Unexpected Inspiration, New Direction for Calculation

The moment the oil lamp went out, the tent sank into dimness. Cold wind slipped through the gap in the flap, making the dying embers in the brazier glow faintly and casting light over Chen Wuya's curled-up figure. His forehead rested against his knees, his breathing shallow and quick, his fingertips still twitching unconsciously as though he were fighting an invisible pull. Bai Zhi crouched beside him, clutching a damp cloth, hesitating over whether to press it against him once more.

Footsteps sounded outside the tent—not heavy, but rhythmic. The flap lifted at one corner, and a wave of warmth mixed with the scents of rust and charcoal swept in. A stooped figure stepped inside with a lantern in hand, his face smudged with soot, one sleeve cuff scorched, fine cracks splitting the calluses on his palms.

He said nothing. He merely set the lantern at the corner of the table and reached out to trim the wick. With a pop, the flame leaped up, illuminating half the sand table.

Bai Zhi looked up at him. The man nodded and was about to leave when Chen Wuya muttered under his breath, "...It turns too smoothly. So smoothly it doesn't seem real."

The old craftsman halted.

"What did you say?" He turned back, his voice hoarse.

Chen Wuya did not open his eyes. His lips moved slightly. "The gears... shouldn't run like this. The force is wrong, the angles are wrong too. But the more I think it's wrong, the more right it seems."

The old craftsman stood where he was, staring at him for a moment. Then he suddenly chuckled. "Young hero, are you guessing at whether it exists, or watching how it moves?"

Chen Wuya's eyelids trembled.

"Mechanisms aren't afraid of you not understanding them. They're afraid of you