The instant the silver thread dropped, Chen Wuya's fingers moved.
He did not look up. He merely flicked the hooked bronze nail in his palm. Spinning, it embedded itself in a crack in the doorframe, directly facing the slender thread slowly descending. An almost imperceptible tremor traveled along the wood grain—the nail's tip had caught the silver line.
The mechanism on the eaves was locked dead.
Bai Zhi stood three steps away, her fingers resting on her sword hilt, her gaze fixed on his face. Last night's chill still lingered, but she could tell that his mind was no longer on the roof.
"They're using the Heavenly Silkworm Line," Chen Wuya finally said, his voice low and steady. "It's used exclusively by Eastern Depot deathsworn to pass messages. One thread, twin hooks—it can bear a hundred jin of force. If anyone touches the line, the other end is alerted at once."
"Then why didn't you dismantle it?"
"Because I need it to carry a message." He turned and walked into the house, taking a square of coarse hemp cloth from the corner of the stove. Beneath it lay half an ink stick and a sheet of yellowed paper. "Since Yan Song wants to hear some news, I'll let him hear it loud and clear."
Bai Zhi frowned. "You're writing a letter?"
"Not writing." As he ground the ink, a faint ripple of true qi shimmered at his fingertips. "I'll make him 'read' what I want him to know."
As soon as the ink was evenly ground, a system prompt appeared:
[High-level logic reconstruction requirement detected. Initiating "Flawed Logic Completion" mode.]
He dipped his brush in ink and set it to paper, but his first sentence was not an accusation. It was a hymn of praise.
"I have heard