Night pressed low over the eaves. Chen Wuya ran his fingers around the edge of a wooden stake, confirming that the last tripwire had been embedded in a crack in the earth. He did not glance at the old pine again. He merely set the woodcutter's blade lightly by the door, its edge facing outward, just as before.
Bai Zhi emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of cooled tea and placed it on the stone block beside the threshold. She said nothing, but her gaze swept over the newly erected fir stakes in the corner of the yard before settling on the unhealed cut across the back of his hand—a wound left by yesterday's fight.
"Do you believe they won't come back?" she finally asked, her voice low.
"It isn't a question of believing or not." He lowered his head to look at his palm, his five fingers slowly closing. "They never left."
The instant the words fell, his fingertips suddenly trembled. The threads of true qi buried at the four corners quivered faintly, so lightly it was like wind brushing a spiderweb. But he felt it.
Someone had stepped into the trap.
Without changing expression, he retreated half a step and leaned against the doorframe, slowing his breathing. Bai Zhi sensed something amiss. Her feet shifted as she silently withdrew to the side of the window, one hand already resting on her sword hilt.
A faint, misplaced scrape came from the roof tiles—not caused by the wind. A shadow slid along the edge of the roof ridge, moving with remarkable steadiness. Every step avoided the load-bearing beams; this was clearly a trained night operative. At the same time, dirt was gently pushed aside by the low fence at the rear wall, and two figures vaulted in. They landed