Chapter 7

Chapter 7: First Night of Exile Camp

By mid-afternoon, the transfer procedures were finished, and the convoy was driven onto the road.

Under Great Liang law, if a punished prisoner’s relatives willingly chose to follow into exile, they could travel alongside the convoy—but they could not interfere with the prisoner’s punishments or take their place.

Leaving home for the borderlands was a punishment that didn’t need a blade to feel like death. Over the years, fewer than half of exiles ever reached their destination alive.

Not many families chose to follow. Still, more than a dozen people gathered with packs on their backs and stepped into the line.

Elders over sixty and small children were tied by rope. Everyone else wore heavy restraints—cangues and shackles weighing tens of pounds, dragging their pace down until even breathing felt like labor.

As soon as the convoy moved, complaints erupted, loud and chaotic. The escorting constables didn’t indulge a single word. With clubs in hand and sabers at their hips, they marched down the line from front to back, beating and cursing until the troublemakers screamed.

“Move! Anyone drags their feet again—taste the whip!”

The line sped up immediately.

The Xie family’s twenty-odd people were placed near the front-middle. Xie Yu Chuan was badly injured, and two collateral-branch clan brothers supported him on both sides, afraid he’d collapse.

One of them was familiar—faintly, like a face from a better life.

“He Zhi?” Xie Yu Chuan squinted. “Is that you?”

Xie Wu Ying’s young face split into a grin. “It’s me, Sixth Brother!”

Xie Yu Chuan’s eyes widened. “Weren’t you supposed to be studying back in Huai Yang? Why are you here… They dragged you in too.”

Xie Wu Ying scratched his head, smiling like he didn’t have iron on his ankles. “Sixth Brother, what are you saying? I’m Xie family junior too. The Xie family rises together, falls together. Even if I stayed in Huai Yang, I might not have escaped. Honestly, it’s better like this—at least I can protect Old Madam and everyone on the road.”

Xie Yu Chuan nodded once, accepting it.

He looked to his other side. The man there stood straighter, quieter, and introduced himself with careful courtesy. “Xie Wen Jie. Courtesy name Huai Zhang. He Zhi and I entered the capital city together and stayed at duke manor, waiting for next spring’s exams.”

He paused, then said it plainly. “He Zhi and I think the same.”

The duke’s branch in the capital was the peak of the Xie clan. If the imperial court couldn’t tolerate even Duke Xie’s household, what future could any of their descendants hope for?

Xie Yu Chuan didn’t ask for more. He only said, “If we’re walking the same road, then we’re family from now on.”

Xie Wu Ying and Xie Wen Jie traded a look, then nodded together. “We’ll follow Sixth Brother.”

Most of the womenfolk were ahead. They’d lived sheltered lives and had never walked roads like this. The Xie family women supported one another, murmuring encouragement, careful not to lag—because a bad-tempered constable with a whip never needed a good reason.

Xie Yu Chuan’s gaze swept the escorting constables without seeming to. He memorized faces, posture, habits—quietly filing them away.

“This route is nearly three thousand li,” someone in a neighboring prisoner line muttered, still lucid enough to count. “The authorities give two months to arrive before deep winter. That means they’ll drive us hard—at least fifty li a day. This won’t be easy.”

No one answered him. No one had spare strength for conversation.

The convoy trudged on until sunset smeared the horizon.

Up in her second-floor study, Tu Hua worked with single-minded focus and didn’t notice day slipping into night.

When she finally paused to stretch, she remembered something odd: Xie Yu Chuan hadn’t contacted her all afternoon.

She walked to the balcony. Cold air slapped her face, and she tugged her long cardigan tighter.

Down below, the escorting constables had already chosen a place to camp.

Tu Hua searched by moonlight until she found Xie Yu Chuan leaning against a tree, eyes closed, exhaustion drawn tight across his face.

She considered waking him—then decided against it.

Instead, she left the villa and walked straight into the exile camp.

No one saw her.

With her energy low, she could only maintain her invisibility. It was, admittedly, a very comforting superpower.

Ancient nights were quiet—so quiet it made the world feel larger.

The campsite the escort officers chose was the kind of place that didn’t even qualify as a dot on a map. No village ahead, no shop behind, stars overhead, hard ground underfoot. Primitive, inconvenient, and annoyingly picturesque.

A narrow river trickled in the distance, its soft sound threading through the dark.

Tu Hua spotted a few men in constable livery rolling up their trousers and catching fish. The escort officers, of course, had chosen the best ground for their own fires and pots. Flames flared, steam rose, and soon the smell of simmering food drifted out like a deliberate insult.

It was enough to make exhausted stomachs howl.

The constables ignored it.

Most prisoners were penned in the lower area, over a hundred people crowded together. After half a day’s march, they were too tired to do more than breathe.

In the quiet, Tu Hua heard suppressed crying—small, broken sounds people tried to swallow.

Even among the Xie family huddled together for warmth, a few women wiped tears in silence.

Tu Hua sighed before she could stop herself.

Xie Yu Chuan’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, he looked genuinely startled—like he’d been yanked from sleep by a voice that shouldn’t exist.

“What is it?” Madam Zhou asked at once, alarmed. “Are you unwell?”

The moment she spoke, others turned too, watching him with worry.

Xie Yu Chuan forced his voice steady. “I’m fine. I’m used to marching.”

“If something hurts, don’t hide it,” Madam Zhou said, frowning like she could will pain away.

“Mother, don’t worry. I’m not dead yet.”

“Don’t say such nonsense.” She shot him a look. “Drink some water.”

“Not now.”

He stopped her hand and scanned the darkness, eyes narrowing. Something about the air felt wrong—like attention prickling against his skin.

Tu Hua, meanwhile, was staring at the wound near his shoulder. It had cracked again. The edges looked angry.

She sent a voice message, crisp and unimpressed. “Your wound’s festering. Those antibiotics I gave you—why aren’t they working?”

Xie Yu Chuan froze.

Then his whole body seemed to loosen in a single breath, the sharpness in him softening like a blade sheathed.

Tu Hua continued, “Out of medicine? If you are, I can give you more.”

“I still have some,” he replied softly. “The last two days I couldn’t use it. Now I can.”

Tu Hua understood immediately. In the imperial prison, Emperor Long Qing’s people had watched him too closely. Anything strange—anything too effective—would have invited suspicion from Xia Hou Jie all over again.

She didn’t soften her tone. “Festered wounds get worse. Don’t let it drag.”

If the inflammation didn’t go down, how was he supposed to walk the road ahead?

Xie Yu Chuan’s eyes lowered. “Thank you,” he said, then added, with the faintest edge of irony, “Xie family deity.”

“Mm.”

Tu Hua looked over the Xie family.

After half a day, everyone looked worn thin. Old Madam Xie, exhausted, had already fallen asleep leaning against the baggage.

It was the first day.

And most of them already looked half-broken.