Qiu Yang began going to the town patrol the next day.

She did not directly say that she wanted to join. Each morning after finishing her work at the forge, she simply wandered to the entrance of the camp.

The first time Liao Dazhu saw her standing at the gate, he said nothing. The second time, she was crouched outside shaving a wooden stake, and he said nothing again. The third time he came out, she was drawing in the dirt with a branch: the position where the gray-clothed man had crouched that day.

Liao Dazhu walked over, looked down at the diagram, and pointed to a spot. “How far is this from town?”

“Three li. On horseback, it’s a blink of an eye.”

He said nothing more and turned away.

That afternoon, someone delivered a set of old clothes to Qiu Yang. They were dull gray, the cuffs worn at the edges but clean.

They were spare uniforms from the town patrol.

Qiu Yang carried them back to the smithy and tried them on. The sleeves were too long, so she cut and stitched them herself, then placed the uniform at the head of her bed.

On the fifth day, Liao Dazhu took her to the stable and pointed at a gray horse. “Can you ride?”

“A little,” Qiu Yang said.

“Get on.”

She swung into the saddle, tightened her legs, and wound the reins once around her hand. The gray horse took several steps. She settled into the movement.

Liao Dazhu looked at her. “From now on, you patrol the border with me.”

Border patrol began at dawn each morning. Liao Dazhu led Qiu Yang and two others on horseback around the northern wasteland, riding east to west and back over more than ten li.

There was nothing on the road except dead grass, earth mounds, and the occasional bird passing overhead.

Liao Dazhu rarely spoke. Qiu Yang did not either. They rode one ahead of the other, hooves striking dry ground with dull sounds.

Once, while patrolling west of town, Liao Dazhu abruptly pulled up his horse. Qiu Yang stopped beside him and saw several fresh hoofprints in the road. They had come from the north, paused in the middle of the path, then turned back.

Liao Dazhu dismounted, crouched to examine them, measured their size with his fingers, and climbed back into the saddle.

“No need to pursue. They’re gone.”

On the way back, Qiu Yang asked, “They come every day to scout. Why don’t they attack?”

“It isn’t time yet,” Liao Dazhu said. “They’re still watching. Counting people in town, checking our defenses, looking for reinforcements. They will act only after they understand everything.”

“When will they understand enough?”

Liao Dazhu did not answer. His horse shifted beneath him, and he rode ahead.

Qiu Yang followed. When her horse stepped over the fresh prints, she looked down. The marks blurred beneath their hooves until they were difficult to see.

Several days later, Qiu Yang went farther north with the patrol for the first time.

Liao Dazhu said they would ride to First Ravine and back, a journey that would take most of the day. First Ravine was the northernmost outpost of Pingyuan Town, almost twenty li away. Beyond it lay land claimed by neither side.

They left before dawn fully broke. Qiu Yang rode the gray horse, squinting into the wind as the wasteland gradually brightened in the morning light.

After more than an hour, a dry riverbed appeared beside the road, with a cluster of low shrubs on the slope.

Liao Dazhu pulled his horse up and pointed. “This is First Ravine. There used to be guards here. They were withdrawn later.”

Qiu Yang looked around. There was nothing.

Most of the shrubs were dead, and several branches trembled in the wind.

“Let’s go back,” Liao Dazhu said.

On the return ride, Qiu Yang thought about the empty space at First Ravine. Guards had once stood there, but now there was nothing. Anyone coming from the north could ride all the way to Pingyuan Town with no one in their path.

That evening, she returned to the smithy and crouched beside the well to wash her face. The water was cold. She plunged her whole face into it for a moment, straightened, and shook off the drops.

Old Liao was putting away tools inside. Seeing her return, he called, “Dinner.”

Qiu Yang answered, wiped her face, and went in.

She sat on the threshold with her bowl. After two mouthfuls, she stopped. “Uncle Liao, who guarded First Ravine before?”

Old Liao’s hand paused around his bowl. “Qiu Chengye’s soldiers.”

Qiu Yang did not reply. She lowered her head and continued eating.

Two days later, she ran into Zhou Laosi at the town entrance after a patrol.

Zhou Laosi was the patrol’s most reliable rider. He was several years younger than Liao Dazhu, tall and thin, and not talkative. Qiu Yang had ridden with him twice and knew he was the man Liao Dazhu trusted most.

When he saw her dismount, he said, “Brother Dazhu wants you to ride a longer route with me tomorrow.”

“How far?”

“Not far. To Qingshi Ford. The road there has been unsettled lately. Someone saw a mounted group carrying flags.”

Qiu Yang tied the reins. “I’ll come in the morning.”

Before dawn the next day, she and Zhou Laosi left town and rode northeast. He kept a steady pace, and Qiu Yang followed on the gray horse. Neither of them spoke much.

After more than two hours, a low ridge appeared on the horizon. At its foot lay gray ruins: burned houses and broken walls.

Zhou Laosi reined in his horse and pointed. “That is Qingshi Ford.”

Something stirred inside Qiu Yang as she looked at the ruins.

Zhao Jian’an had mentioned Qingshi Ford. Uncle Zheng had mentioned it too. The letter from Li’s people had been found in the old records there.

She remembered Zhao Jian’an’s words: The real original draft is at Qingshi Ford, in the Zheng family’s old house.

The thought turned in her mind, but she said nothing. She followed Zhou Laosi around the ruins, examined the hoofprints on the ground, and rode back with him.

That night, Qiu Yang pulled the old manual of blade forms from the bottom of her bundle and read it through beneath the lamp. Then she closed it, put it away, blew out the light, and lay down.

The north wind pressed across the roof, heavy against the tiles.

Qiu Yang lay awake for a while, staring into the dark. She did not think of anything in particular. She simply waited for dawn.