The night was still deep, the sky dark and murky.
In the black river water, Zhang Xia clung to the driftwood, floating with the current.
All she could hear was the sound of the waves. Zhang Xia looked down at Chen Ji's unconscious face, tightened her hold on his arm, fearing the river would sweep him away.
From Luocheng City to Guyuan, from Guyuan to the Imperial Capital, and then from the Imperial Capital to Chongli Pass, Chen Ji hadn't had a break for too long.
For some reason, she felt that injury was a rare form of rest for Chen Ji. Only at this moment could he stop, instead of being carried forward by the tumultuous wind.
Now the river channel grew narrower, the water racing through the mountains, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow.
Zhang Xia's hands were preoccupied, yet the undercurrent of the Zhengou River pulled her down, a single piece of driftwood unable to support them both, eventually submerging deep into the water.
