The next day, while Daolin was taking a brief break from his intense morning training, he wiped the sweat from his brow and let his eyes drift toward the small clearing that served as their front yard. Birds chirped in the high branches above, and the crisp mountain breeze carried the scent of morning dew. Just as he inhaled, something unusual caught his attention—a figure staggering into view.
A woman.
She stumbled across the moss-covered stones, her body swaying with each step. Blood stained her robes, and deep cuts marred her pale skin. It took only a heartbeat for Daolin to recognize the danger she was in.
His breath hitched. Then—he ran.
He reached her just as her knees buckled, catching her before she fell. Her breathing was shallow, her forehead burning with fever. Whoever she was, she had been through a nightmare.
Without hesitation, Daolin swept her up into his arms and carried her inside the hut.
"Xiaomei!" he called, his voice firm but gentle.
