The lanterns held a light that was too steady to be natural, a constant, unblinking glare that stripped the night of its privacy. It felt less like a city and more like a room where the lamps are never turned off, a place where time was just a series of shadows that had nowhere left to hide. From the windows of the waystation, the streets below looked calm. Too calm. Soldiers remained where they had been before dusk, now more visible, their armor catching the lantern glow, their spacing unchanged. Pairs at intersections. Small groups near storehouses. A steady flow of patrols moving with practiced regularity.
The city did not sleep. It rotated.
Liang Wei closed the door to her room and leaned back against it for a moment. The silence inside was clean and unfamiliar. No wind through broken shutters. No distant shouting. No smell of smoke or damp stone. She realized then how long it had been since she had washed properly. Three days. Maybe four. In Bing Ya, water was rationed and privacy was a luxury. She had learned not to think about it.
She pushed the thought aside.
She crossed to the window and looked down. Soldiers passed beneath, their footsteps measured, their voices low. No one hurried. No one lingered. It would have been easy to mistake it for peace.
Then she saw the movement.
At first she thought it was a shadow slipping between lantern light and wall. But it moved with intent, hugging the edge of a rooftop, stepping where roof tiles dipped and rose. Black robes, close fitting, designed to break outline rather than announce it. Yexing yi. Night walking attire.
Her focus sharpened.
The figure crossed a narrow gap between buildings and vanished briefly from sight. Liang Wei waited, counting breaths, tracking where the body would need to reappear. It did, precisely where expected, dropping into an alley that was momentarily empty before a patrol turned the corner at the far end.
The timing was exact.
Liang Wei's hand went to her sword without thought. The metal beneath her palm was warm. Faintly. She frowned and withdrew her hand, dismissing the sensation. Not hers, she told herself. The sword carried other echoes.
She glanced once toward the adjoining wall. On the other side were Li and the escort. Their voices had gone quiet earlier, replaced by the subtle sounds of armor being loosened, boots set aside. They would not expect her to move. She had been logged. Assigned. Counted.
The city trusted her to stay where she was.
She slipped out.
The corridor was empty, but it felt heavy with the weight of being watched. Soldiers stood at both ends, their attention angled sharply outward toward the night, leaving the center a hollow space. She moved through it with an unremarkable pace, keeping her head slightly lowered and her posture compliant to avoid catching the light. At the stairwell, she turned and descended, relaxing her pace as she joined the crowd, disappearing into the nighttime streets as if she had always belonged there.
Outside, the presence of guards thickened. This district was not meant to surprise. Patrols crossed paths every few dozen steps. Watch posts stood beneath lanterns, their occupants exchanging murmured reports. Liang Wei adjusted her route instinctively, moving when patrols moved, stopping when they stopped. Not hiding. Blending.
The black robed figure was ahead of her now. The smell of street food and the sudden, heavy vibration of voices replaced the silence of the corridor. Music drifted through the air, at first a thin thread of a flute, then a clear, swelling melody that felt too bright for the night. The sound of real laughter followed, startling in its ease. The figure slowed and stepped into the light.
Yu Lian Lou.
The building rose in a wide circle, three stories high, its balconies open and draped with flowing silk. Lanterns hung thick along the outer railings, their glow tinted warm and gold. Incense curled from within, layered with the scent of wine and perfume. The entrance was flanked by carved screens depicting dancers and musicians, bodies caught mid motion.
Guards stood nearby, but not at the door. They were positioned along the street, controlling flow rather than access. This place was permitted. Approved.
The figure in black passed through the entrance and vanished into the crowd.
Liang Wei followed.
Inside, the noise swelled and softened at once. Voices overlapped. Cups clinked. Laughter rose and fell. The central space opened upward, balconies circling a wide stage where musicians sat with instruments cradled close. Courtesans moved among the guests, their steps light, their smiles practiced but not empty. This was not a market of flesh. It was a performance house. A place where skill was displayed and purchased with respectability intact.
As she stepped forward, the sword at her side pulsed with warmth.
The world tilted.
For a breath, the noise dimmed, replaced by the sound of a flute. Clear. Careful. A boy stood at the edge of the stage, too young to belong here, fingers steady on the instrument. His movements were precise, practiced far beyond his years. Behind him, a dancer turned, silk flaring like a wing.
The image was gone as quickly as it came.
Liang Wei stopped, heart thudding. She drew a slow breath and steadied herself. The sword cooled beneath her hand. She frowned, scanning the crowd. No one else reacted. Whatever she had seen was not shared.
Not mine, she decided. Someone else's echo.
A maid approached, smiling, her gaze skimming Liang Wei's attire. Dressed as a man, she blended easily here. "Second floor seating is open," the maid said lightly. "The dancers will begin again shortly."
Liang Wei nodded and allowed herself to be guided up the stairs. From the balcony, the view widened. Below, the stage filled with motion. Silk, limbs, music. The crowd leaned forward as one.
Someone took the seat beside her.
Liang Wei did not look at first. She registered presence the way she always did. The weight of it. The way the air shifted. Then she turned.
Lu Zichen.
He wore civilian robes, well cut but understated. His posture was what caught her attention. His shoulders were held too high, tension locked into them, as if he were perpetually bracing for correction. His hands rested neatly on his knees, fingers aligned. When he spoke to the attendant, his tone was polite, precise, edged with caution.
A student trained to be observed.
He glanced at her, then away, then back again. Recognition flickered, faint and uncertain. Before he could speak, the music swelled and the dancers took the stage.
Liang Wei watched the performance without truly seeing it. Her attention drifted, tracing exits, counting guards visible even from within. Two at the main door. One at each stairwell. More along the street outside, visible through the open arches. The Empire did not remove its armor for pleasure.
When the dance ended, applause rippled through the hall. A courtesan approached Liang Wei, smiling brightly. "Would you like to come up?" she asked, nodding toward a curtained stair.
Liang Wei rose and walked past her without a word.
She moved quickly down the stairs, through the crowd, and out into the street. The night air felt cooler against her skin. She did not slow until she turned a corner and nearly collided with someone.
Li Běichén stepped back, surprise breaking his composure. "You left," he said, the words coming out sharper than intended. "Where did you go?"
Liang Wei met his gaze and said nothing.
He studied her for a moment, frowning, then shook his head. "Never mind. We should not speak here."
They returned to the waystation together, passing patrols that barely glanced at them. Inside, the escort was waiting. His expression shifted the moment he saw Liang Wei. Relief did not touch it. Calculation did.
They sat around the low table in silence. The escort's gaze never left her.
Li broke it. "We cannot wait," he said plainly. "Whatever they are planning for Wei Deng, it is already in motion. We need to reach the detention levels. Tonight, if possible."
Liang Wei folded her hands on the table. "The dungeon is not guarded the way you expect," she said. "It is managed. We need access, not force."
The escort exhaled slowly. "And how do you propose that," he asked, voice controlled, "without triggering every bell in the city."
Liang Wei thought of the schedules. The postings. The way the guards moved when bells rang.
"We go where the schedule leads," she said. "Not where the walls are thickest."
Outside, a bell sounded. Not loud. Not urgent. Just another signal in a city that counted everything.
They listened as the night adjusted itself around the sound.
And began to plan.