Spy Operation, Refugee Camp in Peril

The morning light fell on the cracks in the east wall, the dust still carrying the dampness of the night. Chen Wuya stared at the vanished horizontal line, his fingertips rubbing the triangular corner of the "Zhao" embroidered rag inside his sleeve. The three taps of a cane last night were not a warning, but the signal for action to begin.

He retreated into the shed without a sound, pulling out a ceramic pot from under the bed—he had deliberately filled an extra jar from the underground channel last night. The mud seal was intact, the water still, not reflecting a single impurity.

As the cooking smoke began to rise, the sound of scooping water came from the kitchen. Several children gathered around the stove waiting for porridge, and a thin-faced woman carried a bucket to the well to draw water. Chen Wuya grabbed some firewood and walked towards the kitchen, casually tucking the ceramic pot deep into the stove's belly. He then picked up another empty bucket and, unnoticed by the others, poured the new water into the large vat.

"This water is clear this morning," he said, squatting by the stove and gnawing on a flatbread, deliberately letting his voice carry. "Better than the last couple of days."

The children eagerly drank two bowls of thin porridge and ran off, hopping. He watched their small faces, looking for any signs of paleness or twitching. Half an hour passed, and no one complained of a stomachache, nor did anyone double over in a corner, gagging.

The poison hadn't worked.

He let out a sigh of relief, but couldn't relax his shoulders. The spy wouldn't give up easily.

As expected, just before noon, the man appeared by the well. Dressed in a grey, short-sleeved tunic, the cuffs worn white, it was the same handyman who had spoken to him and tested him yesterday. He squatted down, sniffed the water in a broken bowl, and frowned slightly.

Chen Wuya immediately walked over, washing his face as he muttered, "What's wrong, the water has a smell? I thought it was a bit bland. Maybe it's because the soil is loose after the rain, and more has seeped in?"

The spy looked up at him, his eyes chilling for a moment before he suppressed it. "Perhaps."

"If you ask me, this well needs to be dug out," Chen Wuya said, shaking the water from his hands. "In a few more days, it'll probably be murky."

He walked away after speaking, his steps still limping as if his leg injury hadn't healed. But as he passed the well rope, the index finger of his right hand lightly brushed across it, leaving a shallow mark on the third segment of the hemp rope—this was the second level of warning signal agreed upon with Old Wu Tou: the enemy is suspicious, and vigilance must be upgraded.

On the way back to the shed, he slowed his breathing, listening for any movement behind him. The spy didn't follow, but he also didn't leave the well. He stood there for a long time before turning into his own tent.

After dinner in the evening, Chen Wuya sat on a stone stool outside the shed, basking in the sun. He deliberately chose a conspicuous spot, holding half a dry flatbread in his hand, his eyes half-closed, as if too sleepy to open. His peripheral vision, however, was locked onto the spy's direction.

The man was tidying up the woodpile, his movements nimble, but his gaze swept over Old Wu Tou's patrol route three times. Each time, he didn't linger for more than two breaths, but it was enough for Chen Wuya to notice something unusual.

More importantly, his hand was constantly resting on the leather pouch at his waist—that was the device for transmitting secret messages. He wouldn't be guarding it so closely unless it was urgent.

After dark, the camp gradually quieted down. Chen Wuya, under the guise of changing clothes, circled around to the back of the spy's tent. He squatted close to the canvas, holding his breath.

He heard low voices inside.

"…The poisoning attempt failed today. The water tasted normal, it must have been tampered with."

Another voice spoke, with a northern accent: "Did you find out who changed the water?"

"Not yet. But there's an old man and a young man whose movements are suspicious. The old man's patrol route is strange, and the young man, despite his leg injury, can move quickly. We'll act tomorrow at nine fifteen. Take them out first."

"We can't delay. If they manage to collude with the villagers, the consequences will be endless."

"Understood. I've already sent a message, requesting the leader to come in person."

Chen Wuya slowly retreated, his toes grinding the loose soil, making no sound. He returned to the shed, closed the curtain tightly, and lit the oil lamp.

Old Wu Tou arrived soon after, leaning on his cane and standing at the doorway, not entering the room.

"They're going to make a move," Chen Wuya stated directly. "Tomorrow morning at nine fifteen, they'll kill you and me first."

Old Wu Tou's expression didn't change, he only asked, "How do you know?"

"I heard it." He didn't explain the details of his stealth. "You can't go far right now, your footwork is still unstable. I need to make you remember one thing—the more chaotic it is, the more alive you'll be."

He stood up and paced back and forth in the small room, his steps shifting left and right, as if stepping on invisible potholes.

"Don't think about whether it's right or wrong, and don't care what others think," he said. "You just need to remember, if your mind is calm, your feet won't be chaotic. If your body is tilted, you can survive."

Old Wu Tou watched him walk, his eyes gradually deepening.

Chen Wuya suddenly stopped and clapped his hands three times.

Old Wu Tou instinctively shifted his position, stepping back with his left foot and sliding his right foot sideways, almost hitting the wall.

"Correct!" Chen Wuya nodded. "That move just now was the 'Universe Reversal Step'. You don't need to learn it, you're just trying to escape."

He clapped twice more, the rhythm changing abruptly.

Old Wu Tou reacted a half-beat slower this time, but still managed to avoid a clump of dust falling from above.

"Again." Chen Wuya continued to clap, the rhythm varying, fast and slow, with no pattern.

Old Wu Tou followed, his steps becoming smoother. By the fifth evasion, he could already turn and maneuver in the narrow space, almost silently.

The System whispered in his mind: "Error detected: Interpreted 'Universe Reversal Step' as an instinctive afterimage. Rationalization complete. Derivative effect: User can automatically evade danger from sudden sounds."

Chen Wuya didn't respond, only staring at Old Wu Tou's footwork.

It worked.

This footwork wasn't taught, it was forced. And Old Wu Tou was someone who was used to being forced.

He took out the镖局 rag from his sleeve, tore off a corner, and handed it to Old Wu Tou.

"Tomorrow morning, if you see that I haven't come out of the shed, or if you hear the fighting suddenly stop," he said, "take this and head towards the west slope. If you encounter anyone wearing a black robe and a iron牌 on the way, show them this cloth, and you might survive."

Old Wu Tou took the piece of cloth, not asking who it was for or why.

He just clutched it tightly, tucked it into his embrace, and then said, "What about you?"

"Me?" Chen Wuya smiled. "I'll let them know who the real crooked logic belongs to."

Old Wu Tou said nothing more, turned, and left. The cane tapped the ground, three light sounds.

Just like last night.

Chen Wuya sat back down under the lamp, his fingers tapping the ground on his knee.

Short, short, short.

The only response was the faint tap of a cane in the distance.

The next morning, mist floated close to the ground. Chen Wuya leaned against a shed post, chewing dry rations, his gaze sweeping across the camp. Children chased each other in the open space, women hung laundry and cooked, everything was as usual.

But he knew the storm was upon them.

Old Wu Tou patrolled the camp as always. When he walked past the well, his steps faltered for a moment before resuming their normal pace. That was their signal.

Chen Wuya looked down and felt the sole of his shoe. The cloth shoes Old Wu Tou had given him fit perfectly, and after two days of walking, his soles had developed a thin layer of calluses.

As he was thinking, he suddenly heard footsteps approaching from the distance.

He looked up and saw a spy walking towards him. Two unfamiliar faces followed behind, one carrying a long bundle on his back, the other with a bulge at his waist, clearly hiding a weapon.

The spy's face was expressionless, but his eyes were fixed on Chen Wuya, like a blade scraping past.

"You're up early today," he said.

"Couldn't sleep," Chen Wuya grinned, "My legs hurt."

"Is that so?" The spy stopped, only three steps away from him. "Then I advise you to lie down right now."

"Why?"

"The ground's going to get very dirty soon."