Shaking his increasingly dazed head, Shen Wenchen mustered up the energy to press on.
The road was slick from the snowfall and Zhui Yue's pace had considerably slowed.
Only late into the night, when Shen Wenchen couldn't bear it any longer, did he stop at the side of the road to rest.
There were few refugees along this path; occasional passersby, seeing his state, quickened their pace.
Only after he had kindled a fire did Shen Wenchen's face relax slightly.
He took out a pancake from his pack, skewering it on a stick and placed it next to the fire to heat, then he began to take off his clothes to treat his injuries.
His heel was covered in a thick layer of scab, and though it was cracked, it was a welcome sign that the wound had not become infected.
Just as Shen Wenchen was about to apply medicine to his back, he spotted an old man sitting rather impertinently by his side.