"You ask me," he said slowly, "to carry sacks for the same goddess-damned people who cheered when we marched off and forgot us when we came limping back."
"I ask you," she said, "to stand beside them instead of above them."
His eyes searched her face. For contempt. For pity. He found neither.
At last, he spat sideways, not at her, but at the memory of something else. "Fine," he said. "I'll carry your sacks, Lady Road. For thirty days. If, at the end of it, I find your law as full of holes as Qi's, I'll leave and curse you to your sparrows."
Ziyan inclined her head. "Fair," she said. "Steward?"
The man stepped forward, swallowed, and took the end of the rope binding Sun Wei's wrists. He untied it carefully, as if undoing something bigger.
"You come late," the midwife muttered as Sun Wei turned toward the warehouse. "But at least you came."
Ren carved on the slate: First case—captain, grain. Judgment: repay double; labor thirty days. Law applies: soldier or not. Later he would chisel it into stone.
"Too gentle," Han said afterward, watching Sun Wei shoulder a sack that dwarfed him.
"Too harsh," Zhao countered. "If it were me, I'd fake a broken back by day two."
"It was necessary," Ren said. "For the tablets. For the newcomers. For the ones who thought rank would save them from the rules."
Feiyan said nothing. She watched Ziyan's face instead, the way it tightened and then loosed when the crowd began to disperse not in riot or despair, but in the ordinary mutter of people who had decided, for today, not to tear anything down.
"You see?" she said later, when they reached the keep. "It wasn't the wolves you had to teach first. It was your own."
Ziyan's hand went to the fresh name on the silk in the council chamber. The Road Under Heaven. Ink dried, still smelling faintly of smoke.
"I know," she said.
That night, a pigeon reached Yong'an from the north.
It landed on the temple roof, offended by snow, and permitted itself to be caught after some argument. Ren the scribe took the tiny tube from its leg, frowned at the seal.
"Li Shi," he said. "From our guardian general."
Ziyan broke the seal with her thumb.
To the Lady of Yong'an and the council of the Road, Li Shi had written. Two tidings.
First: the Emperor of Xia is dead. The Regent has declared a new era under his own name. He calls himself Emperor now without apology. Those of us who serve him are commanded to bring the borders to heel "in line with Heaven's new order."
Feiyan made a disgusted sound. "Heaven must be tired of being blamed."
Ziyan read on.
Second: Zhang of Qi has sent emissaries to our new Emperor, offering "cooperation against rebellious border lords." He names you first among them. He offers maps. Stories. Convenient lies.
General Ren writes this: he cannot refuse the new Emperor's summons to court. He leaves me with a reduced force to hold this front. He bids me tell you: keep your law plain, your treaties clearer, and your eyes on the paths through the hills. There will be more armies on them soon, some with banners, some with none.
Ren's hand shook as he copied the lines.
"Zhang moves," Han said. "Of course he does. He smells any power not his like a dog smells meat."
Zhao whistled. "So now we have an Emperor in Xia who wants neat borders, a Regent-Emperor in Qi who wants you dead twice over, and a general who likes you more than is good for his career being recalled. Excellent."
Wei rubbed his face. "I was starting to enjoy only one enemy at a time."
Li Qiang's gaze went to the window, to the dark line of hills. "We always knew this quiet was borrowed," he said. "Now we know when the lender wants it back."
Ziyan folded the letter.
"Zhang has always planned to build his empire on ash," she said. "He thought Qi would give him kindling, Xia a wind. Now they both see a road between them they don't own."
Feiyan's fingers drummed on the table. "We need eyes in both courts," she said. "Xia's and Qi's. People who can tell us when the wind changes direction before it hits our walls."
"We have Shuye's friends," Ren said thoughtfully. "Merchants. Road talkers. And we have Wang Yu, in Qi's capital, counting keys for a man who is not as stupid as he pretends. If he's still alive."
"And you have Feiyan," Feiyan added. "And whatever ghosts she knows."
Ziyan looked at her. "You left once to learn how knives sing," she said. "You came back when you felt the Empire's grip change. If I send you again—"
"I was going anyway," Feiyan said lightly. "I'm not made for walls. This Road of yours needs someone walking ahead with a blade, checking where it cracks."
"Xia or Qi?" Zhao asked.
"Both," she said. "I'll start where the new Emperor is busy rearranging titles. Men counting new crowns rarely guard their backs well. Then I'll visit Zhang's ash palace and remind him that not all ghosts are on his side."
Li Qiang frowned. "It's too dangerous," he began.
Feiyan's smile stopped him. "Dangerous is staying," she said. "Watching them choose your fate. I prefer the chance to poke them in the ankle first."
Ziyan's chest tightened. "You won't have orders," she said. "Only… aims. Bring word. Find weaknesses. Make sure when Xia and Zhang look south, they see more than a city to flatten."
Feiyan bowed with exaggerated formality. "By your leave, Road Lady," she said. "I'll bring back gossip worthy of your tablets."
She straightened, eyes softening. "And if I don't," she added, quieter, "then make sure this little kingdom of yours is worth the years I spent learning to kill for it."
Ziyan stepped forward and tied the blue silk at Feiyan's wrist tighter, fingers lingering. "This time," she said, "when you walk away, it won't be because we're being torn apart. It will be because we're building in different directions."
Feiyan's throat worked. "Don't get sentimental," she said. "I'm not dead yet."
She left at dawn, with one pack, two knives, and Shuye's quiet map of roads that had learned to forget armies.
Ziyan watched from the wall as Feiyan crossed the snow-bright fields, a single figure drawn between two empires.
Below, Sun Wei staggered under another sack, cursing the Road and the bitter taste of learning. Children traced sparrows into the snow. The midwife corrected their strokes.
Ren the scribe sharpened his knife and began a new tablet: On Borders and Bargains.
Li Qiang stood at Ziyan's side, silence solid.
"Empire of ash," he said at last. "Road under Heaven. Three Emperors, if we count Zhang twice. Wolves. Refugees. Spies."
Ziyan's breath smoked, slow and steady. "Good," she said. "We'll give the bards something to complain about."
She set her hand on the cold stone of the wall. It was not Ye Cheng's. Not Qi's. Not Xia's. The sparrow symbol Shuye had carved on the inner face was crooked and stubborn.
"Let them come," she murmured. "We'll see whose story lasts."