Liang Wei felt it before she confirmed it.
Not footsteps. Not sound. The absence of care. Someone moving with just enough distance to believe they were unseen.
So Zhou wanted to see where she went.
Liang Wei exhaled slowly through her nose.
Very well.
She would give him something to follow.
She did not change direction immediately. That would have been too clean, too aware. Instead, she finished what she was doing. She returned a coil of rope to the quartermaster with a brief nod. She accepted a dented bowl of thin porridge and ate it standing, listening with half an ear as two soldiers argued quietly about whose watch had been shortened.
She complained once, mildly, about the spear rack being moved too close to the tents. Not because it mattered, but because people complained about small things when nothing was wrong with them.
Someone snorted in agreement. Someone else laughed under their breath.
Good.
She moved when movement was expected.
Her assigned duties took her along the outer ring of the camp, checking boundary markers that had been shifted during the night. Boring work. Necessary work. The kind officers forgot about until it was done poorly. Liang Wei did it carefully, adjusting stakes and stones back into place with practiced efficiency.
The presence followed. Always a few steps behind. Never in her direct line of sight. Close enough to observe. Far enough to withdraw if noticed.
She pretended not to.
When a younger soldier asked her a question about spacing, she answered without looking up. When another fumbled a knot, she corrected it with a brief, dry comment that earned a sheepish grin. Nothing sharp. Nothing memorable.
Just a capable soldier doing what needed doing.
She made one deliberate mistake. At a supply point near the edge of the camp, she paused longer than necessary, flipping through a ledger upside down before realizing and turning it the right way. Anyone truly watching would note it. A small, human lapse. The kind that made patterns blur.
She felt the attention ease, just a fraction.
By late morning, orders shifted again. Units were being reassigned. Some would move forward. Others would remain to secure the area until replacements arrived. Names were called, crossed out, written again.
Liang Wei stepped forward when prompted.
"Courier rotation," the officer said, glancing at her name. "Temporary. Until proper messengers arrive."
Movement. Roads. Distance. Exactly what she needed. She acknowledged the assignment and turned away without comment. No visible eagerness. No relief.
The presence adjusted.
She did not look back.
Her preparations were minimal. She checked the bindings on her armor, tightened the strap at her shoulder, accepted a small sealed packet without asking what it contained. The sword remained wrapped, silent but aware. The spear rested easily in her grasp, familiar and unremarkable.
As she passed between the tents toward the outbound path, she let herself yawn. Not exaggerated. Just enough to sell fatigue.
Behind her, someone slowed. She smiled faintly to herself and kept walking.
If Zhou wanted to know who Liang Wei was, he would have to sift through days of ordinary movement. Through small talk and routine and dust and distance. Through nothing worth reporting.
That was the point.
She stepped onto the road without hesitation, boots finding rhythm easily. The camp began to fall away behind her, noise dulling, shapes softening into distance. For now, she would not run.
She would move forward. And she would make sure that when Zhou finally decided what she was, it would already be too late to change it.