The guard's gaze swept over the grass, his hand gripping his sword hilt as he slowly stepped forward. Chen Wuya held his breath, his right hand pressed to his lips while his left gave the reins a gentle tug, leading his mount half a step deeper into the shadows. At his side, Bai Zhi had silently drawn her flexible sword. It remained sheathed, her fingertips merely braced against the mouth of the scabbard, ready to exert force at any moment.
The rest of the party lay motionless on the ground, and even the horses' mouths had been bound with strips of cloth beforehand. The night wind skimmed over the dead grass with a faint rustling sound. The guard stood there for a while, but ultimately did not come any closer. He turned and walked back to the camp in the hollow, leaning once more against the pile of rocks.
Chen Wuya waited for the time it took to burn a full stick of incense before slowly letting out a breath. He removed a cloth pouch from his waist, took out a strip of coarse sackcloth, and swiftly wrapped it around the iron rings of the tack. His movements were clean and efficient, without a single unnecessary sound.
"Go around," he said in a low voice, nearly pressed to the ground. "Take the southern trail by the Old Canal. Scouts lead the way."
The others nodded soundlessly and rose, leading their horses. An old soldier whose face bore the marks of wind and frost stepped forward on his own initiative. He was the one who had discovered the hooked-pattern boot prints earlier. He gave Chen Wuya a slight nod, then led the group westward along the foot of the slope. Bai Zhi walked at the rear, her flexible sword hanging loosely