Jin was being watched.
Ever since the fire in the storeroom, Lianhua had kept an extra set of keys close, and Shuye slept lighter, blade always within arm's reach. Wei didn't speak much of it, but his eyes lingered a little longer on Jin's movements—especially when the boy thought no one was looking.
On the fourth night, Jin made his mistake.
Lianhua spotted him through the lattice window just after the moon cleared the courtyard clouds. He moved like someone used to sneaking, but not trained to it — steps too quick, breath too loud. He passed through the rear storeroom door without lighting a lantern, clutching something under his tunic.
By the time she rushed downstairs, Wei was already gone.
Wei followed at a distance, melting into the lantern-lit alleys of the merchant quarter. Jin moved fast, weaving through side paths, hugging the shadows of closed stalls. Twice he paused, as if checking for a tail. But Wei had taught shadows how to listen.
The boy arrived at a courtyard behind an incense shop — a place that should have been silent at this hour.
But a man waited there, wearing a deep indigo robe with no emblem. His build was too lean for a laborer, too upright for a beggar. Jin bowed and handed something over — a sealed scroll tied in golden thread.
Wei narrowed his eyes. Golden thread meant Merchant Guild orders. Untraceable, private, and expensive.
The contact skimmed the scroll and whispered, "…Zhao wants it stopped before it reaches the girl in Nan Shu."
Jin's response was muffled, but he nodded and gestured back toward the direction of the teahouse.
Then came the part Wei needed: the man muttered a name — "Li Wenxu" — followed by, "He should've finished the job years ago."
Wei's breath stilled. Minister of Education. Ziyan's family. This wasn't just about information. It was about who Ziyan really was.
He waited until the man vanished, then stepped from the shadows.
Jin jumped at the sight of him. "M-Master Wei— I—"
Wei's hand struck before Jin could finish. Not with lethal force, but enough to drop him to the stones. A bruise bloomed at his jawline.
"You're lucky," Wei said coldly. "I don't kill messengers. But I do read their mail."
Back at the teahouse, Lianhua and Shuye waited in the shuttered front room, a single candle flickering in its brass tray.
When Wei returned, Jin stumbled behind him, eyes wide and terrified.
Wei tossed the golden-bound scroll onto the low table. "He was feeding them reports. Mostly petty things—when we trained, when we sent letters, who visited."
Lianhua opened the scroll. Her mouth tightened as she read. "This isn't just a report. It's a plan. They wanted to provoke another fire. And this time, make it fatal."
Shuye's voice was flat. "And the name?"
"Zhao," Wei said. "And Li Wenxu."
Lianhua blinked. "Minister Li… the one who had Ziyan cast out."
Wei nodded. "Turns out he wasn't just following orders. He created them. He's the one who declared her birth 'unclean.' And Zhao helped cover the paper trail."
Shuye's eyes darkened. "Because she's connected to the southern Li branch?"
"Not just connected," Wei said. "Ziyan's mother was promised to someone else before she married into the Li clan. A war hero who later turned against Zhao during the border campaigns. Her very existence threatens the story they've told."
Lianhua whispered, "So they tried to erase her."
Wei nodded. "And now that she's nearing the truth in Nan Shu… they're desperate."
He turned to Jin. "Tell me, who else knew what you were doing?"
Jin's face crumpled. "N-no one! Just one contact at the Guild. They said it was for the safety of the Capital—that the teahouse was infected with foreign agents."
"Did they ever mention Ziyan's name?" Lianhua asked sharply.
Jin swallowed hard. "Only once. They called her… the phoenix girl. Said if she found what she was looking for, the court would burn."
They left him locked in the servant's quarters.
He cried out once—but Wei closed the door and turned the key without a word.
The three of them stood in silence for a long moment.
Then Shuye said, "We need to get this to Ziyan."
"No ink," Wei said immediately. "Not even sealed lips can carry that far without risk."
"I'll go," Shuye said. "I can move fast—through the passes. If I leave now, I'll be halfway to Nan Shu by first light."
Lianhua frowned. "You'll be vulnerable alone."
"I won't go direct," Shuye replied. "I'll take the road through Yanshui, then cut south from there."
Wei considered. "Take a false name. Change clothes at every town. If Zhao catches wind of this, he'll send more than fire."
Lianhua touched the scroll, now slightly damp from her hands. "Tell her… this isn't just a political game. This is personal. They erased her, and now they want her dead."
Shuye nodded. "She'll know what to do."
Before dawn, Shuye slipped through the back alley in a travel cloak and vanished into the outer districts.
Wei and Lianhua stood in the upper loft, watching from behind the rice-paper shutters.
"He'll make it," she said.
"He has to," Wei replied.
Below them, the city stirred, unaware of what it had nearly become.
Above them, somewhere in the capital's inner circles, Grand Commandant Zhao sat in his council chamber, reading a new report. His hand trembled slightly as he crushed the empty teacup in his fingers.
"She's getting too close," he murmured.
A courtier stepped forward. "Shall I send another team?"
Zhao's eyes gleamed with the cold of a winter no one expected.
"No," he said. "I'll send something worse."