The scroll Duan Rulan left for Ziyan was sealed with black wax — no symbol, no name. Inside, a brief message written in tight, elegant script:
"You want to know who pulls the strings? Start with the old silk ledger hall behind the Peony District. Follow the bribes. One of mine was killed last week there — they made it look like a fire. But the records weren't destroyed. Find them."
"One of his agents will be watching. If they reach it before you, the game ends."
Ziyan read the message three times, then passed it silently to Feiyan and Shuye.
No map. No guidance. Just a location, a warning, and a test wrapped in bloodless words.
Feiyan cracked her knuckles. "Finally. A place to stab someone."
Ziyan shook her head. "No stabbing — not unless it's absolutely necessary. This is about information."
"Fine," Feiyan grumbled. "Then stabbing second."
They moved through the Eastern Capital by back alleys and side routes, using Shuye's street-born instincts to avoid patrols and informants. The city was beautiful in its rot — lantern-lit terraces hiding crime, temples funded by smugglers, bureaucrats sipping wine over open ledgers of stolen land and silenced witnesses.
The Peony District was a shell of glamour — its brothels painted bright but crumbling beneath the makeup.
They found the ruined silk shop tucked behind a bathhouse with red tiles and silk drapes. Once, it had sold fine imported fabrics and ceremonial robes to nobles and bureaucrats. But now its windows were blackened by soot. The door bore a black ribbon in mourning.
Inside, the building was quiet, abandoned. Dust masked the scent of old incense and scorched parchment.
"Someone burned this place," Shuye muttered.
Ziyan knelt by the back wall — the wood had warped from fire, but not collapsed. She pressed her palm to it.
The lotus mark pulsed softly.
And the wall cracked.
Not enough to bring it down — just a split, revealing a compartment hidden in the beams.
Inside was a scroll case, sealed in wax and wrapped in fine silk — a weave pattern she'd seen before in noble archives.
She took it carefully.
But before she could rise, Feiyan hissed: "We're not alone."
A figure dropped silently from the second floor.
He was lean, dressed in dark indigo robes embroidered with a serpent-and-flame crest — a known sigil of the Empress's cousin's inner circle. His eyes were cold and glassy, like someone long since taught to feel nothing.
"Return the scroll," he said without unsheathing his blade.
Ziyan stepped forward.
"I can't do that."
The man blinked slowly. "I'm under orders to recover all surviving records. And remove all traces."
"And if we don't comply?" Feiyan asked, now very close to stabbing.
"Then you die, and the fire is blamed on a gas leak."
Ziyan breathed deeply.
This wasn't just a thief or a killer — this was someone like her, shaped by the court's cruelty, but serving it.
Shuye edged closer. "There's a window. We can run—"
"No," Ziyan said.
She stared at the man — not as an enemy, but as a mirror.
Then, without a word, she held out the scroll case.
The man reached for it—
And the lotus flared.
He jerked back, burned — not on the skin, but in the eyes. A memory forced into his mind, like a flame illuminating truth.
A glimpse of the woman he had been ordered to kill — a merchant's daughter, ledger in hand, smiling gently before being silenced under a false charge of theft.
He staggered, gasping.
Ziyan spoke, calm but cold.
"I won't kill you. But now you'll live knowing what they made you do."
He fled without a word.
Back at the estate, they unsealed the scroll.
It was a full transaction record — bribes and debts that traced all the way to a banking chain laundering coin for the court's shadow lord. It included false accounts, names of blackmail victims, and a redacted signature that almost certainly belonged to one of the Empress's direct cousins.
Feiyan stared at the list. "If we leak this, we start a war."
Ziyan sat still, thinking.
"No," she said. "We don't leak it. Not yet."
She looked at her friends.
"If I want to reshape this world, I need to know who to break, and who to bend."
That night, the three of them rested in a quiet teahouse on the edge of the district.
They shared a meal of rice, boiled egg, and plum sauce. For once, it was quiet.
Feiyan smirked across the table. "You really didn't want me to stab him, huh."
Ziyan chuckled. "Not today."
Shuye grinned. "Still. That was quick thinking."
Ziyan smiled faintly. "It's not power if you don't use it with precision."
Feiyan raised her cup. "To not burning the world."
Shuye raised his. "Yet."
They laughed — together.
For a moment, they were just friends.
And just outside, under the glow of a paper lantern, a girl passed by with a tray of empty cups and a silk sash knotted around her waist.
She walked quietly, chin raised, her posture elegant but weary. Her makeup was light, her steps deliberate.
As she passed the teahouse window, her eyes flicked toward the table.
She saw the scroll lying beside Ziyan's hand — its wax seal cracked, its silk wrap half-unfolded. The pattern was old. A style she had once used herself.
She froze.
Only for a moment.
Then moved on, eyes thoughtful, fingers tightening around the tray.