Zhu hopped back to the dew trees and collapsed against their roots, clutching them for support. Her impromptu run through the forest had thoroughly aggravated her sprained ankle.
She looked down at the end of her limb and grimaced. It was darkened and swollen, like a rotting piece of fruit. Pain echoed up her leg—sharp, deep, and unrelenting.
"Girl, you can use forestdew jelly to soothe your foot," the voice suggested.
"Oh good god," Zhu groaned. "That means I'm going to have to crack more of those things open!"
"Yes."
By now, Zhu was used to the voice's complete lack of sympathy. No matter the danger she was in, his calm never wavered.
She sighed, braced herself against the trunk, and hauled herself upright long enough to gather a few fallen forestdews. Then she slid back down to sit beneath the tree.
As before, cracking forestdews was gruelling work. It took her nearly thirty minutes to break open a single nut.
The reward, however, was worth it.
She scooped out the cool, translucent jelly and spread it over her swollen ankle. Relief flooded in instantly, like a cold cloth pressed to a fevered brow.
"Mmm… that feels good," she murmured.
She spent another thirty minutes cracking a second nut, but this time she didn't open it. Instead, she slipped it into her pocket for later.
Not long after, the voice spoke again.
"Girl, it is time to leave."
"Gosh," Zhu complained as she struggled to her feet, "couldn't you let me sit on this cold ground a bit longer?"
"I could," the voice replied evenly, "but your internal injuries would worsen."
Zhu rolled her eyes. "That was clearly a rhetorical statement."
"Noted."
"Really… noted?" Zhu shook her head. "But one thing I understand very clearly from our wild adventure so far is this—you need me, and you're not going to let me die." She gestured vaguely at herself. "Especially with all this talk about my insides falling apart."
Still, just in case, she asked, "Is there a Wendle or some other horrible thing nearby that could eat me or hunt me down? Because I honestly can't take another fall off a cliff."
"Yes," the voice answered.
Her heart lurched. "What?"
"They are nearby," the voice continued calmly, "but they will not harm you."
"Really?" Zhu frowned. "I thought my soul was leaking or… whatever it was doing."
"It was," the voice said. "I have since mended it."
"Oh. Cool." Zhu shook her head, deliberately choosing not to comment on how that information might have been useful earlier. "But I thought the deeper we go into the forest, the harder it is for you to shield me. You know—because of the more dangerous monsters."
"That is true," the voice agreed. "However, you are now closer to me, which amplifies my power."
"I see…" Zhu thought for a moment, then asked, "But aren't you running out of power?"
"Do not fret. I have enough to keep you sustained through this crisis," the voice reassured her.
"Oh, great," Zhu muttered, making a few popping sounds with her mouth. "Just not enough to block my pain receptors."
"Correct."
"Urgh, fine. I really don't like you."
"Your dislike is noted."
Zhu sucked her teeth, very much wanting to punch the disembodied voice.
"To distract myself from my growing hatred of you," she said, "what is this assistant to the forest guardian business about?"
"In this forest, I am known simply as a Guardian."
"Yes, I gathered that much. What does a forest guardian do?"
"I have many duties as a Hollowvail Guardian. I protect the forest in that capacity. I act as a shield for sacred groves, ancient trees—"
"Yeah, yeah, skip to the part that's relevant to me."
The voice paused, as if processing the interruption.
"Very well. As a Forest Guardian, I sense disturbances through roots, wind, and mana currents. That is how I detected your distress—carried on the wind and amplified by the storm. The bridge was the strongest point to catch the signal and send a reply."
"Oh."
"Your distress reminded me of a caged animal—wild, desperate. It was black and bitter, quite—"
"Could you stop describing my distress?" Zhu cut in sharply. Being reminded of why she was distressed made her skin crawl.
"Very well. My role allows me to guide you even from afar. In spiritual form, I can shield you with protective wards, mask your scent from predators, and subtly nudge the forest to open safer paths before you."
"Oh. Nice. Is communicating with nature also part of the job?"
"Naturally."
"Wonderful, wonderful, and—"
"We really must be moving if we are to complete today's task before nightfall," the voice interrupted.
That, more than anything else, made Zhu's stomach tighten. The forest during the day was terrifying enough. She didn't want to imagine it at night.
"Fine, fine. What's next?" She braced herself against the tree and slowly stood. The moment she did, pain exploded up her injured leg. She clenched her fists and endured it.
"We still require the hundred-year ginseng and water from the Rushing Spring. We will collect the water after the ginseng. You will dig; I will tell you where."
She tried to take a step—and nearly face-planted.
"Nope. Nope. This little Muffet needs to sit back on her tuffet," Zhu joked weakly as she clung to the tree. Her body flatly refused to put any weight on her injured foot.
"Let us hope a hollow spider does not come sit beside you, then."
"Haha. You're not funny," Zhu rolled her eyes. "But seriously—what are we going to do? I can't move."
"Do not worry. I have commissioned a crutch for you from a Hollowvail beaver."
"Alright, good. Question—"
"Beavers are large, semi-aquatic rodents that hailed from the northern hemisphere of the Old World," the voice answered preemptively.
"Ohhh." Zhu nodded, then frowned. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You're saying words that sound like they make sense, but they don't. Not to me, anyway."
"Which part requires clarification?"
"What's a rodent? What's the northern hemisphere? And which Old World?" Zhu fired back.
"There is a significant amount of foundational knowledge you lack," the voice stated matter-of-factly. "As I recall, Old World history is taught in First Year Basic. That is why some languages—such as English—have survived."
Zhu shrugged. "I didn't go to school much. I started First Year Basic, but I was out most of the time. I had to work at the Wangs' house."
"I see."
"Yeah. They pulled me indefinitely when they found out I was a null." Zhu's voice held no emotional fluctuation; she had long since grown used to her reality. "From then on, my life was work, sleep, repeat."
Matter-of-factly, she added, "This is the first time I've ever been away from the town."
The voice fell uncharacteristically silent as the girl spoke. Her words may have sounded empty, but her soul was another matter entirely. The pain radiating from it made him want to weep. It was fragile—terribly so—which was why it had been so easy for it to dislodge from her body during the episode in the limousine. The scars etched into Zhu's soul were numerous and deep, the unmistakable marks of years upon years of suppressed trauma and suffering.
"Ironically, I guess I should thank them for marrying me off to an old pervert. Without that, I probably would've worked myself to death in that house. Zhu let out a cynical laugh. Now I'm free—running for my life in a deadly, poisonous jungle. Woohoo."
"Yes, focusing on the positive is a healthy coping strategy," the voice encouraged.
"Right. Aren't I just a ray of sunshine?"
"Not yet," the voice replied.
That earned a genuine laugh from Zhu. It hurt—sharp and immediate—but she laughed anyway. The sound cut off abruptly when the bushes to her left began to rustle.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"No need to worry. It is our friendly neighbourhood beavers, delivering the goods."
She relaxed—only slightly.
The bushes ahead shook again. Not the light skitter of small animals, but something heavier. Intentional. Branches parted, leaves bowed aside, and a broad, furred shape stepped out of the undergrowth.
Zhu's heart slammed into her ribs.
Is that… a beaver?
"Yes. Hollowvail beavers."
They stood nearly to her knee, long-bodied and powerfully built, their fur dark and glossy like wet bark. Amber eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence as the lead one surveyed her, its head tilting slightly. Behind it, two more emerged, then another—moving with quiet, unsettling grace for creatures of their size.
Zhu instinctively shifted her weight and hissed as pain lanced through her swollen ankle.
The nearest beaver froze. Then, to her utter confusion, it stepped forward and dropped something at her feet.
A crutch.
It was carved from smooth, pale wood, carefully shaped and reinforced with tightly woven vine. The craftsmanship was deliberate—balanced, sturdy, and unmistakably made for use.
Zhu stared. "...What?" Her eyes never left the beavers. She was both astonished by the workmanship and shocked that animals had made it.
One of them slapped its tail softly against the ground—not a threat, more like punctuation. Another nudged the crutch closer with its nose.
"They… made this?" Zhu asked slowly.
"Yes. Hollowvail beavers are master woodworkers. It took them less than ten minutes."
The lead beaver met her gaze again. Up close, she noticed the faint shimmer of mana threading through its fur and the pearlescent gleam of its incisors as it gnawed once at a fallen branch, testing the wood. Satisfied, it stepped back.
Zhu swallowed and carefully reached for the crutch.
The wood was warm. Solid. Perfectly balanced for her height.
She leaned on it experimentally—and nearly cried in relief as the pressure eased off her ankle.
"...Thank you," she said softly, unsure if they could understand her.
The beaver grunted—and this time, she heard it clearly.
"Guardian, the debt has been repaid."
"Yes, General. Thank you for your assistance," the voice replied, resonating from within her.
The beaver blinked once, slow and deliberate. Then it turned, thwacked its tail, and melted back into the undergrowth. The others followed, branches swaying gently until the forest swallowed them whole.
Zhu stood there for a long moment, leaning on her new support.
"Alright," she said finally. "Hurry up and tell me what's next. I can feel myself fading fast."