She stopped struggling, not out of submission, but out of exhaustion.
Anger and fear, like two beasts, tore at her reason, depleting her already meager strength. She leaned back against the cold seat, gasping for air, her chest heaving violently.
The wounds on her arms and legs throbbed with each jolt, the grit of sand mixing in and making her deeply uncomfortable. The gun hidden in her sleeve was still cold.
‘My last straw.’ She gripped it tightly, as if it were the last thing a drowning person could hold onto.
Ye Lan watched her, looking so bedraggled yet still stubborn, and was silent for a moment.
She raised a hand, as if to do something, but ultimately just brushed her sweat-dampened hair behind her ear.
“Hold tight.” She repeated the command, her voice even lower and hoarser than before.
This time, Mu Xi did not respond, nor did she resist.
She simply closed her eyes and turned her head away, using silence to express her rejection and estrangement.
Ye Lan said nothing more.
The dead silence inside the vehicle was broken, but quickly replaced by another kind of heavy stillness.
The relief of surviving by a hair’s breadth, like the ebbing tide, swiftly vanished from the driver’s voice, leaving only the continuous roar of the engine and the wind’s renewed, sharp howl.
Outside the window was a chaotic, earthy yellow. Even though they had broken out of the most central part of the sandstorm, the world beyond the glass was still a murky, earthy yellow. Light struggled through layers of sand and dust, bringing a faint, sickly brightness. The jolting of the vehicle finally eased a bit. The armored car was still speeding, but the shaking that could rattle a person’s innards had finally lessened somewhat. The clinging sand fell away. Mu Xi slowly opened her eyes.
She could vaguely make out the shapes of twisted rocks in the distance, like the bones of a dying giant beast. She looked out the window. The thick yellow seemed a little thinner, and she could faintly see some scenery.
‘I survived?’
Just as this thought surfaced, an indescribable fatigue washed over her like a tsunami.
Every bone in her body screamed with soreness and discomfort. She subconsciously shifted, trying to find a less painful position. Every muscle was taut to the breaking point, and as her nerves suddenly relaxed, the slight movement pulled at the wound on her arm.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through her, mixed with the gritty feeling of sand embedded in her skin. She couldn’t help but frown and suck in a sharp breath.
A hand reached out—knuckles prominent, stained with dried blood and sand. It held a gray-green first aid kit, its edges a bit worn.
It was Ye Lan.
Mu Xi’s body instantly tensed. She jerked back, pressing her spine against the cold metal backrest, her eyes full of wariness and resistance.
Ye Lan’s hand stopped in midair, not withdrawing because of her flinch.
Her face was still pale, her lips a light color, her hair damp with sweat and plastered messily to her cheeks. Her deep, phoenix-shaped eyes revealed no emotion, only a patch of silent darkness, with a trace of barely perceptible fatigue.
“Do it yourself, or I do it?” Ye Lan’s voice was even hoarser and lower than before, betraying no emotion. She placed the first aid kit on the empty seat between them, her movements steady.
Mu Xi stared at the kit, then looked up at Ye Lan. A few seconds of standoff; the air seemed to freeze.
A barely noticeable tremor. Then Mu Xi let out a hum, her voice carrying clear resistance. But she paused, lifted her chin, met Ye Lan’s gaze directly, and said, word by word, “I don’t want you to treat me. And I want to treat you.”
Ye Lan seemed to pause for a moment. Something flickered deep in her eyes, too fast to catch.
Mu Xi didn’t care about her reaction. She continued, her tone deliberately hard, almost provocative.
“Don’t always treat me like that weak, crying little girl who can’t do anything.”
She reached out, crossing the distance between them. Her fingertips curled slightly as they touched the first aid kit, then she grabbed it tightly. The cold metal casing pressed against her palm.
She brought the kit in front of her and opened it. Inside were neatly arranged disinfectant cotton, bandages, ointment, and some small medical instruments.
Ye Lan didn’t stop her. She just silently watched as Mu Xi clumsily but stubbornly took out the disinfecting tools.
Mu Xi took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in her heart.
She looked up at Ye Lan. “Turn around.”
Ye Lan looked at her for a few seconds. Then, surprisingly, she actually turned sideways as instructed, exposing her scarred back.
That once smooth, jade-like skin—which Mu Xi had even secretly traced in the dead of night while being held captive—was now a mess. The marks of energy beam burns were a horrible, charred black. New injuries covered old scars. The edges were bloody and ragged, crisscrossing with wounds of varying depths.
Mu Xi’s heart felt like it was being squeezed by something. She bit her lower lip, forcing herself to look away and focus on the task at hand.
As the disinfectant swab, soaked with cool antiseptic, lightly touched the edge of the wound, Ye Lan’s body tensed almost imperceptibly, but she made no sound.
Mu Xi’s hands were trembling.
Not from fear, not from softness. It was just that… the wounds were too shocking. She carefully cleaned the wounds, making her movements as gentle as possible, yet she could still feel the stiffness of the muscles beneath her hands.
The faint smell of disinfectant spread through the air, mixing with the smell of blood and dust.
Time passed in silence, drop by drop. Inside the vehicle, there was only the roar of the engine and the subtle sounds of Mu Xi treating the wound.
Finally, she covered the largest burn area with clean gauze and began to wrap the bandage.
Her movements were still clumsy, but very serious.
When the last strip of bandage was secured, Mu Xi let go, her fingertips tingling with the stickiness of the ointment and a faint, lingering warmth.
She looked at the bandage she had wrapped, which wasn’t perfect, and was silent for a moment.
Then she spoke quietly, her voice seemingly squeezed from deep in her throat.
“I’m sorry.”
Ye Lan did not respond immediately.
Mu Xi stared at her fingers, stained with blood and medicine, and continued, her voice very soft, yet carrying a stubborn clarity.
“It’s not… not an apology for you.”
“It’s for those people who shouldn’t have died here.”
“Your men, the Escort Team… and that armored car… If it weren’t for me…”
Her words were a bit jumbled, filled with uncontrollable guilt and a hint of bewilderment.
If she hadn’t stubbornly tried to escape, maybe those loyal guards wouldn’t have died, and Ye Lan wouldn’t have been so badly injured.
Those living, breathing lives, because of her one decision, were forever left in this desert.
“Thank you.”
Ye Lan’s voice came from behind her, still hoarse, but seeming to carry something else.
Mu Xi jerked her head up, looking at Ye Lan’s profile. She tried to find a trace of sarcasm or disdain on that expressionless face, but there was nothing. Just calm.
Ye Lan turned around to face her again, her deep eyes fixed on Mu Xi. She reached out and took the first aid kit Mu Xi had placed aside.
“Now, it’s my turn.”
Ye Lan’s voice was very flat, as if she hadn’t just gone through a life-and-death struggle and lost loyal subordinates.
She opened the kit and took out new disinfectant cotton and ointment.
Mu Xi watched the hand reaching toward her, instinctively wanting to flinch, but in the end, she remained rigidly in place, not moving.
The cool antiseptic touched the wound on her arm, cut by glass, bringing a sharp sting.
Caught off guard, Mu Xi’s body jerked violently, almost pulling her arm back.
But Ye Lan’s fingers firmly pressed down on her wrist. The force wasn’t great, but it was undeniable.