The second bell had not yet rung when the four of them reached the east granary: Ziyan, Feiyan, Shuye, and Madam Wen's warning still warm in their ears. The night was brittle, the frost clinging to the ground like an audience unwilling to leave.
Wang Yu waited by the cracked stencil, clutching a ring of keys like someone holding prayer beads. His face was pale but set.
"This way," he whispered, leading them to a side door so warped it looked decorative rather than useful. The key turned with a groan that sounded louder than a confession.
Inside, the air was close, heavy with grain and dust. The lantern Wang Yu carried threw careful light, showing rows of sacks stacked like obedient soldiers. Beyond them, a narrow table with a single ledger lay open, its last page waiting for a signature.
"Zhang's men will come with the new register at dawn," Wang Yu said, voice thin. "They will make me read it aloud. Then they will burn this one. After that, nothing in Nan Shu will contradict them."
Ziyan's hands tightened on her cloak. "Then we take it now."
Feiyan had already moved to the corners, scanning for traps, listening for patrol boots. "We have little time."
A soft knock came from the outside wall — two, then three. Shuye's head snapped up, his grin flashing like a spark. "That's them," he said. "Your soldiers came after all."
Ziyan turned toward the door just as it swung inward. Wei slipped through first, breath steaming, cloak dusted white. Li Qiang followed, taller, grimmer, his sword already drawn.
"We almost didn't make it," Wei said, glancing toward Ziyan. "Zhang's sweep reached the western wards last night. We doubled back through the hills."
"You could have stayed hidden," Ziyan said, though her chest felt strangely lighter.
"Hidden men don't change the world," Li Qiang said simply. "And neither do women left to fight alone."
Feiyan smirked faintly. "Good. I was beginning to worry this would be too quiet."
They set to work. Ziyan took the old ledger from the table while Wei found a stack of blank parchment in a crate and began copying the key entries by lantern light, hand quick but exact. Shuye stationed himself near the outer door, listening for the patrol that must come sooner or later.
The air grew warmer with their breath, thick with the smell of dust and ink. Ziyan felt the weight of what they were doing settle over her like a cloak: for the first time since the capital, they were not only surviving. They were taking something back.
"Done," Wei said at last, handing the copied pages to Ziyan. "Now we can prove the theft even if this place burns."
"Then let's give Zhang the ashes he expects," Feiyan said. She moved to the grain sacks and tipped one over, scattering seed across the floor. "If they find this room empty, they will search until they find us. Better to give them a story."
They worked fast, upending sacks, overturning the table, smudging footprints until the scene looked like a hurried theft. Shuye poured a trickle of lamp oil along the far wall and lit it with a shard of fire. Smoke rose immediately, thick and acrid.
"Go," he said.
They slipped out through the warped door into the cold just as the first glow lit the granary's interior. The fire caught quickly, snapping like a flag.
They were halfway down the alley when the first patrol rounded the corner. Feiyan pulled Ziyan into the shadow of a drain spout while Wei and Li Qiang flanked them, blades ready. The soldiers ran past, shouting, drawn toward the fire.
By the time they reached Madam Wen's, the town was awake and shouting, bells clanging. Shuye barred the door behind them and laughed breathlessly. "That will keep them busy until sunrise."
Madam Wen glanced at the smoke rising beyond the lane and nodded once. "Good. The jar is ready. You can carry it now."
Li Qiang stooped to lift the kiln-warm jar that held the saved ledgers. Ziyan touched the thumbprint on its lid, the crescent mark firm beneath her fingers.
"They will know it was us," Wei said quietly.
"Let them know," Ziyan answered. "Let them spend their fury on shadows. We still have the proof — and now we have each other."
The room fell into a silence that was not heavy but whole. Shuye leaned on the table, sweat drying on his brow. Feiyan sat with her knife across her knees, eyes unreadable but fierce. Li Qiang stood like a pillar, sword still sheathed but ready. Wei crossed his arms and met Ziyan's gaze.
"What now?" he asked.
Ziyan straightened, the jade ring cold on her thumb. "Now we take the road south," she said. "Qi's envoy gave me one conversation. We will give him proof and a choice: stand with us, or watch Zhang make the Empire a grave."
Madam Wen's lips curved, neither smile nor frown. "Then run before the ashes are counted."
They packed quickly. Shuye slipped a short club through his belt and tightened the cord of his jacket. "If you think I'm letting Feiyan have all the fun," he said, "you don't know me."
"Then come," Feiyan said, and for once there was warmth under the steel.
By the time the sun broke the horizon, they were already beyond the last lane of Nan Shu, the jar secured between Li Qiang and Wei on the pack horse. Behind them, the smoke from the granary curled like a signal.
Ziyan glanced back once at the town roofs, then forward at the road leading into the hills. "Zhang wanted silence," she said. "Now he will have a story instead."
Feiyan adjusted her blade and smiled, sharp as morning. "And this time, we get to choose the ending."