The night was at its thinnest when Ziyan and her companions reached the Southern Academies. The air smelled of frost and cedar bark, sharp enough to sting the lungs. The tiled roofs were draped in snow like sleeping beasts, the silence so deep it felt sacrilegious to break.
Feiyan crouched near the broken western eaves, her palm pressed to the tiles. "These will hold," she whispered. Her voice was so low it might have been the roof speaking to itself. "But step where I step. No sound, no loose snow."
Wei grumbled under his breath but nodded. Li Qiang's sword was sheathed across his back, his hand near the hilt. Ziyan watched Feiyan move first, her shape flowing over the eaves, weight light as if the night itself carried her. One by one they followed, Ziyan last, pausing once to glance back at the dark city wall. Zhang's men would be moving soon. This was their only window.
The crawl-space above the ledger room was close and smelled of dust and resin. The cedar beams creaked faintly, as if complaining at their presence. Below them, the ledgers slept on their shelves — decades of grain records, merchant accounts, and names that could damn or save a hundred officials. Ziyan felt the weight of it settle into her chest.
Voices reached them first, muffled but drawing nearer. Men with lanterns entered the room below, their light cutting thin gold bars across the floorboards. They carried jars of oil and bundles of kindling wrapped in straw.
"Orders are clear," one said. "Soak the shelves. Light and withdraw. When the fire takes, leave a token of the phoenix girl's hand."
A second man chuckled. "Fitting, isn't it? She started in ink, she'll end in ash."
Feiyan's glance caught Ziyan's in the darkness above. No words passed, but the meaning was clear: now.
They dropped like hawks. Feiyan's blade found the first torch-bearer's wrist before the fire could touch the wood. Li Qiang barreled into the man holding the oil jar, sending it clattering harmlessly to the tiles. Wei swung the butt of his spear into the lantern carrier's temple with a crack that left him unconscious on the floor.
"Quick!" Ziyan hissed, snatching ledgers from the lowest shelves and stacking them against the wall furthest from the oil. Her heart thudded — too loud, too fast. Smoke from the toppled lantern curled upward, licking the rafters.
One guard recovered faster than expected and lunged toward the door, shouting for help. Feiyan caught him by the collar and drove him into the jamb with such precision that the breath left his body and he slumped soundlessly.
But one torch had fallen. Its fire caught on the oil already spilled, the flames racing hungrily across the floor.
"Move!" Wei barked, grabbing an armful of ledgers.
Feiyan kicked open a side door and took point, blade flashing in warning at the corridor beyond. Ziyan swept the remaining scrolls from the shelves, her sleeve catching fire for a moment before she slapped it out against the beam.
They spilled into the night air just as smoke billowed from the room behind them. Li Qiang hoisted Wei's share of the ledgers onto his back and scaled the eaves first. Feiyan leapt easily after him, silent as a cat.
Ziyan hesitated only a moment, glancing back at the faint glow inside the cedar room. The shelves would survive — but barely. She clambered onto the roof, the ledgers tight against her chest, as shouts went up in the courtyards below.
By the time Zhang's reinforcements reached the western wing, the roof was already empty, the only trace of intruders a trail of snow-dusted tiles leading into the dawn.
They did not stop running until the city had begun to stir and the smoke of early fires disguised their own breath. At the carpenter's shop, they spread the saved scrolls on the table, the ink glistening faintly in the morning light.
"These are enough," Wei said, still breathing hard. "We can show the court which merchants stole the grain meant for the northern towns. Zhang can't burn this away."
Ziyan traced one scroll with her fingertip, stopping at the name of a prefect whose signature she knew well. The ink seemed darker than the rest, as if the night itself had seeped into the page.
"Proof," she murmured. "Not just a road to walk, but a weapon to throw."
Li Qiang sat against the wall, sword across his knees, eyes half-closed. "Then who do we throw it to? The court is Zhang's now."
"Not all of it," Ziyan said. She tied the scrolls with blue silk, knotting them with deliberate care. "Some ears are still hungry for truth. We only have to find one before Zhang does."
Feiyan stood apart from the table, drying her blade on a scrap of cloth. Her face was unreadable, but her voice was steady. "You have just painted a mark on all of us. This was the easy part. The next fire will not be so small."
Ziyan met her gaze. "Then we put it where it burns the right people."
The silence that followed was not fear, but agreement — grim and shared. Outside, the morning drums rolled with Zhang's latest proclamation, but the sound no longer felt like a judgment. It sounded like a challenge.