I don't sleep anymore. Not because I'm haunted. Just because it seems like the work never ends.
The command tent was a mess of half-rolled maps and discarded ink brushes, the brazier still glowing orange from when Yaozu fed it more coals two hours ago. Everyone else had been dismissed for the night. The only sound was Shadow's low breathing near the corner, and the faint whistle of the wind against the canvas.
I stood by the northern edge of the map, staring at a line of river crossings that should've been quiet. But they weren't.
Not anymore.
I traced the pattern again with my finger—Baiguang supply movements near the old tea route, avoiding anything marked on official maps, but not avoiding everything.
They were probing. Not like an army so much as scavengers. Fast, shallow bites, looking for soft places to dig in. They reminded me of the bugs in my gardens, trying to take out my vegetables before I ever even saw them.
But I always see them.
