Chen Wuya ground the black pill between his fingertips. The powder glimmered a dark blue-green, showing almost no sheen in the firelight. He did not toss it away. Instead, he gently blew off the residue and wiped his fingertips on his coarse trousers.
The man on the ground was bound tight with hemp rope. Though he could not open his mouth, his eyes still moved, fixed on the pair of iron tongs glowing red beside the fire. His breathing had grown more hurried than before, each rise and fall of his chest carrying a faint tremor.
Chen Wuya crouched half a foot away from him, his voice low. "How many groups did you send this time?"
The other man shut his eyes, the muscles in his face tightening.
"You don't have to talk." Chen Wuya reached into his robes and drew out the secret letter. Its wax seal was intact, the Wolf Head crest sharp and clear. "I recognize this seal. Ten years ago, outside the Valley of Broken Souls, it was stamped on the bounty notice. Back then, you wanted to trade my master's head for military merit. Now you've changed tactics—playing pitiful?"
He paused, his thumb rubbing the edge of the wax seal. "But you forgot one thing—someone truly at the end of the road would not wash his clothes. Nor would he wrap strips of cloth around his cuffs to hide a brand."
The man's eyes flew open, his pupils contracting.
"Beneath the third crease of your left wrist is a burn mark. It was branded recently. Old scars pull the skin tight, but new flesh swells. You might fool others, but not me." Chen Wuya gave a cold laugh. "Is your Northern Desert spy camp short on men lately? You can't even patch up a flaw