By the time the sun cleared the eastern ridge, the sect had already decided what kind of week it wanted.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Efficient.
That was what the supervisors called it when they meant tightened. When they meant don't make us look bad.
Li Shen felt it in the way tasks were assigned now.
Less shouting. More slates. More hands checking that the hands below them were moving.
It wasn't Conclave yet. The guest banners weren't up. The sect hadn't put on its public smile.
But the inner machinery was already turning at a higher speed.
And higher speed always meant one thing:
More friction.
He ran message routes until midday—tool shed to wash stations, wash stations to the outer kitchens, kitchens to the storage junction. Each run came with a new slip, a new stamp, a new line that someone wanted filled.
Li Shen filled only what he was allowed to fill.
He carried only what was assigned.
He kept his hands clean.
After the back-lane attempt, he had started noticing something he'd ignored before: not the work, but the economy beneath it.
It wasn't just points.
It was what points turned into.
The afternoon run sent him to Station Nine, a supply lane that fed small infirmaries and the servants' medic shelves. It was a narrow building with a shaded front, stacked with jars that smelled like bitter roots and old alcohol.
A clerk sat behind a counter with a slate and a face that suggested he hated being needed.
Li Shen placed his token on the counter.
"Tier Two request," he said.
The clerk didn't look up. "What request."
Li Shen slid the slip forward.
Heat rash powder — x3
Cramp salt — x2
Wound wash — x1
Authorized: Outer Yard Supervisor Liu
The clerk's eyes flicked over the list, then finally lifted to Li Shen's face.
He didn't see a person.
He saw a workload.
He reached under the counter and pulled out three small packets, tied with string.
"Points," he said.
Li Shen didn't blink. "Supervisor authorized."
The clerk tapped the slate. "Authorized to request. Not authorized to ignore cost."
Li Shen's fingers tightened around his token.
He knew this. He'd always known it.
But knowing and seeing were different.
"How many," he asked.
The clerk made a sound through his nose.
"Rash powder, two points each. Cramp salt, three. Wound wash, five."
Li Shen did the count automatically.
Two times three was six. Three times two was six. Plus five.
Seventeen.
Seventeen points for small packets that smelled like leaves and ash.
Li Shen didn't move.
He had seventeen points in a good tenday if nothing went wrong. If no one docked him. If he didn't get shifted into punishment labor.
The clerk watched him with mild impatience.
"You want it or not," he said.
Li Shen slid the slip back toward himself.
"Not now," he said.
The clerk shrugged like this was normal. "Then don't come back complaining when people cramp and drop. Next."
Li Shen stepped away.
He wasn't angry.
He was taking inventory.
On his way out, he noticed something that didn't fit the rest of the station.
A lacquered box on the back shelf, sealed with a stamp he didn't recognize. The seal wasn't Station Nine's.
It was a hall seal.
A medicine hall seal.
Not crude, not cheap—clean lacquer, sharp characters, the kind of seal that implied someone up the chain had authority and wanted it visible.
A smaller clerk carried the box carefully into a back room.
Li Shen's eyes followed it for only a breath.
Then he looked away.
Looking too long was how you got pulled into things.
But he remembered the stamp.
---
Outside Station Nine, he found Bai Ren leaning against the wall like he'd been thrown there and left.
Bai Ren's face was bruised from sun and fatigue. His hands were scraped. He looked like someone trying very hard not to admit he was hungry.
Li Shen didn't ask if he was hungry.
He already knew.
Bai Ren glanced at Li Shen's empty hands.
"You didn't get anything?" Bai Ren muttered.
Li Shen shook his head. "Too expensive."
Bai Ren made a sound that might've been laughter if it didn't have so much bitterness in it.
"Powder costs points," he said. "Points cost work. Work costs skin."
Li Shen didn't disagree.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough.
"Station Nine is moving sealed stock," Li Shen said. "Not servant stock. Hall stock."
Bai Ren's brow furrowed. "What does that mean."
Li Shen's eyes stayed on the lane, scanning for ears.
"It means someone is buying medicine in bulk," Li Shen said. "Before Conclave."
Bai Ren snorted. "The sect."
Li Shen's gaze sharpened. "Not like this."
Bai Ren blinked. "You mean someone's stealing?"
Li Shen didn't answer directly.
He didn't like the word stealing in a sect.
The word was too loud.
"This week isn't about guests yet," Li Shen said. "It's about control. Anyone who controls medicine controls who can keep working."
Bai Ren stared at him for a moment.
Then his eyes narrowed slowly.
"You think someone's selling it," Bai Ren said.
Li Shen nodded once.
Bai Ren's jaw clenched. "Who."
Li Shen's voice stayed flat.
"Not a who," he said. "A system."
Bai Ren's face twisted. "That's not an answer."
Li Shen looked at Bai Ren, calm.
"It is," he said. "Because if it's a system, punching one man doesn't change it."
Bai Ren's shoulders slumped slightly, frustrated.
Li Shen continued quietly.
"People are cramping more," he said. "Rash powder is priced higher than last month. Wound wash is rationed. That doesn't happen by accident."
Bai Ren grimaced. "Or the sect's being cheap."
Li Shen shook his head.
"The sect can't afford to be cheap before Conclave," he said. "Face costs more than powder."
Bai Ren went still.
Even Bai Ren understood face.
It was the only currency heavier than grain.
Li Shen turned away.
"Come," he said.
Bai Ren pushed off the wall and followed.
---
The proof didn't come from spying.
It came from work.
Later that evening, Li Shen was sent to storage junction again, to carry a slate tube to the sanitation stores.
It was a normal run.
Too normal.
He walked the main lane, passed three supervisors, bowed twice, kept his pace even.
At the sanitation stores, Senior Liu took the tube without looking up.
"Set it down," Liu said.
Li Shen placed it carefully on the table.
Senior Liu slit the wax seal with a small blade.
The tube contained a list of "supplies to be issued" for the next tenday. Standard.
Li Shen's eyes flicked over it without meaning to.
He couldn't help it.
His mind read lists the way a carpenter read wood.
The first lines were normal: soap, rags, lime for sanitation lanes, cloth strips.
Then medicine.
Heat rash powder, listed at a quantity that made Li Shen's stomach tighten.
Cramp salt, even higher.
Wound wash.
All marked with a seal in the margin.
Not Station Nine.
Not sanitation.
Medicine hall.
Senior Liu noticed his gaze and tapped the paper with the end of his brush.
"You're Tier Two," Liu said without looking up. "You read too much."
Li Shen lowered his eyes. "Sorry, Senior."
Senior Liu exhaled once.
"It's fine," he muttered. "Reading isn't a crime. Writing is."
He scribbled a mark on the list and pushed it aside.
Then he did something that wasn't on any list.
He pulled open a drawer and took out a small packet—cramp salt, tied with fresh string.
He held it for a moment, weighing it like it mattered.
Then he slid it across the table toward Li Shen.
Li Shen froze.
"Senior—"
"Take it," Liu said flatly. "And don't make a face about it."
Li Shen's throat tightened. He didn't take it yet.
Senior Liu's eyes finally lifted.
"You and your friend," Liu said. "You're working harder lately. Because someone wants you tired. Because someone wants you to make mistakes."
Li Shen didn't speak.
Senior Liu's voice dropped lower.
"There's a man in the medicine hall," Liu said. "Not an Elder. Not a master. Just someone who can write numbers and make them real."
Li Shen's heartbeat slowed.
A name hovered at the edge of his mind.
He didn't ask for it.
He didn't need it.
Senior Liu continued.
"He's been raising prices through points," Liu said. "Not openly. Just enough. Enough that servants stop buying unless they have to."
Li Shen stared.
"Then he sells 'privately' to those who can pay," Liu added. "Or those who owe."
Bai Ren's earlier words came back: work costs skin.
Li Shen understood the chain now.
Need → points → debt → obedience.
Senior Liu slid the packet closer.
"Don't be stupid," he said. "Take it. Use it. The cramp salt is cheaper than a broken body."
Li Shen finally took the packet with both hands, bowed, and tucked it into his sash.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Senior Liu waved his brush like shooing a fly.
"Don't thank me," he muttered. "Just don't get written."
Li Shen bowed again and left.
Outside, the air had cooled. Lantern frames along the visitor corridor caught the last light like pale teeth.
The sect was preparing its face.
And somewhere behind a counter, a man was turning medicine into leverage, one small packet at a time.
Li Shen walked back toward the dorm lanes with the cramp salt hidden under his sash like contraband.
Not because it was illegal.
Because in a place like this, anything that kept you standing was worth stealing—especially when someone had decided you were supposed to fall.