Chapter 15
The cold night dew soaked through her thin dress, and the cuts from the thorns, now cool from the run, began to throb with a sharp, piercing pain. Serena leaned against a rough tree trunk, breathing heavily, each breath carrying the chill of the forest mist and the metallic taste of blood in her throat. Behind her, the commotion and barking from the direction of the manor seemed temporarily muffled by the overlapping shadows of the trees and mountains, but the fear of being hunted clung to her like a persistent, insidious wound.
She escaped. But what followed was bewilderment and fear in the face of the unknown wilderness.
Back to the capital?
The thought had barely crossed her mind when she extinguished it. Leaving aside the possibility that Lucien's influence might already have infiltrated the capital, even if she were to miraculously return to the Duke of Wilder's mansion, what then? Could she cry to her father about being imprisoned and tortured by a "fallen prince"? Even if her father believed her, given the uncertain state of the empire and Lucien's rise to power, would the Wilder family risk a direct confrontation with a future emperor of immense potential for the sake of their "ruined" daughter? She dared not gamble. Moreover, Lucien might very well have laid a trap along the roads leading to the capital.
Her only hope seemed to lie in the Norton family, which the cold badge pointed to.
But how can we find them?
Her mother passed away when she was very young, and her memories of the Norton family were so hazy that all that remained were the badge and the lullabies her mother hummed softly. All she knew was that it was a family from the South, and that with her mother's passing, her relationship with the Norton family had gradually become distant.
She didn't even know the exact location of the Norton family's fiefdom! The Southern Territory was so vast, which direction should she go? Was she going to wander around like a headless fly? That would be tantamount to suicide. Lucien's pursuers, the wild beasts of the wilderness, potential bandits... any of them could easily take away the freedom and life she had just regained.
The cold and despair made her shiver. She huddled under the tree roots, and by the sparse starlight, she opened her palm and stared at the nightingale badge. The cold metal seemed to draw away her last bit of body heat.
The nightingale…sings of hope even in the darkness…
Olive branch... peace and protection...
Her mother's gentle words transcended time, offering a sliver of solace in her despair. This badge was a token, but how could she let the Norton family know she was here? Know she needed help?
She had to find a way to both hide herself and transmit information.
Places with high foot traffic? Like town markets or taverns? She might try leaving a mark with her badge, or something like… A bold idea flashed through her mind: could she use bards? They travel far and wide, are well-informed, and might be able to pass on some kind of cryptic message? But that was too risky; she couldn't be sure of the bards' reliability, and the message might be intercepted by Lucien's people.
A church or a temple? Some ancient families might have ties to the local church. But which god did the Norton family worship? She had no idea. Besides, churches weren't entirely safe.
Caravans? Caravans from the South are always coming and going; perhaps some are traveling to and from the Norton family's territory? She could try to infiltrate a caravan, or bribe a merchant to pass on a message? But she was penniless, making this idea almost impossible.
Every idea came with enormous risks and uncertainties. She was like someone groping in a dark labyrinth, knowing only the direction of the exit, but unable to find the path to it.
The sky was gradually turning a pale white, and the birds in the woods began to chirp. Dawn was approaching, and darkness would no longer be her camouflage. She had to leave this area as soon as possible, find a relatively safe hiding place, and then make further plans.
She struggled to her feet, enduring the aches and hunger throughout her body, and began to roughly determine her path southward by relying on the stars and the direction of the sunrise. She dared not take the official roads, and could only traverse the dense forests and rugged mountains. When thirsty, she drank from mountain springs; when hungry, she could only find wild fruits that she vaguely recognized and confirmed were not poisonous to eat.
Over the next few days, she became increasingly disheveled, her clothes tattered, her face haggard, and her golden hair dull and covered in bits of grass and dirt. She resembled a frightened hare, terrified by the slightest sound.
While trying to approach a small village in search of food, she spotted a wanted poster with a blurry image of herself on a wall in the distance! The charge was "theft of estate property and absconding"! Lucien had indeed used official power to smear her, making the search for her legitimate!
Hope is like a candle flickering in the wind, threatening to go out.
Just when she was about to be crushed by hunger and despair, she came to the outskirts of a relatively prosperous-looking town nestled in a valley. But she dared not go in and could only hide in the woods on the hillside outside the town, observing from afar.
She saw a bustling market at the edge of town, with people coming and going. She also noticed a small, rather dilapidated gathering place for itinerant performers on the edge of the market: monkey trainers, acrobats, and... an old bard sitting on a wooden tub, playing the lute and singing ancient songs in a hoarse voice.
His singing voice was desolate and melodious, drifting on the edge of the bustling market, seemingly telling the legend of a lost family.
Serena's heart skipped a beat.
Bards... Stories... Legends...
She looked at the badge in her palm, and an extremely risky, but perhaps the only feasible, plan gradually took shape in her mind.
She needed to craft a story. A story about "searching for lost relatives," cleverly weaving the Norton family crest and keywords like "nightingale," "olive branch," and "sanctuary" into a ballad or legend. She couldn't directly reveal herself, but through this story, she could try to attract the attention of any potential Norton family spies!
This required a great deal of skill and luck. She had to ensure the story was compelling enough to spread, but not so explicit as to arouse the suspicion of Lucien's forces.
She touched the only remaining valuable item in her pocket, the one she had brought from the manor—a small earring inlaid with freshwater pearls. This was her last "capital."
Serena took a deep breath, suppressing her fear, straightened her tattered clothes, smeared her face even dirtier, and then mustered her courage to walk step by step toward the old bard playing the harp.
The bustling market below the hillside seemed shrouded in a thick pane of glass, and Serena's heart pounded heavily in her chest. Each step closer to the old bard playing the harp required immense courage. Her clothes were tattered, reeking of the sour smell of dirt and sweat, making her appear particularly wretched compared to even the poorest of the vagrants around her. She clutched the pearl earring and the cold badge tightly to her pocket, as if they were the only rope connecting the two ends of the precipice.
The old bard seemed oblivious to the surrounding noise, his wrinkled eyelids half-closed, his withered fingers plucking the strings of his lute, his hoarse voice singing a lament about an ancient war, as desolate as the wind in the valley.
Serena stopped in front of him, her steps unsteady. The old man did not look up, nor did he stop singing.
“Sir…” Her voice was dry and hoarse, trembling slightly from nervousness and weakness.
The music paused. The old man raised his cloudy eyes, glanced at her, his gaze devoid of pity or disgust, only a numbness born of someone accustomed to the joys and sorrows of the world. "A few copper coins, for a song," he said succinctly, then prepared to continue his singing.
“I…I don’t have any copper coins,” Serena said hastily, quickly pulling out the pearl earring before the old man could show any impatience. The small pearl gleamed with a warm, faint luster in the dim light. “I’ll use this in exchange for you…for you to listen to me for a few words and help me compose a song.”
The old man's gaze lingered on the earring for a moment, a barely perceptible glint of shrewdness flashing within it. He stopped plucking the strings, held the lute to his chest, and finally looked her over properly, especially lingering for a moment on her skin, which, though dirty, still revealed its original smoothness, and her overly bright blue eyes.
"Speak," he said, his voice still hoarse, but now tinged with inquiry.
Serena took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and slowly recounted the story she had already rehearsed countless times in her mind, in a tone filled with sorrow and earnestness:
“I’m looking for my family… my mother’s family.” She lowered her voice deliberately, making sure only the old woman could hear. “We were separated many years ago… The only keepsake my mother left me was a badge. It had a nightingale engraved on it, carrying an olive branch… My mother said the nightingale represented not giving up hope in the darkness, and the olive branch represented their family’s ability to provide shelter… The family name seems to start with 'N'…”
She carefully observed the old man's reaction, not daring to say the name "Norton" directly. She saw the old man's brow twitch almost imperceptibly, and something seemed to flash in his cloudy eyes, but it quickly returned to its numb state.
"Is that all?" the old man asked, his tone indifferent.
“…That’s all.” Serena’s heart sank, and she added, “I hope…I hope you can compose a song about searching for the lost Nightingale family, about wanderers yearning for the protection of an olive branch…so that those who hear this song might…maybe know that I’m looking for them.” She handed over the pearl earring in her hand, with a desperate plea.
The old man took the earring, examined it carefully, weighed it in his hand, and then silently put it into his pocket. He neither immediately agreed nor refused, but simply picked up his lute again, his fingers unconsciously sliding across the strings, producing a few scattered, out-of-tune notes.
Time passed in silence, each second suffocating Serena. She feared rejection, and even more, she feared her last hope would be dashed.
Finally, the old man raised his head and looked at her again, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "Young lady, your story... like you, is strange. I've seen many wanderers searching for lost relatives, but someone like you... carrying such a little trinket and specifically asking for 'nightingale' and 'olive branch' designs, is the first one."
Serena's heart was in her throat.
“However,” the old man changed the subject, his tone still flat, “I’ve taken your money and I’m obligated to do your bidding. It’s just a song, I’ve already written it. As for whether it works or not, that depends on whether the gods favor you.”
He stopped looking at her, lowered his head, and his withered fingers began to skillfully pluck the strings. A prelude, quite different from the previous lament, flowed out, carrying a hint of confusion and searching. He cleared his hoarse throat and began to hum impromptu:
Ah...the little bird lost in the woods,
Do you remember the warmth of your old nest?
The nightingale sings in the darkness.
It speaks of a longing to return home...
Those branches that bring peace,
Where can it sway and grow?
The north wind howls, and the traveler wanders aimlessly.
Where can one find the shade of an olive branch...?
If anyone with knowledge hears this chanting...
Guiding lost birds...
The nightingale's longing, the branches' yearning.
Drifting in the wind, echoing in the song…
The lyrics were simple, and the melody wasn't particularly beautiful, but the recurring words like "nightingale," "olive branch," "returning home," and "guiding direction" made Serena's heart pound. This was exactly what she wanted!
The old man finished singing a section, stopped, and looked at her: "That's it? Is that enough?"
"That's enough! Thank you! Thank you!" Serena thanked him repeatedly, tears welling up in her eyes. She dared not linger any longer, bowed deeply to the old man, then quickly turned and disappeared back into the woods on the hillside, as if she had never been there.
The old man watched the direction she disappeared in, a glint of something unfathomable flashing in his cloudy eyes. He looked down at the pearl earring he had just put away, then plucked a string on his zither and began to sing again the song he had just composed about searching for the Nightingale family. His voice was hoarse, yet it possessed a strange penetrating power, slowly blending into the clamor of the market.
Serena hid in the woods, listening to the intermittent singing from afar, her heart filled with a turbulent mix of hope and fear.
The seeds have been sown.
Now, all she can do is wait, and try her best to survive in this perilous Southern Reach. Waiting for that slim chance, waiting for someone from the Norton family to happen to hear the song and understand its meaning.
Unbeknownst to her, shortly after she left, two plainly dressed but sharp-eyed men appeared before the old bard. One of them placed a few silver coins in front of the old man and asked in a low voice, "What did that girl say to you?"
The old man raised his cloudy eyes, looked at the silver coins, then at the two men, chuckled hoarsely, and continued playing and singing his new song, as if he hadn't heard anything.
The man who asked the question frowned, wanting to ask more, but was stopped by his companion, who gestured for him to look at several figures at the other end of the market who appeared to be strolling around but were actually looking on with suspicion—those were another group of people under Lucien's command responsible for the covert investigation.
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