The next day, Ziyan and Shuye tended to Feiyan's wounds in silence.
The herbal paste stained her bruises green, and her bandaged shoulder was tightly bound to her side. Every wince from her lips cut deeper than a blade. Ziyan dabbed the corner of Feiyan's mouth with a damp cloth, careful not to meet Shuye's eyes.
They were lost.
The red ledger—their one chance to expose Lord Li Jun—was gone. Feiyan had nearly died. Shuye blamed himself, and Ziyan... she wasn't sure who to blame anymore. Perhaps no one. Perhaps everyone.
"What now?" Shuye murmured. His voice sounded cracked, like he hadn't slept.
Ziyan didn't answer. She tightened the knot on Feiyan's wrappings and stood. She hated how empty the air felt.
Then came the knock.
It wasn't loud. Just three light taps, precise and measured.
Ziyan exchanged a glance with Shuye and moved toward the door, dagger hidden in her sleeve. She opened it a sliver.
Two girls stood outside, dressed in flowing robes of plum and silver. Courtesans—young, graceful, but with eyes too calm for their age.
One bowed. "Our mistress has extended an invitation for tea."
Ziyan's brow furrowed. "Your mistress?"
"She says she was of some help to you. And that you owe her your time."
The mark on Ziyan's palm stirred.
Not in warning—but something else. Curiosity. Pressure. Like a thread being pulled.
"She's waiting," the second girl added, "just a short walk."
Ziyan paused. Then nodded. "We'll come."
The tea house was quiet, hidden in a side alley not far from the Lotus Pavilion. A modest place—modest enough to escape notice, luxurious enough to hint at power.
They were led into a curtained side room, where a woman sat waiting at a lacquered table. She did not rise. She did not speak.
Lianhua.
She looked as elegant as ever—her long sleeves folded over her knees, her posture precise. Her face was impassive, unreadable, like the calm surface of a deep well.
Ziyan and Shuye sat across from her. The silence between them was as delicate and dangerous as a blade's edge.
"I assume you weren't just inviting us for tea," Ziyan said.
"No," Lianhua replied. "But that doesn't mean the tea isn't good."
She poured three cups in silence, each motion exact and graceful. When she slid the cup toward Ziyan, her fingers brushed the rim of a lacquered box resting beside her on the table.
Then, without flourish, she unwrapped it.
The red ledger.
Ziyan's breath hitched. Shuye leaned forward, eyes wide. "You—how?"
"I picked it up," Lianhua replied. "While you were bleeding, escaping, and very nearly dying."
"You stole it?" Ziyan asked, not quite accusing, not quite admiring.
"I took what others failed to keep."
"You could've used it. Sold it. Or taken it straight to Li Jun."
Lianhua tilted her head. "I considered all three. Then I considered something better."
Ziyan's fingers curled around her teacup. "And what's that?"
"My freedom."
The words dropped like a stone in water.
Shuye blinked. "From the Pavilion?"
"Yes." Lianhua met his gaze. "Eight hundred taels. I paid for my mother's medicine, my brother's passage out of the capital, and the debt never shrank. Freedom here is a number. I'm giving you leverage. I expect something in return."
"You want us to buy your contract," Ziyan said flatly.
"I want out," Lianhua said. "And I want it clean. No blood. No scandal. No suspicion."
Ziyan stared at her, studying every gesture. The way she sat—perfectly composed. The way she didn't look at the ledger anymore. The way her hands never shook.
"You're not doing this just to be free," Ziyan said.
"No," Lianhua admitted. "I want justice. Or something that looks like it. You want to bring down Lord Li Jun. I want to watch him burn. We're not enemies."
"But we're not allies either," Ziyan said softly.
"Not yet."
The room was quiet again. The faint sound of water bubbling in a kettle drifted in from another room.
Eight hundred taels. It was more money than Ziyan had ever seen in her life. Even together, they couldn't raise that kind of silver quickly.
But the ledger... this was their only chance.
Ziyan reached out, her fingers hovering just above the book. "And if we say no?"
Lianhua met her eyes. "Then I find someone else. Someone with money and no ideals."
"You'd give them that?" Shuye said, disbelieving. "Even if it meant starting another purge? Another war?"
Lianhua looked at him for a long moment.
"I don't deal in outcomes," she said. "Only in choices. This is yours."
Ziyan lowered her hand.
"We'll do it," she said. "But it won't be fast. And you'll need to be patient."
"I've waited for years," Lianhua said quietly. "What's a few more days?"
As they left the tea house, the ledger wrapped tight in silk and tied beneath Ziyan's arm, Shuye finally asked, "Do you trust her?"
Ziyan didn't answer right away.
The Phoenix mark was quiet.
But it hadn't flared in warning.
"I trust what she wants," Ziyan said at last. "That's enough."
They walked into the lightless streets, the weight of ink and secrets pressing against them.
The price had been set.
Now came the reckoning.