Eve of the Great Battle, Tense Atmosphere

When the vibration came through the copper tube for the third time, Chen Wuya's hand was already pressed against the drumhead.

He remained crouched, his ear pressed close. Wind burrowed up from underground, carrying the stifling smell of earth long buried. Three short, two long, repeated three times—the rhythm was steady, yet tinged with urgency, like someone desperately pounding on a stone wall in a hidden passage, begging for help.

Bai Zhi stood half a step behind him, her grip on her sword tightening slightly.

"It's not an attack signal." Chen Wuya finally spoke, his voice low. "They're falling into chaos themselves."

He slowly rose and dusted off his knees. "Pass the order. Every post is to maintain its watch as usual. No rash moves. Before the enemy moves, if we throw ourselves into disorder first—that is the greatest taboo."

The guard accepted the order and left. The camp was silent, save for the distant footsteps of patrols softly treading over shattered stones.

He looked toward the ravine entrance to the east, where the last section of copper tubing lay buried, connected to the listening tent. Soldiers guarded it in shifts, ears pressed to the tube's mouth as though keeping watch over a lifeline leading into the earth.

"Something happened inside their ranks," he said. "Maybe a struggle for power, maybe their supplies were cut off. Whatever it is, what we fear most right now isn't them attacking—it's us failing to hold on first."

Bai Zhi nodded, her gaze sweeping over rows of low tents. The wounded had yet to recover, the new formation had not fully meshed, and after two straight nights of reinforcing fortifications, everyone was exhausted. Fear did not show itself openly, yet it permeated the air like mist.

Chen Wuya untied the faded blue cloth strip