been fused together by some method they had never seen before.
One of them looked toward Su Muchen.
“Doctor Su, this clothing… can’t be cut.”
Only then did Su Muchen realize that it was probably a bulletproof vest.
“Hold him steady.”
Without hesitation, he moved to Xiao’s side and felt along the junction between the collar and shoulder seam until he found an extremely concealed fastening.
It was the quick-release strap of the bulletproof vest, hidden inside the collar.
He pressed down on the fastening.
The shoulder of the bulletproof vest released with a click. He then pulled the vest sideways beneath the armpit, exposing the inner layer of clothing, which was stained with blood.
“Done,” he said.
The military physicians did not dare ask further questions. They quietly took the vest and placed it on a clean cloth nearby before beginning to remove the inner clothing.
Once the clothing had been removed, Su Muchen examined Xiao’s limbs and back.
There were no obvious signs of frostbite or blackened fingers and toes.
His skin was pale, but there was still a faint warming response in the extremities.
It was a fortunate situation.
“Bring cloth and hot water,” Su Muchen said.
A military physician handed him a warm, damp cloth.
He took it and carefully wiped the blood and melted snow from Xiao’s body. He put a clean inner garment on him and then secured the triangular bandage again.
Next, he took an IV saline bag, infusion tubing, and an intravenous catheter from the first-aid kit.
With practiced movements, he established an IV line in Xiao’s uninjured arm.
Then he adjusted the infusion rate.
He was so focused that he failed to notice the military physicians’ gazes.
Tonight, they had not only finally met the legendary Doctor Su, but had also been fortunate enough to participate in the rescue operation and observe, from the closest possible distance, medical techniques completely different from everything they had learned in their entire lives, along with medical equipment they had never seen before.
Su Muchen checked the monitor once more.
His heart rate and breathing were somewhat fast. His body temperature and blood pressure were both low, but there were no signs of further deterioration.
His body temperature had already begun to rise slowly.
For now, all they needed to do was keep him stable.
He said quietly, “He’s temporarily stabilized.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
Xia Lanshi stood a short distance away, maintaining a distance that would not disturb them.
His gaze rested on Xiao’s profile.
His complexion was still so pale that it was almost translucent, but it was somewhat better than before, slowly approaching the color that a living person should have.
—Temporarily stabilized.
It was not a guarantee.
But at least, it was not bad news.