The Second Prince's Invitation, a Conspiracy Begins to Surface

The gray cloth in the bamboo basket was lifted by the wind, exposing half a black arrow shaft. Chen Wuya did not break stride. His fingers curled slightly within his sleeve as Misaligned Force began to circulate in silence, rearranging the lines of the fragmentary map in his mind. He saw the hidden route for weapons through the western market, and he understood those seemingly careless markings on animal hides—this city had long since become an iron cage.

But to break the deadlock, he could not merely hide outside the cage and peer in.

The next morning, two armored guards came down the gravel path and stopped the pair before the leather goods shop. The leader handed over a silver-patterned wooden token carved with ancient foreign script. On the reverse, however, were neat small characters of the Central Plains: "The Second Prince invites those of fate to his residence for a talk."

Chen Wuya accepted the token, his fingertips lightly tracing the carved marks along its edge. The stall he had left behind last night had already been cleared away, yet someone had followed the trail to find him. They had not asked his name, but directly called him "one of fate." This was no coincidence. It was the beginning of a test.

He lowered his head with a smile and closed the token in his palm. "How could I dare refuse an invitation from such an honored person?"

Bai Zhi silently followed at his side as the two went through streets and alleyways behind the guards. The farther north they went, the cleaner the streets became. Patrols of soldiers moved in pairs, their gazes hooked like claws. Near the residence gates, broad, level bluestone steps stretched ahead, flanked by four stone wolves with their fangs pointed skyward, their presence