The wind had barely died when the figures at the valley entrance began to move.
Three court officials entered from outside, their boots grinding over gravel with a fine, crisp crunch. The man in front wore a cold, hard expression, his brows sharp as knife-cut strokes, and his gaze carried an unquestionable pressure as it swept over them. Two elderly men dressed in martial garb followed behind him—one in a gray robe, the other in a green gown. The swords at their waists remained sheathed, yet killing intent already faintly seeped forth.
Chen Wuya stood where he was, his right hand hanging at his side as his fingers slowly curled. That letter was still pressed against his chest, its oil-paper edges warmed by his body heat. He neither moved nor spoke, only shifted his pack half an inch farther back, tightening the straps around his shoulders.
Bai Zhi stood one step behind and to his left, her flexible sword slanting toward the ground. Its tip trembled faintly, like a leaf ready to fall at any moment.
"Chen Wuya." The official spoke in a low voice, yet every word rang clear. "The Censorate has been ordered to investigate this case. You are suspected of conspiring with the Northern Desert tribes, passing military intelligence in secret. You are hereby detained. Surrender at once."
Chen Wuya smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting to reveal a faint dimple in his left cheek. "Lord Zhou, you handled this assignment remarkably fast. Someone died in this valley only last night, and by this morning, you've already pinned treason on me?"
Zhou Li's expression did not shift. "The evidence is conclusive. There is no need for excuses. Among the belongings carried by the Shadow Blade Camp's dead agents, we found coarse-cloth rope knots identical to those