Exhaustion was at Zhang Wang's bones by the time they made it back to Guo Lang's tent. He had no more appetite and wanted nothing more than to rest. And while the younger insisted on nursing a hearth, Zhang Wang merely retreated inside and made himself at home without much ceremony. Any vestiges of shame fled as he recalled the kid's general uselessness in the entire affair.
Outside a fire crackled, casting a very low orange light against the fabric of the tent. Zhang Wang had a faint flickering spirit light dancing above his head that served as nothing more than a night light.
He fiddled with the object he retrieved from the well.
The metal had rusted in parts, the power that had once filled the inscription had long been worn, dissipated with the time the trinket spent underwater. The hum of resentful energy was so subtle now that the bracelet had been retrieved from its resting place that Zhang Wang could almost mistake it ever being there in the first place.
