Disguised Entry, Seeking the Throne's Secret

Windblown sand swept across the dried-up riverbed. Chen Wuya lay behind a broken boulder, his fingertips lightly tapping the ground as Misaligned Force stretched out like fine threads, sensing every movement within a hundred paces. Bai Zhi crouched beside him, her shoulders faintly trembling, her breathing pressed to the barest whisper.

The patrol's footsteps faded into the distance. He slowly rose and gave her a look. The two moved along the crumbling riverbank wall, gravel beneath their feet rolled by the wind before vanishing into distant dunes.

Ahead stood a collapsed trading post, wooden beams skewered into the yellow earth and its door hanging crookedly. Chen Wuya signaled Bai Zhi to keep watch outside, then slipped into the ruined house. In a corner, he turned up two sets of roughcloth clothes—gray-brown, with fur-trimmed collars, the kind Northern Lands merchants commonly wore. He then pulled a broken cart axle from beneath a rotted wagon, pried open its inner compartment, stuffed half a volume of Canglang Art inside, and sealed it shut with iron nails.

After changing into the coarse clothes, he tore open his sleeve, grabbed a handful of dust and smeared it over his face. Then he hunched over, bent at the waist, putting on a timid, shrinking look. When he turned toward Bai Zhi, she had already lowered her head and eyes, her hands folded over her abdomen, her figure slightly drawn inward—the very image of a servant woman traveling with her master.

"Don't be too stiff," he murmured. "The women here walk like the wind is at their backs. If you move like that, you'll look even less convincing."

Bai Zhi adjusted her gait slightly. Her steps gained a touch of sluggishness, and her skirt hem brushed over the sand with a faint scraping sound. Chen Wuya nodded