The mansion settled into deeper silence as the household drifted into sleep. Only the faint rustle of wind in the eaves marked the passing hours.
When the appointed time arrived, Shou An appeared quietly in Shen Qingwan's chamber, clad entirely in black from head to toe, and a wooden mask covering his face to prevent recognition.
Qingwan did not look up immediately. She spoke softly, her voice carrying the weight of experience.
"Remember," she said, "the tally is in the storage room, not in the main hall. It's kept in an old wooden box, the oldest in the vault. You'll know it when you see it, its age, the dust, the ink marks. That's your signal."
Shou An nodded, expression unreadable beneath the mask. Without another word, he slipped silently from the mansion, blending into the night.
Qingwan remained by the window, letting out a long, measured sigh. Her gaze drifted across the moonlit courtyard.
The most dangerous objects.... she thought, barely a whisper...always lie where no one fears, buried under thoses ink and dust,
That night was thick and silent as Shou An approached the Ministry of War Archive Vault. The guards had just begun to shift, their footsteps echoing faintly in the empty corridors. Dressed in black from head to toe, his wooden mask shielding his face, he moved like a shadow across the stone floors.
Inside the vault, rows of cabinets and shelves loomed, layered in dust and the faint scent of old paper. Shou An's eyes scanned each shelf carefully.
Finally, tucked in a corner behind a stack of faded ledgers, he found it: the old wooden box, worn with age, its surface etched with faint, nearly invisible patterns. He lifted it carefully, cradling it as though it were fragile and dangerous all at once.
The return journey was tense, every step measured. As he passed through a narrow alley, a faint, hushed voice drifted to him from the shadows:
"That convoy… it never reached its destination. Neither did the tiger tally."
Shou An's foot stooped. The words confirmed that the information he carried was not just valuable it was dangerous. He accelerated his pace, keeping to the shadows, taking care not to alert anyone.
By the time he reached Clear Moon Pavillion, dawn had not yet begun, and the house was silent. Shen Qingwan awaited him, standing by the window as if she had been expecting him all along.
He placed the wooden box carefully on the table. "Lady Shen," he said quietly, "I heard someone say… that the convoy never reached its destination, neither did the tiger tally."
Qingwan's brows furrowed. She touched the box lightly, her mind already turning over possibilities. The timing was wrong.
She knew the story of the tiger tally should not have surfaced yet. Something, somewhere, had shifted slightly, imperceptibly, but enough to stir the hidden currents of the past and the palace secrets she had yet to uncover.
Shou An stood at attention, awaiting further orders. Qingwan's eyes softened slightly, acknowledging his loyalty. "Shou An, you can return to your chamber and rest. Your work is done."
He inclined his head and slipped quietly from the room.
Shen Qingwan remained by the table, her hand tracing the box again and again, thoughts spinning through every detail she knew and every possibility she had not yet considered. Hours passed in the stillness, the ink drying on scattered papers, sketches and notes covering the desk.
Finally, after a long stretch of restless calculation and reflection, her eyelids grew heavy. Her chin rested on her folded arms, the paper was crumpled slightly, ink smudged from her persistent hand. The quiet of the night pressed against her, and at last, she surrendered to sleep.
Shen Qingwan finally set the two letters and the bronze tiger tally into the small wooden box. She had spent the past two days considering every word, every seal, every hidden meaning.
One letter was straightforward, written in her usual careful hand; the other remained cryptic, its content invisible to anyone who tried to read it in ordinary light.
She handed the box to Shou An, who received it without a word. His black attire blended with the night shadows, his wooden mask concealing every trace of expression.
"Deliver this to Yuwen," Qingwan instructed quietly. "Do not be seen."
Shou An inclined his head once and departed, moving like a shadow along rooftops and alleys. He reached Yuwen's residence just as the late night lights touched the streets.
Below, Yuwen was leaving her chamber. As she opened the door, she noticed a small box neatly placed on the steps, yet there was no one in sight. She looked around quickly, half expecting a shadow to reveal the sender but the streets were empty, the courtyard silent.
Suspicion flitted across her features, but she trusted the seal. She picked up the box carefully, carrying it inside.
Unseen, Shou An crouched on the roof of a neighboring building, his eyes trained on every movement. He watched as Yuwen examined the box, her fingers lingering over the seals and carefully inspecting the craftsmanship of the old wooden case.
Everything was exactly as Qingwan had intended. No one had touched it. No one had interfered.
Shou An remained perfectly still, shadows swallowing him, ensuring the delivery was complete. Only when Yuwen finally disappeared inside her chambers with the box did he allow himself to slip away.