Hidden Dangers Emerge, Undercurrents Surge Again

The halo of the oil lamp drifted slowly across the back of the letter, while the dark-red seal lay quietly in Chen Wuya's palm. He did not put it away at once. Instead, his fingertips gently traced the edge of its pattern—neither quite wolf nor serpent, its lines twisted like entwining vines, yet radiating a chilling murderous intent.

Bai Zhi stood by the door, her gaze shifting from the letter to him. "The Northern Wolf-Serpent Totem... Old Wu Tou mentioned it."

"He did more than mention it." Chen Wuya turned the seal over toward the faint lamplight. "He said it was the mark of the Blood Fang Camp, which was wiped out thirty years ago. On the night the old king died, that force massacred three border villages. Later, they and their commanding general were nailed to the stone pillars of an altar."

"You remember it that clearly?"

"Because his hand trembled when he said it." Chen Wuya put away the letter and tucked it back inside his robes. "An old escort master who survived the calamity of the refugee camps, a man unafraid of blades and swords, was afraid of that name."

Bai Zhi fell silent for a moment, the tassel on her sword swaying lightly. "You mean the hidden danger isn't political rivals fighting for power, but something that has risen from the dead?"

"The dead do not move." Chen Wuya pushed open the door and stepped out, the night wind rushing into his face. "But someone wants to make it stand up."

The two moved through the ruined alleys beyond the palace walls. The closer they came to the northern district, the more cracks split the green bricks beneath their feet, with weeds growing thick as though no one had set foot there for years. In the