Jianhua shook his head. "We left two people in the village, and the others chased north."
He took out an old cotton-padded jacket for Zhang Shumin to change into. "You have to go south. There's a ferry crossing over this mountain. There's a boat every day at noon."
Zhang Shumin tried to stand up, but her legs gave way and she sat back down. Jianhua and Feng Yulan exchanged glances, each seeing the other's worry—in Zhang Shumin's current state, she couldn't walk the mountain path at all.
"I'll go find Doctor Wang," Jianhua decided. "He's a tight-lipped man and won't tell anyone."
"No!" Zhang Shumin stopped him sternly. "The fewer people who know about this, the better."
The three of them fell silent. Finally, Feng Yulan spoke up, "Uncle Jianhua, can you get me a cart? I'll push Mom down the mountain."
Jianhua's eyes lit up: "Old Man Liu has a firewood truck. I'll borrow it!"
After he hurried away, Zhang Shumin leaned against the rock wall, her eyes closed, resting. Feng Yulan nibbled at her steamed bun, her mind racing.
Her mother-in-law's words were packed with information—Old Jin had killed Zhang Shuo's father, and Zhang Shumin clearly knew more. What secrets had she been carrying all these years?
At noon, Jianhua came back, pushing a creaking wooden cart covered with hay and old quilts.
"This is the only way," he said guiltily. "Doctor Wang gave me some anti-inflammatory medicine to take on the way."
Feng Yulan and Zhang Shumin exchanged glances and nodded in tacit agreement. It was time to continue their escape.
Jianhua helped Feng Yulan get Zhang Shumin onto the cart, then handed her a bag of dry food and a hand-drawn map. "Follow this path and you'll reach the ferry before dark. The boatman, Lao Ma, is my cousin. He'll help you, just say, 'Time to pick mushrooms in the mountains,'" he said.
Zhang Shumin suddenly grabbed Jianhua's hand: "This time...thank you."
Jianhua's eyes were red again: "After thirty-seven years, you finally came back, but..."
He couldn't continue speaking, but just shook Zhang Shumin's hand vigorously, then turned and left, his back hunched over as if he had aged ten years.
Feng Yulan pushed the cart, carefully avoiding the gravel. Zhang Shumin lay on the haystack, her face still pale but her eyes clear.
"Yulan," she said suddenly, "if...if I can't hold on any longer, you have to go."
Feng Yulan's hand trembled, and the cart tilted. "Don't talk nonsense."
"Listen to me." Zhang Shumin's voice was unusually calm. "There's an iron box under my pillow, and the key is in the crack of the stove. If...if there comes a day, open it, and you'll understand."
Feng Yulan's tears suddenly welled up and dripped onto the handlebars: "We can definitely escape, together."
Zhang Shumin said nothing more, but simply patted her hand gently. The sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, dappling them like tears.
The mountain road wound down, and Feng Yulan's arms soon ached, but she gritted her teeth and persevered. Zhang Shumin was sometimes lucid and sometimes drowsy, her fever rising and falling.
One time, she woke up and saw Feng Yulan's hands were blistered by the handlebars. She suddenly said, "Stop, let me push for a while."
"Stop joking." Feng Yulan said breathlessly.
"I'm not discussing this with you." Zhang Shumin struggled to get up, but ended up hurting her wound, causing her to gasp in pain.
Feng Yulan quickly held her down and said, "Mom, just be obedient for once."
This sentence touched a nerve in Zhang Shumin. She suddenly quieted down, her eyes softening. "You... look a lot like me when I was younger."
Feng Yulan was stunned. This was the first time her mother-in-law had ever directly praised her. This simple sentence warmed her heart more than any gratitude could have.
At dusk, they finally saw the ferry that Tiezhu mentioned - a rickety wooden plank road extending to the center of the river, with several small fishing boats parked on the shore.
Feng Yulan followed the instructions and found the boatman Lao Ma. After exchanging the secret code, the wrinkled man helped them get on the boat without saying a word.
"Where are you going?" asked Lao Ma, his eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly.
"Go downstream, the farther the better." Zhang Shumin said weakly.
Old Ma nodded and untied the rope. As the boat slowly moved away from the shore, Feng Yulan seemed to hear the sound of a car engine in the distance.
She looked back nervously, but only saw the silent mountain shadows in the twilight.
The river water lapped against the boat like a lullaby. Zhang Shumin had fallen asleep under the effects of the medicine, and Feng Yulan gently tucked her in. Old Ma rowed silently at the stern, occasionally glancing at them with a look of pity.
Feng Yulan gazed at the receding riverbank and suddenly remembered the scheduled email—if the police had received the evidence, they should be looking for them now. Was it a blessing or a curse? She didn't know.
The only certainty is that she and her mother-in-law have no way to retreat and can only continue this escape with no known end on this little boat.
Night fell completely, and a thin mist rose over the river. Feng Yulan held Zhang Shumin's burning hand and prayed silently: no matter what lay ahead, at least they could face it together.
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