Fortunately, they found nothing, but watching them search made Zhang Ming sweat more than any training session ever had. Being so close, yet unable to help the girls or even learn how they were doing, nearly drove him mad. Sleep completely abandoned him. Under the guise of meditation, he sat atop the pigsty, waiting for the moment when the bandits would finally disperse and the hammering would die down. But they kept staggering about until dawn, and with the sunrise, new people took their place.

  “I should’ve slit their throats like pigs…” he muttered, heading toward the storehouse with a few coins tucked into his belt.

  “Oh! You again!” the storekeeper, Shang Yunzi, greeted him. “What herb do you need this time? Did the Ba Dou seeds help you last time? Constipation gone?”

  “They helped a lot. Though they come with fever and nausea.”

  “Heh, well, sorry about that. At least you came back alive,” the manager said, giving him a meaningful look. “So what is it you want now?”

  “I can’t sleep. I need a sleeping draught. Very strong. A lot of it.”

  “Oh? A lot?” Shang Yunzi raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You bring the money?”

  “Yes,” Zhang Ming replied, thinking to himself, He really doesn’t care how or why I use it. Even if I poisoned everyone here… Strange man.

  The fourth day since his return to the fortress came to an end. The sun dipped below the horizon, and a cool autumn wind from the forest carried the scent of damp grass and mushrooms. Clouds drifted across the sky, casting shadows over the already grim fort.

  Potatoes baked on the embers in the stove, adding a sweet note to the smell of smoke. Steam rose from the large communal cauldron where the remains of porridge still simmered. Bandits lay sprawled all around, asleep in heaps. Lin Bo and his friends snored loudly among them.

  “Good sleeping herb,” Zhang Ming muttered. “Even better than I expected. At least half the squad will sleep until morning. Mo Dushi has left the fortress. It’s time.”

  Wrapping the baked potatoes in several layers of burlap, he filled a bamboo thermos with sorghum porridge mixed with meat. He then calmly made a round of the livestock yard, peered into the stables, and once he was certain everyone was asleep, shot along a route he had already calculated, avoiding all prying eyes. In just a few breaths, he reached the old shed. After a quick look around, he slipped inside and bolted the door.

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  “What’s that smell?” The stench of rot and decay assaulted his nose, and Zhang Ming’s heart nearly stopped. “Please…be alive.”

  With trembling hands, he pried open the floorboards of the shed and reached for the hatch leading to the hideout below. Disturbed earth slid down with a soft rustle. From the darkness of the cellar rose a dense cloud of foul air, a mix of decay, leftover food, and filth, that engulfed him from head to toe. Though the hatch let some air through, it was only enough to keep the place from suffocating completely. Ventilation was poor.

  Zhang Ming took a candle from his basket, carefully lit it, and climbed down, leaving the hatch open.

  Inside, the captives lay curled up on their bedding. Thin figures dressed in men’s clothes far too large for them didn’t stir at his arrival. Despair clenched Zhang Ming’s heart. His throat tightened, and he took an unsteady step forward.

  “Hey… it’s me,” his voice cracking.

  At last, they slowly turned their heads, squinting at the dim candlelight as if it were the sun. Their faces were drawn, their eyes sunken. Moving sluggishly, the girls tried to sit up.

  “Thank you… for holding on,” Zhang Ming said quietly, brushing the back of his hand across his cheek. “It’s all right now. I’m back.”

  “Yes…” the elder sobbed softly.

  For a while, Zhang Ming watched them with growing anxiety. Nearly three weeks they had spent here, living on water and dried food, flinching at every sound. He saw their dulled movements, cracked lips, empty stares. Physically and spiritually exhausted, they had waited for his return, for one of the bandits who had locked them underground. His chest felt heavy, and a sharp sting pricked the bridge of his nose.

  I failed to take care of those children… and now I owe others, a barbed thought crept into his mind, and the faces of the two little children from Baohe rose before his eyes.

  “Papa!” cried the younger girl, getting to her feet. “Where have you been for so long?” She swayed as she walked up to him and hugged him tightly.

  “I’m sorry…” Zhang Ming murmured, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. He placed his calloused hand on her head and gently stroked her hair. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking to the elder girl.

  “Xiao Mei… she seems a little lost these past few days…” the elder replied, sitting up on her bedding.

  “I see,” Zhang Ming nodded.

  Despite their frail appearance, relief washed over him. The worst had been avoided. All the anguish of the past days, which had gnawed at his soul like a starving demon, dissolved in an instant. The younger girl still clung to him with her fragile arms, and he instinctively pulled her closer, stroking her head once more. She buried her face in his clothes, and her small body finally stopped trembling.

  “Why is she so hot?” he asked, feeling as though he were holding a blazing furnace. “And what’s that smell? Did something spoil?”

  “No… it’s us. After those candies, the fever never went away.”

  “What? How many candies were there?”

  “Four…”

  “Just four isn’t too bad,” he breathed out.

  “Four for each of us…”

  “Oh.” Zhang Ming frowned. He knew firsthand how potent those pills were, he had taken two. “How did you endure this?”

  Placing his palm between the girl’s shoulder blades, the one clinging to him, he felt a raging energy inside her, a fiery, destructive storm burning the child from within. It had first purged all impurities, then turned on the body itself, like a wild beast trapped inside with no outlet and no direction.