The ironbound wheels of Han Ping’s merchant carriage crunched steadily over the frozen mud of the lower mountain highway, flanked by thick rows of ancient cedar and damp pine.
Inside the covered wagon, Zhang Yue lay curled beneath three layers of fleece quilts, fast asleep with her arms wrapped around the wooden jointed sparrow Han Ping had gifted her.
Ye Chen walked twenty paces ahead of the draft mules, his hood drawn low to shield his face, his dark eyes scanning the tree lines along the limestone ridges.
"Keep the mules at a steady trot, Han Ping," Ye Chen said, not looking back as his boots clicked against the gravel. "The road narrows near the abandoned toll station by the creek bed."
"Are there eyes in the brush, Boss Ye?" Han Ping asked, his hands resting loose on the leather r
