Night pressed in through the broken walls of the ruined temple, and the oil lamp swayed in the wind. Chen Wuya sat on a heap of straw in the corner, his fingers slowly tracing the stitches on the pair of cloth shoes. The thick thread ran crookedly, as though an old man's trembling hands had sewn every stitch. He said nothing, merely tucked the shoes into an inner pocket close to his body, right beside the battered Heavenly Machine Scroll.
Bai Zhi leaned against the doorway, a sword in hand, her gaze never leaving his face.
"How long did you lead them away?" she asked.
"Two incense sticks' time." He looked up. "I circled three ridges and finally shook them off in a stream. The pursuers used jianghu methods, but the direction they set out from—it was the official road."
Bai Zhi frowned. "The authorities are involved?"
Chen Wuya did not answer. Instead, he drew a sheet of paper with one burnt corner from his robes and handed it to her.
Bai Zhi took it and read by lamplight. The handwriting was scrawled, yet it bore half of a blurred seal. Its contents pointed directly at "the traitor Chen Wuya, who has stolen and hoarded the former dynasty's secret art of governance, concealed the Heavenly Machine Scroll, and plotted treason. Local authorities have been ordered to investigate thoroughly and apprehend him." It was signed as an "urgent report from the Inspectorate," transcribed from the words of an aide to some high official in the capital.
When she finished reading, her hand clenched tight, and the paper crackled as it creased.
"Outrageous!" Her voice abruptly rose. "The Heavenly Machine Scroll is the source of martial arts—what secret art of governing a nation could it possibly contain? They dare fabricate this out