Unrest in the Army, Generals Harboring Treacherous Intentions

The wind and sand swept past the edge of the tent. Chen Wuya lightly tapped the wooden rim of the charcoal cart with one finger, and ashes slid down in soft rustles. He lowered his head to look at his palm. The bronze edge of the tiger tally had left a shallow mark against his fingertip, still carrying his body heat.

Bai Zhi leaned against the corner of the tent. Her sword remained sheathed, but her fingertips had stayed pressed to the worn-smooth bronze rivet at the end of its hilt. She said nothing, only lifted her eyes to glance at him.

"I made a trip," Chen Wuya said quietly. "And I didn't come back empty-handed."

Her brow shifted slightly. "What did you find?"

"That old tent by the grain route had someone lighting lamps at night." As he spoke, he untied the rough cloth bundle from his shoulder. "General Ding went in himself, dressed in plain clothes and without any personal guards. Half an hour later, a masked man arrived. They drew the curtain and talked."

Bai Zhi's gaze sharpened. "Ding? The one in charge of supplies?"

"That's him." Chen Wuya pulled a crumpled scrap of cloth from his robes and spread it over his knee. "I couldn't hear everything, but one sentence came through clearly—'Wait until their provisions are exhausted on the road, then cut off their reinforcements. Their defeat will be certain.'"

The tent fell silent for a moment.

The flame in the brazier flickered, throwing Bai Zhi's profile into stark relief. She spoke slowly. "This isn't opposition to the alliance. He wants the front lines to collapse."

"Right." Chen Wuya nodded. "What's worse, he also said, 'When the time comes, your lord may naturally strike while they are weak.' The contact answered—Third Prince's old forces have