Chapter 45: Snow-Bound Mountains on a Winter Night, a Single Lantern Pierces the Conspiracy

She looked up and saw only a world of snow. The mountains, usually lush and green, were blanketed by the drifts like a crouching white beast, unforgivingly cold, completely severing Qinghe Town from the outside world.

The bitter wind sneaked through the gaps in the door. The brazier in the embroidery workshop burned sluggishly, barely managing to exhale a trace of warmth.

Shen Guilan withdrew her gaze. Her palms were chilled, the coldness seeming to have burrowed straight into her bones.

She turned around and stared at the last small heap of indigo silk threads.

In her hands, that blue color looked less like a hue and more like burnt ash, entirely devoid of hope.

"Mother..." Xiuxwei called out in a soft, slightly trembling voice. "Old Hunter Ma went down the mountain today to trade for salt and heard Shopkeeper Qian's clerk bragging in the tavern. He said unless we hand over the deed to the three mu of mulberry fields behind the mountain, we needn't even dream of getting a single strand of silk from him, not even after the snow thaws."

The Qian family was truly driving them to desperation.

A fire flared in Shen Guilan's heart, but her face remained utterly composed.

This batch of embroidery was a rush order for the "Brocade Embroidery Pavilion" in the prefecture city. If they missed the deadline, not only would the payment be forfeited, but their reputation would be ruined as well.

By then, the dozens of embroiderers who depended on her for their livelihood would genuinely have no way to survive this winter.

She walked over to the window and touched the frost patterns on the glass. The piercing cold bit her fingers, yet it only made her mind clearer.

Suddenly, she spoke. Her voice was not loud, but every word was distinct: "Xiuxwei, when Uncle Gu patrols the mountains, how far does he usually go?"

Xiuxwei started, lowering her voice as she stepped closer. "Uncle Gu said the most perilous spot is right beneath Wind Eye Cliff, where there is a wind-sheltered cave passed down by veteran hunters. He said... the wind there is fierce enough to blow a soul away, but only the wind from that exact spot can carry the sound of a signal arrow ten miles out."

Wind Eye Cliff.

Shen Guilan committed it to memory.

That night, the oil lamp stretched her shadow long against the wall.

From the bottom of her chest, she retrieved the last piece of wild silkworm brocade. It was no larger than the palm of a hand, originally saved to make Xiuxwei's wedding dowry. It was so fine it transmitted the light, glowing as bright as moonlight.

The charcoal fire in the copper basin burned a deep red, illuminating one half of her face.

Stitch by stitch, she worked through the entire night without stopping.

By dawn, a piece titled *Travelers in a Snowy Night* was fully embroidered.

In the picture, a figure carrying a pack was scaling a precipice, with a towering mass of snow pressing down from above and a bottomless abyss hidden beneath his feet.

Yet right ahead of him, in a distant mountain ravine, flickered a single speck of light, like a lamp in the pitch-black night, pointing the way out.

She pinched a small quantity of fine medicinal powder, wrapped it into a tiny packet of oiled paper, and subtly stitched it into the flame of the lamp at the corner of the painting.

Having finished this, she picked up her brush and wrote eight characters on a thin sheet of paper: "Wind Eye Cliff, three days' rations, in exchange for ten liang of silk."

Rolling the paper into a small cylinder, she tucked it beneath a basket of freshly roasted walnuts and handed it to Xiuxwei. "After daybreak, have Aunt Liu deliver it under the pretext of visiting relatives. Tell them... it's a fresh treat for her nephew on the other side of the mountain."

Xiuxwei took the basket, its weight dipping her hand slightly.

Time dragged on with excruciating slowness amidst the wind and snow.

On the third evening, the howling blizzard finally paused for a brief moment.

The villagers had only just begun to breathe a sigh of relief when a figure stumbled wildly into the entrance of the village. It was Hunter Ma.

He was covered in snow, his face chapped raw by the wind, carrying a sack slung over his shoulder.

"Elder Sister Shen! Quickly!" His voice was as hoarse as a broken gong. "Gu Changshan... Gu Changshan is trapped at Wind Eye Cliff! An avalanche blocked the road, and this is what he risked his life to have me bring back!"

The women of the workshop crowded around. Hunter Ma slammed the sack onto the ground, and indigo silk threads spilled from a torn seam. The color was rich and vibrant—precisely the supplies they urgently needed.

Shen Guilan's heart sank. She stepped forward quickly and grabbed a handful of the threads.

They were freezing cold, and faintly tinged with the scent of blood.

She immediately ripped open the mouth of the bag and rummaged through the silk, sure enough palpating a hard object wrapped in oilcloth.

Warming it briefly by the brazier, the characters on the slip of paper beneath the oilcloth emerged in Gu Changshan's handwriting: "Shopkeeper Qian has hired bandits to block the road. There is an ambush at Nanling; do not take the main road."

So, this was a trap all along.

Shopkeeper Qian had used the silk threads as bait to lure Gu Changshan into the mountains, intending to use an avalanche to trap and kill him—a double stroke with a single stone.

Shen Guilan felt ice spread through her entire body, but she had no time for fear.

She sprang to her feet, her gaze flashing like a blade as she swept it over the assembled embroiderers. "This is no time for tears! Gu Changshan is trapped because of us; we cannot let him die in vain!"

Her voice was not loud, but no one dared to question her.

"Everyone, immediately bring out all the old cloth and fabric covers from the storeroom! Use snow water and plant ash to dye them white by tonight! Hurry!"

As night fell, the pale moon cast a cold, bleak glow across the snow-covered earth.

Shen Guilan was dressed in nimble attire, followed by ten of the strongest men in the village, including Liu the Blacksmith and Hunter Ma.

Each carried a white cloth bundle on their back, ostensibly "gathering rations to rescue Gu" and delivering life-saving provisions to Wind Eye Cliff.

"Split into three paths!" Shen Guilan commanded calmly. "Liu the Blacksmith, take three men through the eastern woods. Hunter Ma, take three men and circle around the western ridge. The rest of you follow me across the frozen river. Remember, no matter what you hear, do not look back. Head straight for Wind Eye Cliff!"

The route she chose was the most perilous—the frozen Qinghe River.

The river surface was like a mirror, slippery enough to cause a fall at any moment.

Everyone bound the soles of their shoes tightly with straw ropes, sliding and stumbling forward with agonizing difficulty.

The biting wind slashed at their faces, stinging so fiercely they could barely keep their eyes open.

As they reached a bend in the river channel, three dark figures suddenly lunged out from a snowdrift, brandishing hardened wooden clubs to block their path.

"Shen Guilan, you really did come! Shopkeeper Qian said, hand over the deed, and your life will be spared!" The leader of the men in black spoke with a voice as cold as ice.

Liu the Blacksmith and the others tensed instantly, gripping their wood-chopping knives and hoes tightly.

Shen Guilan, however, stepped forward, a cold sneer playing at the corner of her lips.

With a sudden flick of her hand, she scattered a handful of medicinal powder.

The powder dissolved upon touching the snow, instantly billowing into a pungent, choking blue mist that enveloped the three men in black.

"It's the 'Tracking-Lost Powder'! Hold your breath!" one of them shouted, but it was already too late.

Inside the blue mist, their vision blurred and their heads spun, throwing their formation into complete disarray.

At that exact moment, three distinct twangs rang out as bowstrings sang, the sound of arrows tearing through the night sky.

Before the three men in black could cry out, they collapsed, each with an arrow piercing straight through his throat.

Gu Changshan leaped down from the opposite snow slope, holding a longbow. He stood rigidly upright, though his face was frighteningly pale.

Inside the cave at Wind Eye Cliff, the campfire crackled and popped, barely banishing some of the chill.

Gu Changshan leaned against the stone wall. The sleeve of his left arm had been torn away, revealing a wound so deep the bone was visible, blackened and rotting from frostbite.

Shen Guilan tore off a strip of her own sleeve and gently applied mashed herbal medicine to the injury, her movements steady and light.

"You knew full well it was a trap, so why did you still come?" Gu Changshan's voice was hoarse and weak, yet his eyes remained fixed intently upon her.

Shen Guilan did not raise her head. Her needle pierced the flesh with the unwavering steadiness of iron. "Because you said that Wind Eye is the most perilous, but also the closest to the heavens. I trusted that you would find a way to get the message out."

What she spoke of was trust, but it was also a profound fortitude.

Outside the cave, the wind and snow roared like howling beasts.

Inside, a single oil lamp flickered weakly yet provided warmth.

When the bandage was tied, Shen Guilan drew the painting of *Travelers in a Snowy Night* from her bosom and slowly unfolded it before him.

In the firelight, that single point of light amid the desolate desolation in the painting seemed to burn truly, refusing to be extinguished.

"Look," she said softly, "the lamp has remained lit all along."

Gu Changshan looked at the painting, then down at her frost-bitten, chapped hands, a complex expression in his eyes.

After a long silence, he raised his uninjured right hand and pressed something into her palm.

It was a small pine twig carved with the character "Lan," no larger than a fingernail. The carving was crude, yet it retained the scent of pine resin and the warmth of his hand.

As the firelight wavered, their shadows were drawn out long, pressing against the stone wall like two pine trees standing side by side.

How much time passed, no one knew, before the sound of the wind and snow outside the cave gradually subsided, replaced by a continuous, pattering murmur.

Drip, drop. Drip, drop.

It was the snow beginning to thaw.

At first just a drop or two, then merging into trickles, forming tiny streams.

The sound was not loud, yet it felt damp and chilling, as though rising from deep within the earth with an unsettling tremor.

Gu Changshan frowned, tilting his head to listen to the commotion beyond the cave wall—it was not merely the melting snow, but rather... the earth itself growling in a low voice.