Iron nail

Helian Yuan used three markers to test the gray-robed man's assistant.

He carved a cross into the old tree at the town entrance, placed an iron nail beneath a stone outside the hunting shelter, and wedged a blank sheet of paper in the back door of the purchasing shop.

The next day, the cross was untouched and the blank paper remained, but the iron nail was gone.

He changed their locations and tried again. The assistant still took only the iron nail.

These people recognized the object, not the content. Wherever an iron nail appeared, there was information to be collected or checked. As for what was written beside the nail, perhaps only someone higher up would read it upon arriving.

Helian Yuan began making a false record.

He selected a page from a blank account book he had picked up at the old camp and wrote: "July 12, someone entered the cave at Blackwater Ravine; the iron tag was moved." After writing it, he wiped it with a damp cloth and rubbed in old mud, making the fresh ink look as though it had been damp for days.

He tucked the unnumbered end of the iron chain into the middle of the book.

Real iron, false whereabouts.

If he left only a fake document, the gray-robed man would be suspicious; with a physical piece made the same way as the Blackwater Ravine chain, they would be more willing to believe that the clue to Number Seven remained at the old underground site.

He placed the account book in a half-open drawer in the hunting shelter and left the door latch loosely fastened. He wound two loose loops of rope around the drawer handle, making it look as though someone had left in a hurry.

The crossbow-carrying hunter watched outside the door for a long time.

"You want them to go in?"

"Mm."

"I'm not getting involved in your business."

"I didn't ask you to."

"Then I'll warn you just once. The gray-robed man's assistant never works alone. There's at least one more person in the carriage."

"What's the price for that?"

"Last time you mapped the panther routes, you added an extra safe route," the crossbow-carrying hunter said. "Now we're even."

He left after saying that, without even asking what was in the fake account book. His refusal was not indifference; he was unwilling to let their limited cooperation turn into shared responsibility.

At dusk, Helian Yuan hid in the crown of a tree outside town.

The gray-robed man's assistant first checked the iron nail beneath the stone, then walked around the hunting shelter's outer walls. Another man in a short jacket stood thirty paces away the whole time, his hand on his saber hilt, keeping watch.

The assistant pushed open the door and entered the shelter.

In less than half a quarter-hour, he came out carrying a bundle wrapped in gray cloth. The cover of the old account book showed at one corner. He did not look through it on the spot, which meant the iron nail only told him to "take it"; judging whether it was genuine would be left to the gray-robed man.

The man in the short jacket did not follow the assistant straight back to town. Instead, he changed his shoe covers at the edge of the woods and put the muddy old pair into a cloth bag. Helian Yuan noted this. The other side also knew footprints could reveal a route, and might even have deliberately left boot prints for him to find.

The fake account book had been taken this time not because the gray-robed man was stupid, but because both sides had to come into contact with clues to continue making judgments. Whoever touched the bait first would reveal some of their habits; whoever refused to touch it at all would never be able to confirm whether Number Seven had truly appeared.

Helian Yuan waited until the moon rose above the treetops, circled the hunting shelter twice, then entered through a gap in the roof. If the other side had left a second line behind the door, he would not step on it directly. Only after confirming there was no ambush did he drop to the floor and check the drawer.

After the two men left, Helian Yuan waited until dark before returning to the hunting shelter.

The account book and the end of the iron chain had both been taken from the drawer. The medicine bottles, dry rations, and old tools had not been touched. But a new iron nail lay on the table.

A faint "seven" was carved into its head.

Gray thread was still wound around its shaft.

The other side had left a reply.

It could have been an acknowledgment of receipt, or a message to the person who had set the bait: the Number Seven clue was theirs to handle, and he should not touch it again.

Helian Yuan turned the nail over and over, examining it several times. The carving had been done hastily; the tip of the blade had slipped beyond the edge. It was not a standard mark made in advance, but one carved on the spot after the account book was taken.

The assistant had realized someone had deliberately left the account book there, yet had still taken it away.

The other side had already seen that the account book might be bait, but still could not give up any clue related to Number Seven. The importance of Number Seven outweighed the risk of exposing their movements once.

Helian Yuan did not feel certain of victory because of this.

The false record could only buy time. Once the gray-robed man discovered that the Blackwater Ravine entrance had collapsed and the date in the account book was wrong, they would turn their search back to Sunken Bone Slope and be more cautious than before.

He put the nail marked with a seven into an oilcloth bundle, then pressed the square-headed iron nail back into its original hole in the doorframe. When whoever had left the nail returned, they would think the marker had not been discovered.

Afterward, Helian Yuan returned to Sunken Bone Slope and left false clues of different levels in three places: he carved half a seven into a stone by the spring, buried a length of gray thread on the old path on the northern slope, and placed a stone over a corner of record paper brought from Blackwater Ravine in the stone gully to the east.

All three pointed toward the territory of a level-four Blue Rock Panther, but ordinary hunters would not see it at a glance.

If the gray-robed man sent only his assistant, he would see the iron nail and gray thread first; only if the gray-robed man came in person would he recognize the record paper.

This way, Helian Yuan could also judge who had come from the route the other side chose.

When the crossbow-carrying hunter returned from the western slope, he saw the half seven by the spring. He did not touch it, leaving only an arrow laid sideways in the distance. It was a warning used by local hunters: the mark was too fresh, and someone was waiting for a response.

Helian Yuan did not retrieve the arrow until the following day. He did not explain the three false clues or invite the other man to participate, only telling him that the eastern stone gully would be a danger zone for the next two days. After hearing him out, the crossbow-carrying hunter changed the time he drew water and refused to watch the gray-robed man for Helian Yuan.

"I can avoid your bait," he said, "but I won't watch to see who bites."

"That's enough."

That boundary made the false clues cleaner. The fewer people who knew the plan, the harder it would be for the gray-robed man to work backward from ordinary hunters' behavior and identify the person who had set the bait.

Early on the third morning, the half seven on the stone by the spring had been smeared over with mud, the gray thread on the northern slope had not been touched, and the corner of record paper in the eastern stone gully had vanished. The other side had skipped the two that most resembled ordinary secret signals and taken the paper that could be checked against the old register.

In the half hour after the record paper disappeared, no footprints immediately appeared by the eastern rock face. The visitor had first observed the spring, the stone hollow, and the panther tracks from above. Only after confirming there was no second sheet of paper nearby did the visitor retreat over the hardest rock surfaces. Helian Yuan found only a square indentation left by a tool on a patch of moss.

Such caution meant the false account book from Blackwater Ravine had prompted the other side to send someone of a higher level. The next collection team would no longer treat what was in the hunting shelter as an isolated message, but compare every clue against the entire hunting ground.

Helian Yuan therefore dismantled two commonly used knots on the northern slope ahead of time and moved the real records to a hollow dead tree upstream from the spring. If the gray-robed man followed the false clues into the panther's territory and then traced them back, Helian Yuan would lose a stone hollow at most, rather than losing the transfer list and the empty-name lead as well.

The visitor was not an assistant who merely ran errands.

Helian Yuan found an extremely faint clamp mark where the paper corner had been. The visitor had used a tool rather than touching the clue directly. The gray-robed man or one of his superiors had entered the mountains and knew there might be poison, scent markers, or an ambush here.

He put away his own iron nail marked with a seven and did not add a fourth layer of false information. His opponent had begun screening the clues; piling on more would only reveal that the person setting the bait was too eager to be believed. Next, he should let Sunken Bone Slope speak for itself.

That night, a Blue Rock Panther growled in the eastern stone gully.

Helian Yuan sat on the northern slope, wiping his short spear clean. The false clues were in place, and the gray-robed man had obtained what Helian Yuan wanted him to take.

The next time they entered the mountains, both sides would know that someone in the hunting ground was lying.