The first rat lunged at dawn.
Or what passed for dawn—that gray, miserable light that wasn't quite night anymore but wasn't yet day.
Xiyue had been standing for hours, back against the wall, knife in one hand, pan in the other, her entire body screaming for rest.
She'd almost relaxed. Almost let her guard down.
Then the biggest one—the leader, the one with the scarred ear and the beady red eyes—charged.
It moved fast. Faster than something that size should move. Teeth bared, claws scrabbling on the dirt floor, aiming straight for her ankle.
Xiyue moved on instinct.
She swung the pan like a tennis racket, connecting with the rat's body mid-leap. The impact jarred up her arm, but the rat went flying—hit the wall with a sickening crunch, fell to the ground, and didn't move.
Silence.
The other rats stared at their fallen leader. Then they stared at her.
Run, Xiyue thought at them. Please just run.
They didn't run.
They advanced.
Five of them. No, six. More emerging from the shadows behind. Circling now, spreading out, surrounding her.
Xiyue's heart did that skip-thing, and for a horrible second she thought she might pass out right here, fall down, and let them have her.
But the moment passed. Her vision cleared. Her grip tightened on the pan.
Think. What did the survival documentaries say?
Something about noise. Predators didn't like noise. Something about appearing bigger than you were.
She grabbed one of the hearth stones—still hot from the fire—and slammed it against the pan.
The sound was deafening. A clang that echoed off the walls, that hurt her own ears, that seemed to fill the entire kitchen with screeching metal.
The rats froze.
Xiyue did it again. And again. And again.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Her arms burned. Her vision swam. But she kept going, kept making noise.
One rat bolted for the corner.
Then another.
Then three more.
Within thirty seconds, the kitchen was empty except for her and the dead one by the wall.
Xiyue kept hitting the pan for another minute, just to be sure. Then she stopped, leaned against the wall, and slid down until she was sitting on the floor.
Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
I just killed a rat with a frying pan. I just fought off a pack of rats with a frying pan and a rock.
A hysterical laugh escaped her. Then another.
Then she was laughing and crying at the same time, shoulders heaving, tears streaming down her face.
"This is my life now. This is literally my life."
The laugh-crying went on for a while.
When it finally stopped, she was exhausted in a way she'd never been before—deeper than physical, deeper than mental. Soul-tired.
But alive.
She was still alive.
The gray light got stronger. Morning, apparently. She'd survived the night.
Xiyue forced herself to move. To check the body by the wall.
The rat was definitely dead—neck broken by the impact. Its body was still warm.
Protein, her brain supplied. You need protein.
She looked at the dead rat. Looked away. Looked back.
"I can't. I'm a doctor. I took an oath. I—"
Her stomach growled so loudly it echoed.
"Okay. Maybe I can. Maybe I have to."
But not now. Not yet. First, she needed to check the minimap.
The system had promised it would activate after the water mission, and if she was going to survive more than another day, she needed to know what was out there.
She thought about the map, and it appeared.
A translucent overlay spread across her vision, showing the Cold Palace in blue wireframe. Buildings were squares. Paths were lines. Her current location blinked as a green dot near the center.
And to the east—
A red dot. Pulsing. Close. Maybe fifty meters away, just beyond the wall of the courtyard.
[Food source detected — Unstable.]
Xiyue stared at it.
Unstable. What did that mean? A food source that might run away? That might fight back?
She thought about asking the system, but she already knew it wouldn't answer. The system only spoke when it wanted to. The rest of the time, it just... observed.
Fifty meters. Through the broken gate, past the collapsed building, into the overgrown section she hadn't explored yet.
I should rest first, she told herself. I should eat something. Drink something. Regain strength.
But the red dot pulsed. Beckoned.
And she was so hungry.
She made herself wait. Boiled more water, made more tea, ate the last of the grain. The food barely touched the hollow feeling in her stomach, but it was something.
Then she picked up her knife, grabbed the pan as a shield, and went to investigate.
The path to the east was worse than she remembered. More collapsed structures, more weeds, more places for rats to hide. She walked slowly, carefully, checking every shadow.
The red dot got closer on her minimap. Forty meters. Thirty. Twenty.
She stopped at the remains of a building—a storehouse, maybe, or a kitchen for the Cold Palace servants back when it was actually staffed.
The roof had collapsed inward, but the walls were mostly intact. And from inside, she heard something.
Movement. Heavy breathing. A snuffling sound.
Not a rat, she thought. Too big for a rat.
She crept closer, peered through a gap in the wall, and saw it.
A dog.
No—not a dog. A boar. A young one, maybe a year old, trapped inside the collapsed building.
It had probably wandered in looking for food and gotten stuck when the roof fell. Now it paced back and forth, snorting, clearly desperate.
And clearly edible.
Xiyue looked at the boar. Looked at her knife. Looked back at the boar.
I'm a surgeon, she thought. I've cut into hundreds of bodies. This is just... a different kind of body.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The boar turned toward her. Snorted. Its small eyes fixed on her face.
It's trapped, she told herself. It's suffering.
She still couldn't move.
The boar charged.
Not at her—at the wall. It slammed into the collapsed beams blocking the exit, trying to force its way out.
The beams held, but barely. Dust rained from above.
It would break through eventually. And when it did, it would either run away or come for her.
Xiyue made a decision.
She found the original entrance—a doorway mostly blocked by debris, but with a gap just big enough for a person to squeeze through.
She climbed over broken wood and fallen tiles, knife in hand, heart pounding.
The boar saw her the moment she entered.
It stopped pacing. Turned. Faced her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Xiyue straightened her back. Met the boar's eyes. Took a step forward.
"Hey," she said quietly. "I'm sorry about this. I really am."
The boar snorted.
Xiyue kept walking.
It wasn't quick. It wasn't clean.
But when it was over, the boar was dead and Xiyue was sitting on the ground, covered in blood that wasn't hers, crying silently.
I killed something. I killed something to eat it.
The system pulsed.
[Food source secured.]
[Nutritional value: High. Estimated 30-40 days of protein if preserved properly.]
[New mission available: Meat preservation.]
Thirty to forty days.
She could survive here for thirty to forty days. Long enough to get strong enough to reach the palace. Long enough to figure out how to approach the screaming emperor.
Her stomach turned. She leaned to the side and threw up.
Nothing came out but bile. There was nothing in her stomach to lose.
When the heaving stopped, she sat up, wiped her mouth, and looked at the dead boar.
She picked up her knife and got to work.
Hours later, she had meat. Strips of it, hanging from a makeshift rack she'd built near the kitchen hearth.
The fire was going again, smoking the meat slowly, preserving it the way she'd seen in documentaries.
Her hands were raw. Her arms ached. Every part of her wanted to collapse and never get up.
But she had food. Real food. Enough to last.
As darkness fell again—the second night—she sat by the fire, chewing on a small piece of cooked boar meat. It was tough. Gamey. Nothing like the steak she used to eat.
It was the best thing she'd ever tasted.
[Survival probability: 23%.]
[Time remaining: 62 hours.]
[Recommendation: Rest. Recover. Plan approach to target.]
Xiyue looked toward the east, where beyond the Cold Palace walls, the golden roofs of the Imperial Palace caught the last light of the sun.
Somewhere over there, a man was probably screaming.
Soon.
Soon she'd go to him.
But tonight—
Tonight, she was full.
And that was enough.