A Clever Probe, Identifying the Disloyal

The charcoal writing on the wooden plaque was still dusted gray. Chen Wuya lightly scraped a finger across the line, "guarantees three days of peace," and flakes drifted soundlessly through the lamplight.

He handed the plaque to Bai Zhi and said only one word. "Fake."

Bai Zhi did not ask why. She knew Chen Wuya never yielded, much less allowed threats to lead him by the nose. Turning the plaque over, she saw the faint scorch mark on its back glimmer in the firelight, like dead ashes suddenly drawing breath.

"They're afraid." Chen Wuya rose and walked to the military map in the corner of the tent, his finger tracing the position of the grain depot in the right-wing camp. "Last night's messenger was dressed as a courier, but the mud on his boot soles wasn't the camp's yellow earth. It was the cracked red clay beyond the western wall. The hunting grounds have been abandoned for years; only border patrols use that road—and the patrol reported missing men this morning."

Bai Zhi's gaze shifted slightly. "You mean someone impersonated a courier?"

"More than that." He withdrew his hand and took the charred scrap of cloth from his robes. "Only death warriors bear the brand of the Burning Wolf Rite, yet this cloth was scraped from the messenger's boot sole. It means they're desperate—so desperate they can't even bother to hide it."

For a moment, the tent fell silent. The wick spat a tiny spark, throwing both their features into sharp relief.

After a while, Chen Wuya smiled. It was an exceedingly faint smile, but its edge was unmistakably sharp. "Then let's make them even more desperate."

At dawn, when the training horn sounded, Chen Wuya had already slipped into the border garrison's mess hall. Holding a bowl of coarse