Morning light had just spilled over the mountain ridge, and the dew in the courtyard had yet to fade. Chen Wuya sat on the threshold, rubbing the edge of a short sword back and forth with a piece of coarse cloth. His movements were unhurried, yet every inch received careful attention, as though he meant to grind away last night's hesitation along with it.
From inside came the soft sound of needle passing through cloth.
Bai Zhi said nothing. She merely kept her head lowered as she stitched the copper plate in her hands. It was a chest mirror, its edges polished smooth and rounded. At its center, the pattern of two lotus blossoms growing from the same stalk stood clear—layers upon layers of petals, as if they had risen from the water. Her fingers were deft. Silver thread flashed once beneath the sunlight before slipping into the back of the cloth.
Hearing the sound, Chen Wuya lifted his eyes toward the door curtain. He stopped what he was doing, laid the sword across his knees, and watched the faintly stirring curtain.
"When did you make it?" he asked.
"Midnight." Her voice was even, and she did not look up. "After you left, I dug through the bottom of the chest for the copper piece, then took apart the silk threads from an old sword tassel."
He did not ask anything further. He knew that once she decided to do something, she would not let anyone interfere. Just as yesterday, when she had said, "Don't take too long." Only three words, yet heavier than a thousand spoken ones.
A moment later, she came out with the chest mirror resting in her palm. Sunlight fell over the copper surface, casting a faint halo. She walked up to him and handed it