The muffled thud of the broom hitting the ground still echoed in his ears. Chen Wuya did not look back. He merely lifted his toe and gave it a light flick; the old broom slid into the corner, pressed against the pile of firewood. He stared at the three carved marks on the wall. The edge of the deepest one was slightly frayed, as though it had been grazed by some sharp weapon. Bai Zhi had pressed harder than usual when she put her hand on his shoulder just now. He knew what she was worried about.
"We can't wait any longer," he said quietly.
The lamplight inside swayed. Bai Zhi stepped out of the shadows, her flexible sword already sheathed, swaying lightly at her waist. Mo Feng leaned against the doorframe, twirling the folding fan etched with mechanism diagrams in his hand. Its ribs made faint scraping sounds.
"Word came from the refugee camp. Old Wu Tou went to fetch medicine this morning and was stopped on the road for questioning." Mo Feng folded his fan. "They were dressed like civilians, but their footwork was the Northern Desert cavalry's Threefold Snowstep."
Chen Wuya's gaze darkened. "They've started making their move."
"You shouldn't have kept the off-frequency whistle hidden in that cloth strip for so long." Mo Feng frowned. "If they traced the frequency backward, they may already have figured out the rhythm of our defenses."
"That's why I'm going out to meet them." Chen Wuya untied his belt and removed the charred remains of a sound-guiding disc from its hidden layer. With a rub of his fingers, fragments sifted down. "They think we're waiting. In truth, we've already begun moving."
Bai Zhi walked to his side, lowering her voice to nearly a whisper. "That secret passage you mentioned—can it