Xun sat on the basin floor while the salt cloud drifted around them. His adjutant kept one hand near the general’s shoulder, watching for a fall. The saber lay several paces away, where Yan had slid it.
“They’re checking the stakes,” Yan said. “Once the flanks are clear, we’ll move you to the medics.”
Xun drew a shallow breath. “You think I’ll attack again?”
“I don’t know. I’m keeping your sword out of reach until Qinghe sees you.”
The general tried to push himself up. He swayed, and Yan put a hand under his arm to steady him. The adjutant called for a litter from the rear line.
Wei’s scouts found no second wire, but they marked the iron stakes with red strips. The shield teams moved along the clear path, keeping a lane open for the medics. Yan remained beside Xun. He was bruised across the ribs and had two shallow cuts on his forearm, but his strength was high and steady.
When the litter arrived, the adjutant asked Yan not to move Xun until a medic checked his breathing. Yan agreed. The coalition medics brought clean water and a breathing wrap. Qinghe reached the basin from the field infirmary with her kit and a second assistant.
