The wooden talisman trembled lightly on the doorframe, as if stirred by the wind—or as if a heartbeat had skipped a beat.
Chen Wuya pressed his palm to the edge of the door. His fingertips curled slightly. He did not look at the peachwood talisman, yet he could feel the Misaligned Force he had left in the secret envoy's throat still moving slowly—the force was like a fine thread, passing through the mist in the woods and winding deep around the other man's meridians, tightening a fraction with every rise and fall of his breath.
Bai Zhi carried a bundle of clothes beneath the eaves. Her footsteps were light, yet she deliberately made them audible. She knew it was a reminder to the child inside that someone was there, and a warning to the fugitive outside the courtyard: this was no empty house, much less a dead end.
"He's still nearby," Chen Wuya said softly.
Bai Zhi paused, not asking how he knew. She merely hung the small garments on the line one by one. As her fingers smoothed their wrinkles, her gaze swept over the broken hemp rope in the corner of the yard. One end was still embedded in the tree trunk, like the tail of an arrow nailed into the earth.
Chen Wuya slowly walked to the clothesline and bent to pick up the remaining length of rope. His fingertips rubbed over the rough fibers, and he suddenly noticed something strange—this hemp cord should have turned brittle from the vibrations of Misaligned Force, yet it now felt faintly damp, as though it had absorbed the night dew. Narrowing his eyes for a closer look, he saw several wisps of pale red thread crawling upward along the fibers, like blood seeping into cloth grain.
"Ash from the Soul-Capturing