Three days later, Sun Juanfang and her group finally received word of the political turmoil in the capital. After surviving the avalanche, only about fifty people remained in their party.
Still, they continued on the originally designated route toward the Northern Wastelands. Since Prince Huai'an had marched toward the capital, heading north meant moving away from the conflict.
Given the situation, Wu Yu made a decisive move: he and the remaining officers took off their official uniforms and disguised themselves as commoners. The men in the group had their shackles removed and buried in a roadside pit.
Outwardly, the team now appeared to be a trade caravan heading north. No one objected to Wu Yu's decision—after all, they were all in the same boat now.
Sun Juanfang decided to stay put as well. With the chaos of war outside and a child in tow, she couldn't afford to roam. It was safer to continue on to the Northern Wastelands for now.
Along the way, they encountered an elite unit from Prince Huai'an's army—over a thousand soldiers, their military flag boldly bearing the character "Huai" (淮), the name Prince Huai'an had declared for his new regime.
That flag confirmed the troops' identity.
A soldier stepped forward for routine questioning.
"Who's in charge of this group? State your purpose and speak quickly!"
Wu Yu stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"Sir, we're just a merchant caravan heading to the Northern Wastelands. Please, have mercy on us."
He then pulled a heavy pouch from his sleeve and discreetly handed it to the haughty soldier.
The soldier weighed it in his hand and nodded in satisfaction, impressed by Wu Yu's tact. Just as he was about to turn away, several people suddenly rushed out from the group.
Sun Juanfang immediately realized they intended to use this chance to retaliate against the former officers. She couldn't allow these troublemakers to ruin her plan, so she used her psychic ability to knock them unconscious on the spot.
Wu Yu reacted swiftly, covering up the scene.
"Sir, these fools were merely admiring your grandeur and passed out from sheer awe at your authority."
Sun Juanfang marveled at how Wu Yu, short and dark as he was, could tell such a bold lie with a straight face—so convincing that the soldier didn't even suspect a thing.
The low-ranking soldier, pleased with the flattery, waved them on without further trouble.
Once the soldiers were gone, Wu Yu's expression turned grim. He knew exactly what those ingrates were trying to do. He couldn't act yet, but he swallowed his rising fury.
Later, they reached a remote lake where Wu Yu used the freezing water to wake the unconscious men.
"You bastards! Don't think I didn't see through your little scheme. Trying to report me, huh?"
The men, earlier so full of bravado, now trembled like leaves under Wu Yu's harsh tone.
"You think ratting me out will end well for you? If we die, you'll suffer worse fates than death."
One of them weakly tried to argue, "There's no proof what you say is true..."
"Idiot! Don't you know what happens to exiles? The men are sent to suicide squads as human shields in battle. The women become army prostitutes. Do you understand now?"
Wu Yu was fuming. If not for the need to maintain their numbers until they reached the Northern Wastelands, he would've left them behind.
Still, their punishment wasn't light. From then on, they became pack mules, carrying all the heavy gear—except for food and weapons.
But one thing still puzzled Wu Yu: how had those men fainted at such a crucial moment? It didn't add up. Still, since things worked out, he didn't dwell on it too long.
With Prince Huai'an's rebellion, other regional lords began rising up as well, throwing the empire into chaos. Wu Yu's group, learning this, chose to abandon the main roads and travel along obscure paths.
Wu Yu was increasingly anxious. His family was still in the capital, but he knew he couldn't return with so few men. All he could do was hope the imperial forces would suppress the rebellion quickly.
As they pressed onward, everyone in the group kept their heads down. No one dared stir up trouble. They were now just over a hundred li (about 30 miles) from the Northern Wastelands.
Suddenly—crunch!—Sun Juanfang stepped on something.
Looking down, she saw a severely injured man. His face was smeared with blood, and he clung tightly to her leg, refusing to let go no matter how hard she shook him off.
"Please... help me... help—me..."
Annoyed, Sun Juanfang used her psychic powers to knock him unconscious. Trouble magnets like him were the last thing she needed.
She walked off without a second glance.
Little Ting'er, watching it all, asked curiously,
"Mom, that man was begging us to save him. Why didn't you help?"
Sun Juanfang patted her daughter's head, speaking earnestly,
"That man's covered in wounds. He's clearly being hunted. If we save him, we'll be in danger too."
Ting'er clung tightly to her mother's arm, nodding seriously,
"Then let's go, fast. We can't save him—Mom is the most important!"
Not bad—this daughter truly hadn't been raised in vain. She knew to put her mother first.
Sun Juanfang had no intention of wasting time or energy on a man who screamed "problem."
Meanwhile, the man on the ground, Su Ningran, slowly regained consciousness. Bitterness filled his heart. They were all his father's children—so why had he been left behind as bait?
Begging for help had been useless. Was this really the end of his life?
No. It wasn't over.
He recalled overhearing that this group was heading to the Northern Wastelands. That would be the perfect place to hide from his pursuers.
Summoning his last bit of strength, Su Ningran pulled out a pill from his robe—a life-saving elixir from his master. He'd never thought he'd have to waste it like this.
Meanwhile, Sun Juanfang had long since forgotten the man. She never imagined she'd see him again.