The red silk cords still burned in Ziyan's vision long after the prefect's procession disappeared down the rain-drenched street.
She stood frozen under the eaves of the teahouse, rain slipping down her cheeks like tears she refused to shed. Her cloak sagged with water. Her hands trembled, not from cold—but from the stillness of power not yet wielded.
"Why didn't they wait?" she whispered. "Why take her before I returned?"
Feiyan was already pacing the floor inside, jaw clenched, blade tapping lightly against her calf. "They wanted to strike when we were scattered. They knew you'd gone."
Shuye hovered near the door, still looking out into the dark, as if expecting the prefect's cart to return.
"Who tipped them off?" he asked. "Was it the Xia agent? The man who spoke with her?"
"No," Li Qiang said quietly, his arms crossed. "He left too cleanly. This was arranged before he even arrived."
Ziyan moved to the table. The copper token still sat there, glinting dully beneath the lantern light. She picked it up—warm to the touch despite the chill in the room.
The emblem of Xia. Twin dragons. Forbidden metal.
Her voice was low. "They planned this… because she spoke with him. Because she listened."
Feiyan turned. "Then we break her out."
"No," Ziyan said. "We do not play their game with swords and shadows."
She turned, her eyes burning.
"We make them play ours. In full light."
By dawn, the rain had thinned to a cold mist, and Ziyan was already dressed in storm-grey silk, her cloak pinned with the phoenix brooch Duan Rulan once gave her. She looked not like a fugitive, not like a merchant, but like something in between—a storm that had learned to walk like a woman.
They approached the Hall of Civic Tribunes as its bronze bell rang the sixth morning tone.
The courtyard was quiet, save for robed petitioners whispering under umbrellas and a few scribes scurrying to prepare the ledgers for the day. But even at this early hour, the magistrates of the Inner Chamber were awake. Ziyan had made certain of that.
A clerk stepped forward. "Petitioners are seen by order of—"
Ziyan held out the scroll.
The Duan seal, in crimson lacquer.
The clerk blinked. "This… this is a high-merchant override."
"From the House of Silk and Steel," Ziyan said. "I invoke it now."
He hesitated, then bowed deeply. "You may enter."
The tribunal hall was stark and cold. Grey stone. Blackwood seats. The three magistrates behind the dais wore identical robes, but their masks bore distinct animal crests—crane, fox, serpent. Their silence was deliberate.
Ziyan bowed deeply but did not avert her gaze.
"I come on behalf of Lady Lianhua of the Phoenix Registry," she said clearly. "I protest her arrest and request a formal review of her confinement."
The fox mask tilted. "She is under suspicion of consorting with foreign agents."
"The agent in question is not in custody," Ziyan replied, "and his connection to the state of Xia is unconfirmed by any public inquiry. You arrested her without a hearing. Without witness. Without even a formal charge posted at the gate."
The serpent mask said, "She was seen receiving a copper token."
Ziyan held it up. "This one?"
The chamber stirred. She stepped forward.
"Your concern is that she bore knowledge of Xia's agents. That she harbored one. But let me ask—does your law condemn the innocent for listening to the wrong voice? For not reporting a conversation that ended before the bell toll?"
Silence.
"She asked no favors of him. She offered no help. She received only a warning."
The crane mask leaned forward. "And yet that warning contained secrets meant to destabilize this court."
Ziyan's voice did not rise.
"Perhaps because this court is already unstable."
Feiyan flinched behind her.
Ziyan took a breath.
"If knowledge alone is treason, then you must arrest every merchant who's ever handled foreign silk. Every innkeeper who ever gave shelter without a bloodline scroll."
"You test the court's patience," the fox warned.
"No," Ziyan said. "I test its memory."
She unfurled a second scroll—thicker, older.
"Signed by Duan Rulan three months before her disappearance. It lists Lady Lianhua as a managing officer for the eastern merchant registry, cleared for private ledgers and foreign correspondence as per the trade accords of the Fifteenth Edict."
The magistrates stilled.
"I demand she be released, or formally charged."
The serpent whispered, "She is loyal to you."
"She is loyal to no one who would use her as bait."
A long silence followed.
Then—
"She may be released," said the crane.
"But," the fox added, "she will remain under observation."
Ziyan bowed. "Then observe us well."
Lianhua was escorted out shortly after the hour changed. Her hair was neatly bound again, though her wrists bore red lines. Her face was pale, unreadable.
They said nothing until they reached the far end of the marble corridor.
Ziyan took her hand.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Lianhua looked up, then looked away. "They knew the moment he stepped through our door. They were watching already."
"I know."
"They'll come again."
"I know."
Lianhua's voice cracked. "Why didn't you stop them?"
Ziyan's eyes didn't waver.
"Because I wanted to defeat them where they think they are strongest."
That night, they burned incense not for cleansing, but for endurance.
The copper token was locked away.
And the scroll with Duan Rulan's seal now lay open on the desk—half-riddled, half-incomplete.
Shuye asked quietly, "Is this over?"
Ziyan stared at the flickering flame.
"No," she said. "It's just beginning."