At first light, Chen Wuya was already standing in the courtyard. The wooden sword remained embedded in the crack between the stones. The faint glow deep within its fissures was dimmer than it had been last night, yet it still rose and fell gently with the rhythm of his breathing. He stared at the blade for a while before turning and heading indoors.
Mo Feng was leaning against the table, sketching a diagram, his charcoal pencil drawing several intersecting lines across the paper. Hearing footsteps, he did not look up. "You're awake."
"There's work to do." Chen Wuya stopped before him. "We only know they're coming. We don't know where they'll come from, how many men they'll bring, or what methods they'll use. Misaligned Force Resonance alone can't hold back an army bearing down on us."
Mo Feng set down his pencil and looked up at him. "You want to send someone to scout their camp?"
"The mountain pass thirty li away is the only route through. Someone needs to go." Chen Wuya's voice was low. "It can't be you, and it can't be me. We're too conspicuous."
Mo Feng fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "I can set up a covert carrier-pigeon network, but we need someone familiar with the terrain—someone who can slip in without giving himself away."
Before he had finished speaking, the courtyard gate creaked open.
Old Wu Tou hobbled in on a jujube-wood cane, a bundle of firewood slung over his shoulder. His clothes were caked with dust, and his face bore the weariness of a long journey. He sat beside the fire, caught his breath, then said quietly, "I'm back."
Chen Wuya did not move. He merely watched him.
Old Wu Tou took out half a bloodstained piece of leather from his robes