Bai Ren hated the way the sect got quiet before it got loud.
You could feel it in the lanes. Less shouting. Fewer jokes. More bodies moving with purpose they didn't talk about. Even the air felt like it had been tightened, like someone had pulled a rope through the whole compound and tied it off.
It was Conclave pressure without Conclave guests.
Practice tension.
And Bai Ren—who had grown up believing tension meant you should hit something until it stopped—kept finding nothing he was allowed to hit.
He was carrying buckets when the first approach happened.
Not a dramatic ambush. Not a threat in the shadows.
Just a man stepping into his path with the casual confidence of someone who knew the rules would protect him.
The man wasn't a disciple. Not officially.
He wore servant cloth, but it was cleaner than it should have been. His hands were too smooth for someone who hauled water every day. And the token at his sash was a half-step above probation—an attached runner badge, lacquered at the edges.
A proxy.
Bai Ren stopped and adjusted his grip on the bucket pole.
"Move," he said.
The man smiled like Bai Ren was a child playing at violence.
"You're Bai Ren," he said.
Bai Ren's jaw tightened.
He hadn't introduced himself.
The man's smile widened. "Don't look so offended. Names travel. Especially when they come with noise."
Bai Ren's hands flexed on the pole. "I'm working."
"So are we," the proxy said pleasantly. "That's why I'm here."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You have points yet?" he asked.
Bai Ren blinked. "Points?"
The proxy's eyes flicked over him once—measuring.
"Of course you don't," he said, as if amused. "Tier Three muscle. Barely fed. No one explains the system to you until they want something."
Bai Ren's shoulders rose.
"I don't need your explanation."
The proxy made a small sound that might've been a laugh. "Everyone needs explanations. The question is who profits when you hear them."
Bai Ren glared.
The proxy leaned in, voice smooth. "You want better shifts?"
Bai Ren said nothing.
"You want food that isn't water pretending to be rice?"
Bai Ren's jaw worked.
"You want a cushion under your bones at night?"
The words hit like insults because they were true.
Bai Ren's grip tightened until the pole creaked.
The proxy watched his hands, pleased.
"I can make that happen," he said softly. "We can. Not for free."
Bai Ren's eyes narrowed. "What do you want."
The proxy's smile was small and satisfied.
"A favor," he said. "A simple one."
Bai Ren didn't move.
The proxy glanced toward the sanitation lanes, toward the visitor corridor lantern frames lined up like ribs.
"Paper is moving," he said. "Audits. Compliance. Corrections. Lots of blank lines."
Bai Ren's stomach sank.
He wasn't clever like Li Shen, but he had learned what blank lines meant: a place to hang someone.
The proxy continued, tone almost kind.
"There's a Tier Two runner," he said. "Always calm. Always careful. Always making people look stupid when they try to make him sign."
Bai Ren's blood went colder.
Li Shen.
The proxy didn't say the name. He didn't need to.
"We don't want him harmed," he said, as if offended by the idea. "We just want him… slowed."
Bai Ren's vision narrowed.
"You're talking about Li," he said.
The proxy shrugged lightly. "Talking is a strong word. I'm offering you a way to stop sleeping on straw."
Bai Ren's muscles coiled.
He wanted to swing the bucket pole. He wanted to break the man's teeth and watch the smile fall apart.
The proxy seemed to read the impulse.
He stepped back half a pace—not fear. Calculation.
"Don't," he said gently. "You hit me, you become a record. And records don't get fed."
Bai Ren's breath came heavier.
"What do you want me to do," he forced out.
The proxy's eyes brightened. "That's the question."
He pointed, casually, toward a narrow lane that ran behind the sanitation stores.
"Later," he said. "There's a slate that needs carrying. A delivery. Tier Two duty, but sometimes Tier Twos get busy."
Bai Ren's throat tightened.
"You want me to take a paper meant for him," Bai Ren said.
The proxy smiled. "You're learning."
Bai Ren's hands shook on the pole.
"And if I don't?"
The proxy's smile stayed.
"If you don't," he said softly, "you go back to being invisible. Which means you go back to being used by whoever grabs you first. At least with us, you get paid."
"Paid," Bai Ren repeated, bitter.
The proxy leaned in one last time, voice almost friendly.
"Paper men don't bleed," he said. "But they can make you bleed for them. Better to bleed for yourself."
Then he stepped aside and let Bai Ren pass like the conversation had been nothing.
Bai Ren walked away with the buckets, shoulders tight, jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt.
He carried water like a man carrying an argument.
---
He found Li Shen near noon, behind the wash stations where the lane narrowed and the traffic thinned.
Li Shen was crouched by a basin, scrubbing a stain from a stone rim with the same patience he used for everything. He looked up when Bai Ren approached, eyes calm.
Bai Ren didn't know how to start.
If he said it wrong, Li Shen would do that thing—quiet voice, sharp logic, making Bai Ren feel like a hammer trying to solve a lock.
So Bai Ren didn't start with feelings.
He started with facts.
"Someone came to me," he said.
Li Shen's eyes sharpened slightly. "Who."
Bai Ren shook his head. "No name. Proxy type. Clean hands."
Li Shen's brush didn't stop moving. "What did he want."
Bai Ren swallowed.
"He wanted you slowed," Bai Ren said, and hated how the words sounded coming out.
Li Shen's hand paused for a heartbeat, then resumed.
"Did he offer points," Li Shen asked.
Bai Ren stared. "How do you—"
"Because that's how they buy servitors," Li Shen said flatly. "With hunger and paper."
Bai Ren's cheeks burned.
"Yeah," he muttered. "He did."
Li Shen's gaze lifted to Bai Ren's hands.
Bai Ren realized his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
Li Shen's voice stayed calm.
"What did you say."
Bai Ren exhaled hard. "I didn't say yes."
Li Shen nodded once, as if that mattered.
"But," Bai Ren continued, and the word tasted like shame, "he told me there's a slate delivery later. One that's supposed to be Tier Two. He wants me to take it."
Li Shen's eyes went colder.
"That's not just slowing," he said. "That's attaching your name to something that should be mine. They want a mismatch."
Bai Ren's throat tightened. "I know."
Li Shen scrubbed the stone rim one last time, then rinsed his hands slowly.
He stood.
He didn't look angry.
He looked like someone mapping a problem.
"Where," he asked.
Bai Ren jerked his chin. "Behind sanitation stores. Narrow lane."
Li Shen nodded. "Time."
"After third bell," Bai Ren said.
Li Shen held Bai Ren's gaze.
"You're going," Li Shen said.
Bai Ren's eyes widened. "What?"
"You're going," Li Shen repeated. "But you're not carrying anything."
Bai Ren frowned. "Then what—"
"Then you're the witness," Li Shen said.
Bai Ren stared.
Li Shen spoke like he was explaining a tool.
"They want you to touch paper," Li Shen said. "So your fingerprints are on it. So your name can be written under it later."
Bai Ren's stomach churned.
"So I… I don't touch," Bai Ren said slowly.
Li Shen nodded. "You don't touch. You watch. You remember faces."
Bai Ren felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.
Li Shen's voice stayed flat.
"And if they try to force it into your hands," he added, "you walk away."
Bai Ren's jaw tightened. "They'll call me uncooperative."
Li Shen's eyes didn't blink.
"They already are," he said.
Bai Ren swallowed.
"And if they block me?"
Li Shen's mouth tightened slightly, the closest thing to a warning.
"Then you shout," he said. "You make it public. Paper hates noise."
Bai Ren breathed out.
He didn't like shouting. It felt like losing control.
But he liked being trapped less.
"Alright," he said.
Li Shen nodded once, then picked up his bundle and moved as if the plan was already in motion.
Bai Ren followed, chest tight.
He hated the feeling of being small.
But he was learning a hard truth:
In this sect, fists were simple.
Paper was not.
---
Behind the sanitation stores, the lane was narrower than Bai Ren remembered.
Two men waited near the corner where the stones stayed damp, both wearing servant cloth that didn't look slept in. One held a rolled slate tube. The other leaned against the wall like he owned it.
The proxy from the morning wasn't there.
Of course he wasn't.
Proxies didn't risk being seen twice.
Bai Ren stopped a few paces away.
Li Shen stayed just behind him, face neutral, posture relaxed.
The man with the slate tube looked at Bai Ren and smiled.
"Good," he said. "You came."
Bai Ren didn't answer.
The man held the tube out.
"Take it," he said. "Deliver to Station Six. Quick."
Bai Ren didn't move.
The smile faltered.
"What," the man said.
Bai Ren forced his voice to stay even.
"I'm not Tier Two," he said.
The man's eyes narrowed. "You're carrying today."
Bai Ren shook his head. "Not touching that."
The man's smile vanished.
"Don't be difficult," he snapped.
Bai Ren's pulse spiked.
He could feel his body wanting to lunge.
Li Shen's voice cut in, calm as a knife.
"He's not assigned," Li Shen said. "If it's Tier Two duty, give it to me."
The man's gaze snapped to Li Shen.
Recognition flashed. Annoyance. Calculation.
"Ah," he said. "There you are."
He extended the tube toward Li Shen.
Li Shen didn't take it.
He tilted his head slightly.
"What is it," he asked.
The man's jaw tightened. "Routing slate. Compliance list."
Li Shen's eyes flicked over the tube's seal.
It was waxed, but not with a station stamp.
Hall wax.
Li Shen spoke softly.
"This isn't station-to-station," he said. "This is Hall-to-station. Why is it in a back lane."
The man's face hardened.
"Because you're supposed to carry it," he said, voice sharp now. "That's your job."
Li Shen looked at him without expression.
"No," Li Shen said. "My job is to carry what's assigned through proper channels."
The second man pushed off the wall, irritated.
"You think you're clever," he growled.
Li Shen didn't flinch.
"I think you're sloppy," he replied.
Bai Ren's breath caught.
Li Shen almost never insulted anyone directly.
The second man took a step forward.
Bai Ren's body tensed.
Li Shen's voice didn't rise.
"Touch him," Li Shen said, "and I shout. Loud. You'll have ten witnesses in ten breaths. And your Hall wax will be on display."
The men froze.
Because Li Shen was right.
Paper hated noise.
The first man's eyes flicked left and right, measuring how close the nearest workers were, how fast a lane could fill if a shout cut through it.
He exhaled sharply.
"Fine," he spat. He yanked the slate tube back and shoved it under his arm. "We'll do it the correct way."
Li Shen nodded once. "You should."
The men turned and walked away quickly, disappearing around the corner.
Bai Ren's heart hammered.
He didn't move until they were gone.
Then he exhaled hard, shaking.
"That's it?" he muttered. "They just… leave?"
Li Shen's gaze stayed on the empty lane.
"For now," he said.
Bai Ren swallowed. "They'll come back."
Li Shen nodded. "Yes."
Bai Ren's fists clenched.
"I want to break them," he said, voice rough. "I want—"
Li Shen finally looked at him.
Not cold.
Not kind.
Just honest.
"You break one," Li Shen said. "Paper writes ten more."
Bai Ren's jaw worked.
"So what do we do?"
Li Shen's eyes lowered briefly, as if checking the world for ears, then lifted again.
"We keep our hands clean," he said. "And we keep their mistakes loud."
Bai Ren stared at him.
Then, slowly, something inside Bai Ren shifted.
Not peace.
Understanding.
He had wanted a fight because a fight had rules he understood.
But this wasn't a fight.
It was a capture attempt.
And Li Shen had just shown him the only way to survive a capture without becoming a record.
Bai Ren exhaled.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I'll learn."
Li Shen nodded once.
"Good," he said. "Because Conclave isn't here yet."
They walked back toward the main lanes.
The visitor corridor lantern frames waited in silence, pale bones lined up for a face the sect was about to wear.
And somewhere in the background—out of sight, out of reach—paper men kept sharpening their tools, furious that they hadn't gotten a new name to write down today.