The deep dunes of the Scorched Badlands rolled out under a blinding white sun, shifting like mountains of red iron dust beneath a howling gale.
The harsh, abrasive hiss of blowing desert sand tearing against canvas tarpaulins echoed across the desolate flats.
Han Ping leaned his entire body weight into the wooden frame of the sand skiff, his boots sinking past his ankles into the blistering grit with every agonizing stride.
Beside him, young Zhang Yue pulled on the secondary hemp trace, his teeth gritted so hard that blood seeped from his cracked lips, while a heavy linen cloth wrapped around his face shielded his nose and mouth from the choking dust.
On the flat bed of the skiff, secured beneath layers of oiled canvas, heavy camel wool, and crimson silk tarpaulins, Lin Xi’s jade sarco
