Before I can move, the cold edge of a sword presses against my neck.
It is sharp.
Close enough that I can feel it without it cutting, a silent warning that it only needs the slightest push to end me.
"Where do you think you are going?"
For a single moment, everything inside me goes still. Not from fear alone, but from the sudden, cutting thought that rises without warning.
Did they already find out?
My pulse spikes, hard and fast, but I force my face to remain unchanged, my posture steady despite the blade resting against my skin. If I react wrong, even slightly, this ends here.
"I…" My voice catches for the briefest second before I force it steady.
The man does not wait for me to finish. His grip on the sword does not loosen, his eyes watching me with quiet suspicion. "Where is your recruitment document?"
The question lands heavier than the blade.
I let out a slow breath, as if mildly inconvenienced rather than cornered. "I will show you."
He does not move the sword immediately. Instead, he tilts his head slightly toward the side, and only then do I notice the line of guards standing near the entrance, each one stopping new arrivals, each one checking documents with the same cold indifference.
Their swords hang at their sides, but their hands never stray far from them.
"If you make a mistake," he says quietly, the edge pressing just a fraction closer, "you will not have a head to regret it."
My throat tightens, but I lower my gaze and give a small bow, controlled and careful. "Understood."
The blade lifts.
It leaves my skin without a mark, but the cold lingers long after it is gone.
They step away as if I am no longer worth their attention, already turning to watch the next movement around them. I do not waste time looking back. I move toward the guards instead, forcing my steps to remain even, forcing my breathing to stay under control.
The line is not long, but it moves slowly.
Each man is checked thoroughly, questioned, watched. No one is waved through without scrutiny.
When my turn comes, I step forward.
The guard in front of me looks up, his gaze sweeping over me once, then again, slower this time. His hand rests on the sword at his waist, fingers loose but ready.
"Why are you bleeding?" he asks.
The question cuts clean.
I glance down briefly, as if only just noticing, then look back up. "On the road here, a branch caught me. It is nothing serious."
His eyes linger on my arm, on the dried blood, on the stiffness in how I hold it. He does not look convinced.
"Your document."
I reach into my sleeve and pull it out, handing it over without hesitation. He takes it, unfolding it slowly, his gaze flicking between the paper and my face.
"What is your name?"
"Gu Chang'an."
"Where are you from?"
"Anhe."
There is a pause.
His eyes narrow slightly. "Why did you hesitate?"
For a fraction of a second, my mind goes blank. Then I lower my head slightly, letting my voice soften just enough to sound controlled but respectful. "My apologies. I have been walking for too long. I am tired."
The silence stretches.
Then he exhales through his nose and folds the document again, handing it back. "Go inside. South side tents. That is where the new recruits are placed."
Relief does not show on my face, but it tightens somewhere deep in my chest. I bow again, lower this time. "Thank you."
I take a step forward.
A hand stops me.
Another guard moves in front of me, his expression blank, his presence heavier than the first. "Inspection."
My spine stiffens.
He steps closer without waiting for permission, his hands moving to check my sleeves, my waist, the folds of my clothing. Every movement is thorough, practiced, leaving no space untouched.
I keep my breathing steady, my gaze lowered, forcing myself not to react when his hands press too close, when the space between us disappears.
If he notices anything, I am dead.
The thought sits cold and absolute.
His hands move higher, then pause briefly before shifting away, continuing the search without hesitation.
He does not linger where it would expose me, but that does not ease the tension coiling inside my chest.
Finally, he steps back.
"Pass."
The word is simple. Final.
I move immediately, not giving myself time to process it, not allowing even a single breath of relief to show. I walk past them, through the entrance, and into the camp.
Inside, everything feels larger. Louder.
Men move in every direction, voices overlapping, weapons clashing in the distance, orders being shouted somewhere far off.
The scale of it presses in from all sides, suffocating in a way that makes it clear there is no escape once you are inside.
I find the south side tents quickly enough.
They stretch in rows, identical and unremarkable, each one holding lives that may not last long enough to matter.
I step into one that stands open and empty, the interior dim but spacious enough to hold several men. Five beds line the sides, rough and simple.
Not empty for long.
I close the entrance behind me and finally allow myself to breathe properly. The pain in my arm surges back immediately, sharp and insistent now that I am no longer forcing it aside. Blood still seeps slowly through the fabric.
I reach into my bag and pull out a strip of cloth, tearing it further with my teeth before pressing it against the wound.
I cannot remove my clothes here, cannot risk exposure, so I bind it as best as I can from the outside, tightening it until the bleeding slows.
The fabric sticks to my skin.
I ignore it.
Swish.
The tent covering is pulled aside without warning.
I flinch.
My body reacts before my mind catches up, turning sharply toward the entrance, my hand already moving toward my dagger.
A man stands there.
For a moment, I forget to move.
He is… striking. Not in the soft way of someone admired, but in the sharp, controlled way of someone who knows exactly what he is and does not need to prove it.
His features are clean, his posture relaxed, but there is something in his eyes that does not match the ease of his stance.
He looks at me like he is already measuring something.
"Who are you?" he asks. His voice is calm, but not welcoming. "What are you doing here?"
"I am Gu Chang'an," I answer without hesitation. "The guard assigned me to this tent."
His gaze lingers for a moment longer. "New recruit?"
I nod.
He exhales softly, as if already tired of the answer, and steps inside, letting the entrance fall closed behind him.
Without another word, he takes one of the beds and sits down, his movements unhurried, controlled.
He does not speak again.
I look away first.
Time passes slowly.
Then the tent opens again, and three more enter almost at once, their voices louder, their presence less restrained.
The first is broad-shouldered with a grin that comes too easily, his eyes sharp with mischief.
"Looks like we are all packed together," he says, dropping onto a bed without care. "I am Chen Hu. If any of you snore, I will throw you out myself."
The second laughs immediately, lighter, quicker, his energy restless. "You say that like you do not sound like a dying ox in your sleep," he shoots back, glancing around before flashing a grin. "Luo Ping. Try not to die too fast. It will make things boring."
The third lingers near the entrance, quieter, his movements hesitant. His gaze shifts between all of us, uncertainty written plainly across his face. "Wei Shan," he says after a moment, his voice low. "I… I hope we get through this."
No one answers him.
The man who entered first says nothing at all, leaning back slightly, eyes half-lidded as if the rest of us do not concern him in the slightest.
I take them in, one by one.
Different faces. Different temperaments. All thrown into the same place, bound by something none of us can escape.
This is not a place for bonds.
Not a place for trust.
Not a place where names matter for long.
I turn my gaze away, tightening the cloth around my wound one last time before letting my hands fall still.
I do not know how long any of us will last here.
And I do not intend to find out by growing close enough to care.
Evening settles over the camp without softness.
The light fades into a dull orange glow that clings to the edges of tents and armor, and the noise does not lessen, only shifts into something rougher, louder, filled with hunger and exhaustion.
Food is distributed in large, careless portions.
I take mine without speaking, the bowl warm in my hands, the smell plain but enough to quiet the hollow ache in my stomach.
Around me, men eat quickly, some talking, some silent, some already half-asleep where they sit.
I finish without tasting it.
The dust, the sweat, the dried blood on my skin have started to cling too heavily, a layer I can no longer ignore.
I turn slightly toward Chen Hu. "Do you know where the bathing area is?"
He looks at me once, then lets out a short laugh. "You just arrived and already thinking of bathing?"
"I have been on the road too long," I answer evenly. "I am covered in sweat and dirt."
He studies me for a moment, then jerks his chin toward the far end of the camp. "There. Follow the path past the water barrels. You will find it."
I nod once and stand.
No one stops me.
The path is easy enough to follow. The sounds reach me before the place itself does, water hitting stone, voices rising and falling without restraint.
I step inside.
And stop.
Men.
Everywhere.
Naked.