Sundown at the outer Merit Hall wasn't a color.
It was a behavior.
Lines formed, voices dropped, and people remembered they had eyes and grievances.
Yuan He arrived early anyway.
Not because he wanted to compete for space.
Because early meant fewer witnesses, fewer elbows, and fewer chances for someone to "accidentally" forget him.
He stood under the eaves just outside the window wall and watched the clerk's hands move inside.
The hall made order the way a mill made flour, by grinding down anything that came in too whole.
Yuan He kept his marked chits tucked in his sleeve, pressed against his skin like a private pulse.
He didn't trust the board until the numbers were on it.
And even then, he didn't trust them without a way to point and say: that is mine.
He waited until the posting runner appeared.
The runner was a boy, younger than Yuan He, with fast feet and a bored face. He carried a narrow wooden board with fresh postings, ink still shiny.
The runner slapped it onto the hook by the wall.
A small crowd surged.
Yuan He let them.
He waited two breaths, then stepped forward and found the row.
Outer contributions, daily.
His eyes slid down the names.
Most were names he didn't know. A few were the ones everyone knew, because they made sure you did.
Then he saw it.
Yuan He -- 2 points
Two merit points.
Small. Correct. Unremarkable.
His chest loosened and immediately tightened again.
Not relief.
Next step.
He touched the receipt marks inside his sleeve.
Proof exists. Some sort of backup exists.
He stepped back from the board and turned, meaning to leave.
A voice caught him.
"Yuan He."
Not shouted. Not friendly. Just stated.
He stopped.
He didn't sigh. He didn't show irritation. He rotated slowly and made his face blank.
One of Sun Ba's shadows stood near the side wall where the light thinned. The same disciple who had shoved him into the alley wall while Sun Ba hit his ribs. Yuan He recognized the way he carried his shoulders, like his hands were
always half a breath from grabbing.
The disciple's mouth curved. Not a smile. A reminder.
Yuan He inclined his head, polite and neutral. "Senior Brother."
The disciple's gaze flicked to the board, then to Yuan He's sleeve. "You got posted."
"Yes," Yuan He said.
"Two points," the disciple said, as if surprised a stone had decided to float.
Yuan He kept his tone flat. "I did two tasks."
The disciple took a step closer, not threatening, just close enough that the conversation became unavoidable.
"What did you do differently today?" he asked.
Yuan He let a small pause exist. Answering too fast made you look eager, and eagerness made you look like you had something to sell.
"I worked," Yuan He said.
The disciple's eyes narrowed. "Everyone worked."
Yuan He looked at him, then at the Merit Hall windows, then back.
"I carried water and scraped racks," he said. "If you want the method, it's called 'don't spill.'"
A couple of people nearby made small noises that might have been laughs. The sounds died quickly.
The disciple's voice sharpened. "Don't be clever."
Yuan He kept his face calm and felt his ribs ache in memory.
"Senior Brother," he said, carefully respectful, "I'm not being clever. I'm being accurate."
The disciple studied him for a beat, then leaned in just enough that the next words were only for Yuan He.
"Someone complained," he murmured.
Yuan He didn't react. He only listened.
"They said you didn't fill the third barrel," the disciple continued. "Said you rushed and splashed herbs. Said the steward stamped you because she was lazy."
Yuan He felt something cold settle behind his eyes.
Not fear.
Not anger.
A familiar shape.
Test condition.
He kept his voice even. "Who complained?"
The disciple's mouth twitched. "Does it matter?"
It mattered.
It also didn't.
If the complaint lived inside the system, the system would name it or it wouldn't. If it wouldn't, then it wasn't a complaint.
It was a threat dressed in clerks' clothing.
Yuan He nodded once, as if acknowledging weather. "If there's an issue, the steward can correct it."
The disciple tilted his head. "You're confident."
Yuan He shrugged. "I have receipt marks."
The disciple blinked, and something like annoyance leaked through. "Receipt marks are not merit points."
"No," Yuan He agreed. "They're proof that I earned those merit points."
The disciple's gaze dropped to Yuan He's sleeve again, like the chits had suddenly grown teeth.
Yuan He continued, still calm. "If someone wants to audit a barrel, they can ask the herb steward. If they want to claim I splashed herbs, they can name the bundles and show damage. If they want to claim I didn't do the work, they can show the missing water."
He kept his tone respectful.
He kept it boring.
Boring was hard to attack.
The disciple's mouth tightened. "You're making this complicated."
Yuan He couldn't help it. A dry mutter slipped out, too low to be anything but habit.
"That's the point," he said.
The disciple heard it anyway. His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
Yuan He lifted his gaze, expression empty. "I said I'll follow procedure."
The disciple stared at him for a long moment.
Then he stepped back, as if he'd decided he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted out of this conversation.
"Procedure," he repeated, like it was a foreign word. "Fine."
He turned his head slightly.
A clerk approached from the window line, not the one Yuan He spoke to earlier, but wearing the same tired neutrality like a uniform. Ink-smell. Clipboard posture.
The disciple spoke lightly, as if making an introduction. "This clerk is going to verify a couple of entries. Nothing serious."
Yuan He looked at the clerk.
The clerk looked at Yuan He's sleeve without taking anything yet.
"Name," the clerk said.
"Yuan He," Yuan He replied.
"Tasks," the clerk said.
"Herb yard water haul. Drying rack scrape," Yuan He said.
The clerk held out his hand. "Chits."
Yuan He slid them over.
The clerk flipped them, checked stamps, checked the receipt marks, and paused.
Yuan He watched the pause.
That pause was the only honest thing in the exchange.
The clerk looked up. "You asked for receipt marks."
"Yes," Yuan He said.
"Why?" the clerk asked.
A normal question asked like it wasn't.
Yuan He answered like a law-abiding citizen who had never heard the word extortion.
"Because mistakes happen," he said. "And because it's harder to argue about something that's written."
The clerk's eyes flicked toward the disciple, then back down.
The clerk exhaled slowly and handed the chits back.
"Your merit points are posted," the clerk said. "They match."
The disciple's mouth curved again. "For now."
Yuan He didn't rise to it. He only nodded. "Then we're done."
The disciple leaned in, voice low. "You're learning the wrong kind of lessons."
Yuan He met his eyes and let the truth sit between them.
"I'm learning the kind that keeps me alive," he said.
For a moment, the disciple's expression sharpened, like he wanted to slap the words out of Yuan He's mouth.
Then he laughed softly instead, like a man watching a rabbit bare its teeth.
"Keep doing your little chores," he said. "Just remember. Audits can happen. Tasks can change. Stewards can be busy."
Yuan He didn't answer.
Because he didn't have anything to say that would help.
Because he had already understood the actual message.
They weren't trying to steal his pouch anymore.
They were trying to cut him off from the system.
Trying to make him invisible again, but with paperwork.
The disciple walked away.
The clerk drifted back toward the windows, relieved to stop being a weapon.
Yuan He stood under the eaves for another ten breaths, face calm, hands steady.
Inside, his mind was already moving.
New threat model.
If they couldn't take his merit points after the fact, they would stop him from earning them in the first place. If they couldn't stop him cleanly, they would force him into tasks where verification meant humiliation.
Again, he focused on breathing to calm himself—something he could do without anyone noticing..
"Okay," he murmured, barely moving his lips. "So we make the audit expensive."
Expensive meant public.
Public meant witnesses.
Witnesses meant fewer lies.
He turned away from the Merit Hall and walked back toward the dorms, posture relaxed, steps careful.
He didn't look over his shoulder.
He didn't need to.
He could feel suspicion behind him like a stone dropped into water.
It would sink.
It would ripple.
And eventually, it would hit bottom hard enough to wake something larger.