Morning light pierced the mist, and the mountain pass at the end of the dirt road suddenly opened wide. Chen Wuya halted and looked up. High walls stretched ahead, flagpoles standing thick as a forest. A faded yet still crisp blue banner billowed in the wind, the two characters "Heavenly Eagle" clearly visible. He narrowed his eyes, watching the two guards patrolling back and forth at the gate—long sabers at their waists, steady steps, their gazes sweeping over everyone who approached.
Old Wu Tou stood half a step behind him, leaning on his cane. He said nothing, only coughed softly.
"This place is tighter than I thought," Chen Wuya murmured, his voice pressed so low it seemed to skim the ground. "We can't get through the main gate. My portraits are plastered everywhere."
"Then don't take the main gate," Old Wu Tou said blandly. "Aren't you best at crooked paths and shady tricks?"
Chen Wuya's mouth twitched, but he did not smile. He watched the porters and menial workers lined up outside the escort agency's gates, each one questioned and registered before being led inside by someone who looked like a steward. Some were driven away because they could not answer where they came from; others were waved through at once for being clean-handed and quick-footed.
"Menial workers draw the least attention," he muttered to himself. "They do the rough work, stay out of sight, and can still pick up news."
"You want to investigate the Dragon Abyss Sword?" Old Wu Tou asked.
"Not just that." Chen Wuya's gaze settled on a newly posted notice on the wall. The ink had not yet dried. The man in the portrait bore a new scar at his temple, his eyes fierce and savage—it was Chen Wuya himself. He looked away. "I also