The road changed as the sun sank.
By late afternoon, the frost had loosened its grip on the earth, leaving the ground dark and damp beneath their horses' hooves. What had been brittle in the morning softened into mud that clung and dragged, turning each step into a measured decision. The air warmed just enough to carry scent. Wet soil. Old leaves. Smoke, faint and distant.
They had not spoken much since leaving Bing Ya.
Li rode slightly ahead, not by command but by habit. His posture remained upright, his pace steady, as though the road itself answered to him. He watched the terrain more than the horizon, noting where the ground dipped, where wheels had cut too deeply, where travelers had chosen to veer off rather than continue straight.
Liang Wei followed without lag or hurry. Her horse moved easily beneath her, responsive to pressure rather than rein. She sat light in the saddle, her weight balanced, her right hand resting near the hilt at her side.
The sword felt different now.
Not warmer. Not colder.
Aware.
It no longer stirred at the boundary like it had in the morning. Instead, it settled into a quiet vigilance, as though it had accepted the road and was now measuring what lay ahead. Liang Wei did not look down at it. She did not need to. The sensation was familiar, like a held breath that did not ask to be released.
Behind them, the escort kept his distance. Close enough to intervene. Far enough to observe. He chose the side of the road with better sightlines, adjusted his pace when they slowed, stopped when they stopped. He did not announce himself, but his presence pressed in all the same.
Li noticed.
He noticed the way the man watched Liang Wei rather than the road. He noticed the pauses, the subtle recalculations. Zhou had not sent protection. He had sent oversight.
They reached a stretch where the road narrowed, the trees closing in just enough to block the light. Li slowed, lifting a hand slightly. The others followed suit.
"This road curves east," Li said, not turning back. "It rejoins the main trade route by dusk."
Liang Wei answered without hesitation. "And passes three villages that pay tax directly to the Central Kingdom."
"They will have patrols."
The escort shifted his weight in the saddle, listening.
Li did not acknowledge him. "Why did you leave your spear."
Liang Wei's gaze remained forward. "It would have marked me as Bing Ya."
"You are Bing Ya."
"It should not be known."
Li considered that. The road ahead sloped downward, leading into a low basin where water pooled easily. Wagon tracks crisscrossed the mud, some old, some recent.
"You did not tell me," he said.
"No."
"You knew I would follow."
"Yes."
"That was not your decision to make."
"It was," she replied calmly. "You would not have stayed."
He exhaled through his nose, a controlled release. "You accepted a task I refused."
"I accepted a path you could not."
Li stopped his horse.
The escort halted a breath later, his hand drifting closer to his weapon.
Li turned in the saddle then, his gaze sharp, focused. "You do not know what you carry."
"I know exactly what I carry."
"You know the words," he said. "You do not know the weight."
Her eyes met his. There was no challenge there. Only certainty. "The weight was always yours," she said. "Zhou only decided where to place it."
Silence followed.
The wind moved through the trees, stirring leaves that had not yet fallen. Somewhere ahead, a bird startled and took flight.
Li studied her for a long moment, as though seeing a piece of terrain he had misjudged.
"You are not afraid this time," he said.
"No."
He turned back to the road.
They resumed riding, the path narrowing further as the sun dipped lower, painting the edges of the world in long shadows. Smoke rose ahead now, clearer than before. Not a village. A campfire, recently lit.
The escort leaned forward. "We should avoid that," he said, speaking for the first time.
Li did not answer him.
Liang Wei's hand tightened faintly at her side. The sword responded with a subtle shift, its presence sharpening, alert but restrained.
They did not turn away.
Late afternoon stretched thin as they rode on, the road drawing them closer to the unseen and the unavoidable, each step carrying them farther from the order they had left behind and deeper into a terrain where no authority stood uncontested.
Behind them, the banners of Bing Ya were already out of sight.
Ahead, the road did not promise shelter. Only continuation.