Morning light fell across the cracks in the eastern wall, and the dirt still carried the dampness of the night. Chen Wuya stared at the vanished horizontal line, his fingertips rubbing the triangular fold of the "Zhao" rag inside his sleeve. The three taps of a cane against the ground last night had not been a warning, but the signal that the operation had begun.
He slipped back into the shack without showing anything, then dragged a clay jar out from beneath the bed. When he had diverted water through the underground channel last night, he had deliberately filled an extra jar. The clay seal remained unbroken, and the still surface of the water reflected not the slightest impurity.
As cooking smoke began to rise, the sound of scooping water came from the kitchen. Several children crowded around the stove, waiting for porridge, while a thin-faced woman carried a bucket to the well. Chen Wuya gathered some firewood and walked toward the kitchen. He casually stuffed the clay jar deep into the stove, then picked up another empty bucket and, while no one was watching, poured fresh water into the large vat.
"The water's clear this morning." Squatting before the stove and gnawing a flatbread, he deliberately let his voice carry. "Tastes better than it did these past two days."
The children fought over two bowls of thin porridge before bouncing away. He watched their little faces, checking for any sign of blue lips or spasms. Half an hour passed. No one cried out with stomach pains, and no one crouched in a corner retching dryly.
The poison hadn't taken effect.
He let out a breath of relief, but he didn't dare relax his shoulders. The spy wouldn't give up so easily.
Sure enough, close to noon, the man appeared by the well. He wore a gray short jacket, its cuffs worn white. It was the same servant who had struck up a conversation with him yesterday to sound him out. He crouched down, scooped up some water with a chipped bowl, and sniffed it, his brows drawing together slightly.
Chen Wuya immediately walked over, washing his face as he grumbled, "What is it, does the water smell? I reckon it's gotten a little bland. Could it be that the earth loosened after the rain and let more seep through?"
The spy glanced up at him. His gaze turned cold for an instant before he suppressed it. "Perhaps."
"If you ask me, this well ought to be cleaned out." Chen Wuya shook the droplets from his hands. "Give it a few more days and I'm afraid it'll turn cloudy."
He left as soon as he finished speaking, his gait still limping as if his leg had not yet healed. But when he passed the well rope, his right index finger brushed lightly across it, leaving a shallow mark on the third section of hemp rope. This was the second-level warning he had arranged with Old Wu Tou: the enemy had grown suspicious, and their vigilance had increased.
On the way back to the shack, he slowed his breathing and listened for movement behind him. The spy did not follow, but neither did he leave the well. He stood there for a long while before finally turning and entering his own tent.
After dinner that evening, Chen Wuya sat on a stone block outside the shack, basking in the sun. He deliberately chose a conspicuous spot, holding half a dry flatbread in his hand, his eyes half-closed as though he was too sleepy to open them. From the corner of his eye, however, he kept the spy's direction firmly in view.
The man was arranging a woodpile. His movements were crisp, but his gaze swept toward Old Wu Tou's patrol route three times. Each pause lasted no more than two breaths, but that was enough for Chen Wuya to notice something was wrong.
More importantly, his hand remained pressed against the leather pouch at his waist—the device used to pass secret messages. Unless it was an emergency, he would not keep guarding it like that.
After dark, the camp gradually fell quiet. Under the pretext of changing clothes, Chen Wuya circled around behind the spy's tent. He crouched against the tent cloth and held his breath.
Someone was speaking in a low voice inside.
"...Today's poisoning failed. The water tastes normal, so it must have been tampered with."
Another voice spoke, carrying the accent of the Northern Lands. "Have you found out who changed the water?"
"Not yet. But there's an old one and a young one whose movements are suspicious. The old man's patrol route is strange, while the young one can move swiftly despite his leg injury. We'll act at the third quarter of the hour tomorrow morning. Eliminate the two of them first."
"Don't hesitate. Once they join forces with the villagers, the consequences will be endless."
"Understood. I've sent the message. I've asked the leader to come in person."
Chen Wuya slowly backed away, his toes grinding against the loose dirt without making a sound. He returned to the shack, drew the curtain tight, and lit the oil lamp.
Old Wu Tou arrived soon after. He stood at the entrance with his cane, but did not come inside.
"They're going to make their move." Chen Wuya got straight to the point. "At the third quarter tomorrow morning, they'll kill you and me first."
Old Wu Tou's expression did not change. He only asked, "How do you know?"
"I heard them." He did not explain the details of his infiltration. "You can't get far right now, and your footwork isn't steady yet. I need you to remember one thing—the more chaotic it gets, the more likely you are to survive."
He rose and paced back and forth in the cramped room, his steps shifting left and right as though he were treading across unseen potholes.
"Don't worry about whether it's right or wrong, and don't care what others think," he said. "Just remember this: when your heart is in turmoil, your feet must not be. Only by letting your body tilt can you stay alive."
Old Wu Tou watched him walk, his gaze gradually sinking.
Chen Wuya suddenly stopped and clapped three times.
Old Wu Tou instinctively shifted his feet. His left foot retreated while his right slid sideways, and he nearly crashed into the wall.
"Right!" Chen Wuya nodded. "That move just now was the Universe Reversal Step. You're not learning it—you're running for your life."
He clapped twice more, and the rhythm abruptly changed.
Old Wu Tou reacted half a beat slowly this time, but still dodged the pinch of dust falling from overhead.
"Again." Chen Wuya continued clapping out the rhythm, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, without the slightest pattern.
Old Wu Tou followed his movements, his steps growing smoother and smoother. By the fifth dodge, he could already turn and shift through the narrow space almost without a sound.
The system whispered in his mind: "Error determination: interpreted 'Universe Reversal Step' as an emergency afterimage. Rationalization complete. Derived effect: the user can automatically evade danger amid sudden sounds."
Chen Wuya did not respond. He only stared at Old Wu Tou's feet.
It worked.
This footwork had not been taught. It had been forced out of him. And Old Wu Tou happened to be a man accustomed to being driven into corners.
He took the escort-bureau 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 shack, or if you hear the sounds of fighting suddenly stop..." he said, "take this and head toward the western slope. If you encounter anyone in a black robe wearing an iron token, show them this piece of cloth. It might keep you alive."
Old Wu Tou accepted the scrap. He did not ask who they were, nor why.
He merely clenched it, stuffed it into his shirt, and then asked, "What about you?"
"Me?" Chen Wuya smiled. "I need to let them know who the real crooked reasoner is."
Old Wu Tou said nothing more. He turned and left. His cane tapped against the ground three times in soft succession.
Just like last night.
Chen Wuya sat back down beneath the lamp, his fingers tapping the ground against his knee.
Three short taps, three short taps.
The reply came from far away: one extremely soft tap of a cane against the ground.
The next morning, mist drifted close to the ground. Chen Wuya leaned against a tent post, chewing dry rations as his gaze swept over every part of the camp. The children chased one another across the open space, while the women dried clothes and cooked. Everything seemed as usual.
But he knew the storm was right before him.
Old Wu Tou continued his patrol as usual. When he passed the well, his steps paused for a moment before returning to normal. That was their confirmation signal.
Chen Wuya lowered his head and touched the soles of his shoes. The cloth shoes Old Wu Tou had given him fit well. After two days of walking, thin calluses had already formed on the bottoms of his feet.
As he was thinking, he suddenly heard a series of approaching footsteps.
He looked up and saw the spy walking toward him. Two unfamiliar faces followed behind him. One carried a long bundle, while the other had a bulge at his waist, clearly hiding a weapon.
The spy's face showed little emotion, but his gaze was nailed to Chen Wuya as though scraped across him by a blade.
"You got up pretty early today," he said.
"Couldn't sleep." Chen Wuya grinned. "My leg hurts."
"Is that so?" The spy stopped, only three steps away. "Then I advise you to lie down right now."
"Why?"
"The ground's going to get very dirty in a moment."
Before you continue