Han Yu's lips twitched.
He changed positions and caught sight of another person—a woman this time, older, carrying a basket of herbs—now holding the envelope. She didn't look at it, didn't stop walking, and melted into the crowd like any other local.
She walked down the lane for another few blocks before turning into a small tea house. Ten minutes later, another individual—this time a skinny young man with a walking stick and limp—exited the back door with the letter now tucked into a scroll case.
Han Yu continued to follow, fascinated.
Five people. The letter changed hands five times within the span of less than an hour. Not once did any of them move suspiciously or fast. No spirit beasts. No signal flares. Just a perfectly mundane operation executed with flawless precision.
At the city's outer wall, the final handler—a middle-aged man in tattered robes—climbed onto a humble wagon and drove off toward the distant foothills.
Han Yu didn't follow any further.
