Chapter Fifteen: The Sandstorm

“Painkillers,” Zheng Nanfang replied offhandedly, tucking the bottle of pills back into his inner pocket.

Hong Xiangcai hesitated, her enchanting eyes flickering with a strange light, as if something had occurred to her, though she left it unspoken.

Zheng Nanfang paid her no mind, pretending not to notice anything, and asked the little nurse for a bottle of water, carefully pouring it into his own flask.

Tang Suan and Shu Yangcong exchanged a knowing smile and went to the supply vehicle for more water, thoughtfully filling up their stingy boss’s flask.

Hu Bi had been in the car the whole time, drifting in and out of sleep, looking utterly drained. In just two days, he seemed to have grown alarmingly thin, his face pale—worlds apart from the wild, rugged man Zheng Nanfang had first met.

“Hey, are you trying to drug him to death?” Zheng Nanfang pointed at Hu Bi in the car, turning to Hong Xiangcai. “We’re all in the same boat right now. Is this really necessary?”

“None of your business.” Hong Xiangcai shot him a flirtatious look, refusing to give him any face.

Zheng Nanfang was left speechless, and could only light a candle for Hu Bi in his heart.

“Boss, that girl’s been watching you,” Tang Suan sidled up to her new boss and whispered, “Do you know her?”

Hearing this, Zheng Nanfang glanced over, his gaze meeting Shaman’s at once.

She started in surprise, quickly averting her eyes, flustered beyond measure.

“I do,” Zheng Nanfang smiled, signaling to Tang Suan not to meddle. After a moment’s thought, he rose and walked toward Shaman.

Panic flashed across Shaman’s face. She had been wrestling with herself, wanting to apologize to Zheng Nanfang but unable to summon the courage. She’d been watching him in secret, gauging his mood, only to be caught red-handed.

“We meet again,” Zheng Nanfang said, sitting down beside her. Shaman jumped, instinctively trying to get up and escape, but Zheng Nanfang caught her wrist and pulled her firmly back.

“I-I-I… I’m sorry, I…”

“That’s enough.” Zheng Nanfang waved her off, both exasperated and amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to you.”

Shaman buried her head between her knees, her golden hair veiling her face, making her expression unreadable.

After a while, she composed herself and produced the invitation from her bra, handing it to Zheng Nanfang.

“Here… this is yours.”

Zheng Nanfang couldn’t help but laugh, taking the invitation and sighing, “It’s no use now.” With that, he released it, letting it slip from his fingers. The wind caught it and carried it away.

“Hey!” Shaman sprang up to chase it, but the wind suddenly picked up, sweeping the invitation toward a mound of yellow earth.

Both anxious and annoyed, Shaman saw that Zheng Nanfang made no move to help, so she chased after it herself.

Zheng Nanfang could only smile wryly, calling after her not to bother, but Shaman ignored him, stumbling after the invitation behind the mound.

“Boss, call her back. The wind’s picking up—a sandstorm’s coming,” the ever-dutiful Tang Suan reminded him, pointing at the distant, blood-red clouds with a frown. “I’ve never seen the sky look like this.”

“Really?” Zheng Nanfang glanced up. “I ran into the same thing on my way here… Hey, Shaman, get back here!”

There was no reply from behind the mound.

Zheng Nanfang and Tang Suan exchanged worried glances.

“You stay with Hong Xiangcai and the others.” Zheng Nanfang pulled up his hood and hurried toward the mound. Rounding the corner, he found Shaman crouched on the ground, intently digging at something in the dirt.

“Are you a groundhog? Come on, there’s a sandstorm coming!” Relieved, Zheng Nanfang couldn’t help but scold, bending down to pull her up.

Shaman shook her head, turning to look at him with an odd expression.

“What’s wrong?” Zheng Nanfang frowned, puzzled.

There was no sign of pretense in Shaman’s eyes—only real unease. She swallowed hard and shook the invitation in her hand.

“I told you, it’s useless. Why bother picking it up?”

Her mouth twisted, and she raised her other hand—another invitation.

“Hm?” Now it was Zheng Nanfang’s turn to be stunned. “What do you—” But before he could finish, Shaman rubbed her hands together, fanning out over a dozen invitations like a magic trick.

Zheng Nanfang was speechless, staring dumbfounded at her tearful expression, then at the mound she’d been digging.

Shaman nodded, stuttering, “There… there are more…”

“Boss! Come back! The sandstorm’s here!” Tang Suan’s shout carried through the wind.

Zheng Nanfang answered, frowning as he crouched down and used his steel saw-knife to scrape back a layer of earth—sure enough, the corner of another invitation poked through.

“Let’s go back.” Shaman glanced around. There were many mounds like this one, taller ones further out. The wind was growing ferocious, the yellow earth rising in swirling clouds to blot out the sky.

Zheng Nanfang nodded, tamping down the unease in his heart. He took her hand and started back.

Just as they rounded the mound, he glimpsed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

His face darkened, and he gripped his steel saw-knife defensively, pushing Shaman back toward the road.

The wind howled, sand swirling in a wild dance. Over the roar, Zheng Nanfang thought he heard someone calling his name. Looking back, he saw Shaman being pulled to safety by Tang Suan and company, and others trying to come for him but forced back by the raging storm.

Pressing against the mound, Zheng Nanfang squinted into the sandstorm. Through the shifting veil of dust, he saw two figures—one tall, one short—standing motionless in the tempest.

Zheng Nanfang tried to call out, but his mouth filled with sand, forcing him to close it in frustration.

The sky overhead darkened rapidly. Within the churning leaden clouds, something vast seemed to writhe. Thunder cracked, deafening and dry, and the clouds ignited with fire, painting the world in a blinding orange-red.

The sandstorm arrived with unerring fury.

Black winds. Orange skies.

If not for the two figures still standing there, Zheng Nanfang might have believed he’d wandered into another world.

He slid down the side of the mound, burying his face in his knees, pulling his hood tight, tearing off half his pant leg to cover his nose and mouth, and drove his steel knife into the ground, gripping the hilt to anchor himself.

The mound began to erode under the relentless wind, shrinking, the earth around him stripped away layer by layer. More invitations surfaced, carried by the gale to uncharted horizons.

Gradually, Zheng Nanfang felt his strength ebbing. Flattened against the ground, he could barely withstand the storm’s onslaught. The saw-knife had carved a deep groove in the earth, and his fingers stung from the sand and grit. As he was about to lose his grip, something suddenly shielded him from the wind.

Struggling, Zheng Nanfang looked up into the blazing orange, the air thick with flying dust. A small figure crouched before him, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. He reached forward instinctively and caught another hand.

“Get up!”

The voice was faint in the storm. Zheng Nanfang nodded weakly, and, with the help of his rescuer, managed to rise. She wrapped an arm around his waist, signaling him to hunch down as she placed sunglasses over his eyes.

He breathed a sigh of relief, blinking through the pain to see who had saved him—astonished to discover it was her.

There was no time for thanks. The two of them supported each other, crouching low against the dwindling mound, advancing inch by inch on instinct alone. Though the highway was only ten meters away, the journey felt endless.

At last, Zheng Nanfang’s feet struck solid pavement. But just as he gained firm ground, his support vanished. He staggered, reaching out for her—only to grasp empty air.

Panic surged through him. He scrambled up onto the road, scanning anxiously, but found only the howling sand. No one in sight.

He rolled forward, finally groping his way to the convoy’s encampment. Raising his steel knife, he banged hard on the side of a vehicle. Moments later, hands pulled him inside and slammed the door shut.

With a whoosh, the banshee shriek of the wind was gone. Zheng Nanfang gasped for breath, lying on his back like a drowning man rescued at the last second. He panted for a long while before regaining his composure. Turning his head, he found, by coincidence, the trio of little nurses, their faces flushed with worry.

“You scared us half to death!” they cried, voices trembling, eyes rimmed red.

Zheng Nanfang, still catching his breath, forced a smile and sat up, gripping the steering wheel. Outside, hell had broken loose; visibility was zero.

He let out a long breath. “That was close—almost died just now.”