The World They Left Behind

Arga gave a small smile, trying to reassure them. "I'm glad you're both okay," he said softly, his tone full of relief. His eyes conveyed a sincerity that words could scarcely express.

But Sana remained anxious. She moved closer, scrutinizing Arga intently as if searching for something she might have missed. Suddenly, without warning, her nimble fingers began examining his back. She traced every inch carefully, looking for the wound she was certain was there. After a moment, her hands stopped. Her face shifted, displaying an expression of bewilderment she couldn't hide.

"Arga… wait. Weren't you hit by an arrow on your left shoulder? But this… it's completely clean. There's no wound at all!" she said, her voice trembling. Her eyes widened as she stared at Arga, a mixture of astonishment and shock.

Nico, standing a few steps behind her, scoffed lightly, his tone laced with skepticism. "Sana, don't joke around at a time like this," he said flatly, trying to bring logic back into a situation that seemed absurd.

"No, Nico, I'm serious!" Sana insisted, pointing at Arga's back with conviction. "See for yourself! There's no scar at all! But yesterday, his blood—you saw it too, didn't you? Arga was bleeding so much!"

The room fell silent. Both of them froze, trying to process what had just occurred. Their eyes shifted between Arga and his seemingly unscathed back, as if trying to find answers to the questions swirling in their minds.

Arga sighed deeply, sensing the confusion enveloping his friends. But before he could explain, the warmth on his back reminded him of something he couldn't ignore—something he didn't fully understand yet.

Arga himself looked equally puzzled. However, instead of dwelling on it, he chose to focus on more pressing matters. Slowly, he got up from the bed, ignoring the lingering heaviness in his body.

"I need to meet the head of the family or the leader of this place," he said firmly. "I need to thank them for their help."

Sana immediately stepped forward, instinctively offering her hand to assist Arga. "Are you sure you can? Let me go with you," she offered, her voice full of concern.

But Arga gently shook his head, his smile reassuring. "No need. I'll go on my own," he replied as he walked out, his steps still slightly unsteady.

Nico and Sana exchanged glances, their expressions filled with confusion. "How is he already walking so easily? Yesterday he was nearly dead from blood loss…" Nico muttered, his voice barely audible.

Sana could only shake her head slowly, her eyes following Arga's retreating figure. "What really happened…?" she wondered, her curiosity growing.

Arga's footsteps echoed softly on the cobblestone paths of Xinjiang district. In the distance, a building with distinct Chinese architecture stood majestically in the center of the district, surrounded by neat, small gardens. The faint aroma of tea mingled with the scent of sandalwood in the air, creating a tranquil atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the turmoil in Arga's heart.

As he approached the building, his gaze fell on an older man who appeared to be in his fifties. The man sat calmly on the veranda, his hands busy arranging chess pieces on an intricately carved wooden board. Without needing to ask, Arga immediately guessed: this man must be someone important in this district.

Arga stepped closer, bowed respectfully, and said sincerely, "Good morning, Sir. I apologize for disturbing your leisure time. My name is Arga. I wanted to thank you for saving me and my friends, especially your daughter, who has such a kind heart."

The old man did not answer immediately. The soft sound of a chess piece being placed on the board was the only noise breaking the silence. A heavy stillness hung between them as Arga stood patiently, waiting.

Once all the chess pieces were neatly arranged, the old man picked up the cup of tea beside him, sipping it slowly. His sharp yet authoritative eyes finally met Arga's for the first time. The weighty silence shattered as he spoke.

"Hey, young man," his raspy voice broke the quiet, momentarily startling Arga. The man sat on an old wooden chair, his body slightly hunched, as if burdened by the weight of time.

His fingers pointed towards a long hallway dimly lit by soft light. "The district chief is at the Xinjiang district hall. Go there. I am merely one of his right-hand men."

Arga bowed his head politely, though his nerves churned within him. "Thank you, Sir. I'll take my leave," he said before turning and continuing on his way, determination beginning to solidify in his steps.

Carefully, Arga moved forward, each step echoing softly along the silent corridor. Along the walls, small candles cast faint glows, their flickering light creating dancing shadows with his every move. The air was warm, though tinged with a faint metallic scent emanating from the far end of the hallway.

As he approached the Xinjiang Hall, his ears caught the delicate strains of a guqin melody. The music flowed gently yet with power, enveloping the space in a warmth that was both calming and awe-inspiring. Each note seemed to tell its own story, evoking images of tranquil spring landscapes and cascading torrents of rain.

When Arga reached the entrance of the grand hall, several uniformed men stood guard with stern expressions. They stood like statues of unyielding soldiers, their gazes fixed straight ahead, leaving no room for small talk. Arga paused briefly, taken aback by their authority, but his curiosity was too strong to ignore. With resolute steps, he approached the door, only to be stopped by one of the guards.

"I'm sorry, you cannot enter without permission," the guard said coldly, raising his hand as a warning. Arga stood still, nodding slightly, then stepped back a few paces. Yet, his curiosity continued to burn.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Silence cloaked the corridor, making every sound feel amplified. Not long after, a loud voice of a woman echoed from inside the hall.

"You nearly injured me yesterday! Don't you know how to use a bow properly? If it weren't for him..." Arga's image flashed briefly in her mind before she quickly turned away, as if rejecting the feelings stirring in her heart. "I would have been hit. And how is it possible that I almost got hurt because of my own soldiers' incompetence?"

The soldiers trembled even more. One of them tried to explain, "Forgive us, Lady Ningning. It was unintentional. An accident"