Chen Wuya's fingers still hovered in midair, his fingertips damp with the night dew's chill. The broken bell gave one final sway, its iron chain letting out a faint clatter. He did not look back, merely slowly slid the short blade into his sleeve and pressed one inch forward.
The group had already advanced thirty paces along the mountain path. Bai Zhi led the way, her sword still sheathed, but her shoulders drawn taut and straight. Two lightly wounded soldiers were supported by veterans, their dragging steps crushing pebbles that rolled down the slope and were swept away by the wind.
They had barely rounded a narrow bend when the terrain suddenly dropped away. The cliff walls on either side squeezed into a mountain hollow less than a zhang wide, its floor carpeted with dead grass and loose stones. Several patches of turf were slightly darker, as though freshly turned over and then covered again to conceal it. Chen Wuya halted and raised a hand to signal everyone to stop.
"Something's wrong," he said quietly.
Before his words had faded, a bluestone high on the left cliff wall suddenly came loose and crashed down. In the instant dust exploded upward, three patches of turf rolled back, exposing sharp chevaux-de-frise beneath. Then powerful crossbows whistled through the air, dozens of flaming arrows firing down from above in a fan-shaped barrage that blanketed the entire passage.
"Get down!" Chen Wuya roared, lunging toward the nearest soldier and yanking him into a recess in the cliff wall. Flaming arrows struck the ground, setting the dry grass ablaze as thick smoke billowed up. Another lightly wounded man reacted a beat too slowly; a short dart pierced his left leg, and he cried out as he dropped to his knees. The veteran beside him swung