The wind had stopped, and snow had crusted into a thin shell over broken branches in the woods. Chen Wuya's hoe was still stuck slantwise in the mud, its blade pointed toward the sky and faintly gleaming in the morning light. He did not touch it again. Instead, he crouched down and used his fingertips to part a clump of dead vines at the base of the wall, revealing newly buried iron chain links beneath. The vines concealed them thoroughly; without a close look, one would have taken them for a natural tangle.
Bai Zhi came out of the house carrying a bowl of ginger soup, its steam twisting into fine threads in the cold air. She walked to his side and set the bowl on the stone steps. "The wind shifted wildly last night. There are broken pine branches in the woods that the snow didn't cover," she said.
Chen Wuya nodded. He gave the metal link a light tug with his fingers, then let go. "Mm. Someone came—and left."
"You're not going after them?"
"If I chase them, I'll have to fight. If I fight, I'll have to kill." He rose and dusted off his hands. "We're not taking that road anymore."
Bai Zhi said nothing more and turned back inside. As she lifted the cloth curtain, she glanced at the mountain path beyond the courtyard. It was empty.
A hundred li away, deep within the snowy plains.
A foreign scout lay in an icy gully before the rendezvous point, the blood seeping from his shoulder long frozen into black clots. Leaning against a half-buried boulder, he gasped for breath; every inhale felt like swallowing shattered glass. His right hand clenched a copper tube in a death grip, his knuckles purple and his torn nails split.
Two