Dawn unrolled slowly over Qi's capital, pale and bloodless, but the palace courtyards were already alive. Riders sat their horses in the half-light, cloaks tight against the frost. Scroll tubes of iron thread hung at their saddles like sheathed swords. When the first bell sounded, they scattered: north toward the marches, west to the border towns, south along the river road.
By the time the second bell struck, heralds were nailing proclamations to gates and market boards, the ink still glistening. Grain merchants read the names of those who had diverted the shipments and went pale; soldiers crowded to see which generals had signed the new decrees. Somewhere in a teahouse, a farmer spat and said aloud what he had thought only in dreams: If she is a traitor, then let her be ours.
The city's air was different by noon, tight with rumor, sharp with purpose.
Ziyan stood in a smaller chamber within the palace, watching from the window as the last of the riders vanished through the eastern gate. Her hands rested on the sill, but she was not holding herself up — she was holding herself back.
The Emperor's generals were gathered around a low table behind her, their hands moving over the map like players at a game board.
"The proclamations will shake Liang's border lords," one said. "Some will rush to swear loyalty to Zhang just to prove their innocence. Others will hesitate — and those are the ones we can use."
"The lords are weathercocks," another replied. "Point them the right way, they will turn."
The Emperor inclined his head toward Ziyan. "That is why she must go north. No proclamation will speak louder than her face in the halls of the men who once called her Minister's daughter."
Ziyan turned. "If I go, it is not as daughter," she said evenly. "It is as road. The man who calls himself Regent has already named me traitor. I will wear the word so the lords cannot pretend they do not know what they are choosing."
The generals looked at one another. In their silence was a reluctant respect.
"You will not go alone," the Emperor said.
That night they met in the stable-yard, away from the palace lights. Li Qiang tightened the girth on a rangy bay, his movements neat and practiced. Wei adjusted the straps on the pack horse that carried the kiln-fired jar, the ledgers wrapped once more in cloth.
"I have had enough of hiding," Wei said, checking the weight of his spear. "If Zhang wants my head, he can try to take it while I'm moving."
"Then keep moving," Feiyan said from the shadows. She stepped forward, her cloak cut short for speed, her knife gleaming like a thought half-formed. "This time I do not plan to vanish halfway down the road."
Ziyan met her gaze. "I would not let you."
Shuye emerged last, a short club at his belt and a pack over one shoulder. "You didn't think you'd leave me with Madam Wen's kiln, did you? I've carried clay heavier than these ledgers. And I know the orchards north of Nan Shu better than any map you'll be given."
Wei snorted. "You mean to play guide and hero both?"
Shuye's grin was quick and unapologetic. "Better me than a stranger who sells us by sunrise."
They found Wang Yu near the gate, his hair tied back with a strip of plain cloth, a new short sword at his hip. His face was pale but his eyes had found a strange calm, like a man who had already walked through fire once and was willing to try again.
"You're not coming," Ziyan said, though she knew it before he spoke.
"They need me here," Wang Yu answered. "I can guide the riders through the storehouses, teach them which clerks are thieves and which just look like them. Your road is north. Mine is here."
Ziyan untied a small object from her sleeve: a sparrow hairpin, not Lian'er's but its twin, carved from the same piece of wood. She pressed it into his palm.
"For when you forget why you opened the door," she said.
He closed his fingers around it and bowed, once, deeper than the first time they had met. "Bring it back to me when you have a kingdom to match it."
Feiyan's voice was softer than her knife. "Live long enough to give it back."
By the time the moon cleared the palace roof, they were ready. The city gates would open at dawn for the grain caravans, but they left before, using the smaller postern that opened onto the south road. Their horses' breath smoked in the night like hidden torches.
Outside the walls, the road stretched away into frost and silence. The stars looked sharp enough to cut.
"News will spread faster than we ride," Li Qiang said, scanning the horizon. "Zhang will know before we reach the first town."
"Then let him know," Ziyan said. "Let him sharpen every knife he has. I would rather see them coming than wait for them in the dark."
Feiyan swung into the saddle with the grace of someone mounting war itself. "You sound like a hunter."
Ziyan pulled her hood up. "Good," she said. "Because this time, we hunt."
The horses started forward, hooves whispering over the frozen road. Behind them, the Qi capital faded to a scatter of lamps. Ahead, the world waited — dangerous, wide, and listening.