Preparing to Crack, Manufacturing Targeted Devices

The vibration beneath the copper sheet was exceedingly faint, like a strand of spider silk trembling for half a breath in the wind. Chen Wuya did not move his fingers, his fingertips still pressing on that nearly imperceptible ripple, as though it would vanish the moment he let go.

He slowly raised his head and looked at Bai Zhi.

"It wasn't an illusion," he said. "It's breathing."

Bai Zhi said nothing. She merely took the copper sheet from her sleeve pouch and gently set it on the corner of the table. Her fingers brushed its edge once before she turned and lifted the tent flap.

The sky outside was still dark, and the camp had not fully awakened. She strode forward several paces, then stopped and looked back to wait for him.

Chen Wuya rose, tucked the charcoal stick from the sand table into his robes, and slipped the copper sheet into the cloth pouch at his waist. His steps were steady as he passed through the narrow paths between tents and headed straight for the craftsmen's quarter.

Dawn had only begun to break, yet figures were already moving through the allied army's equipment camp. The furnace fires had not been lit, the anvils were cold and hard, and several young craftsmen crouched in a corner, rubbing their hands and breathing warmth into them. Hearing footsteps, they looked up, saw Chen Wuya, and hurriedly cleared the broad wooden table in the center.

The table was piled with discarded parts: broken crossbow arms, rusty gears, dismantled mechanism boxes. At its center lay a core of rock brought back from the mine, its surface webbed with fine cracks.

Chen Wuya reached out and slapped the table.

"I want to make something." His voice was not loud, but it suppressed all the camp's