They read the proclamation in the square. People hissed at the title "protectorate," muttered at "tolerated," laughed bitterly at the notion that Xia's Emperor cared about their customs. They listened as Ren the scribe added, line by line, the conditions Yong'an had carved in response: no Xia magistrate, no forced conscription, no secret orders.
Then Ziyan dipped her brush in ink and signed, not with a court name, but with the same uncompromising three characters she had first scratched onto a tablet when Yong'an was just refugees and anger.
Li Ziyan.
One by one, Han, Zhao, Chen Rui, the temple healer, the western captain, the steward, the caravan guard, Ren, Shuye, and a dozen others from different quarters pressed their own names—or thumbprints—for those who could not write.
"You are tying us to wolves," the old woman with the broom muttered as she pressed her thumb.
"I am tying us to time," Ziyan said. "Wolves are already here."
At the northern parapet that afternoon, men watched as part of Xia's army turned its face east. Not retreat, exactly. A pivot. Columns uncoiled, banners swung. The siege ring loosened enough that Yong'an could breathe without tasting iron.
"They're marching toward the capital," Wei said softly. "Leaving just enough behind to remind us who's breaking whose bread."
"Qi's capital," Han said. "Not yours anymore."
"Mine never sat behind those walls," Ziyan murmured. "Only over its ashes."
Snow began again, thin and patient.
News travels badly in war. It limps, it forgets, it lies.
Still, three days after Yong'an signed under Xia's seal, a ragged banner appeared from the south: Qi's dragon, tattered, carried by men whose armor had been patched with whatever metal they could find.
They halted beyond arrow range and lit no campfires, as if embarrassed to be seen.
Ziyan went to the south gate with Li Qiang, Feiyan, and Han. They opened it only halfway, the jaws of the city cautious.
The leader of the Qi band bowed stiffly from horseback. His hair was tied too precisely for a mere captain; his eyes were the desperate kind that have seen orders change three times on the same march.
"I am General Sun of Qi," he said. "I come under the Emperor's writ to take command of this city's defense against Xia."
Feiyan's mouth curved. "You're late," she said.
He flicked her an irritated glance, then looked up at the walls, at the patched stones, at the half-ruined houses and the law tablets visible beyond. "You held longer than anyone expected," he said grudgingly. "Word is you had help from wolves."
"We had help from each other," Ziyan said. "Wolves came to learn manners."
His gaze snapped to her. Recognition sparked. "Li Ziyan," he said slowly. "So it's true. Ye Cheng's little phoenix made herself a nest on our border."
"Ye Cheng's ash made itself something else," she said. "You bring orders."
He glanced back at his thin line of men, then forward at the Xia banners faint on the horizon. "The Emperor of Qi commands this: Yong'an is to hold for Qi. No agreement with Xia is to take precedence over your duty to the throne. Any such agreements are null, made under duress."
"The Emperor of Qi," Ziyan said quietly, "did he write that himself?"
General Sun hesitated. "The seal was his," he said. "The words… came through the Regent."
"The same Regent who sold Gaoling and let Ye Cheng burn," Han muttered.
Sun stiffened. "Mind your tongue."
"My tongue is carved on those stones," Han said. "You can read it."
Ziyan stepped forward until she stood in the gate's shadow. "You arrive with a strip of paper," she said. "Xia arrived with three armies. Where was Qi when Ye Cheng begged for help? When these people starved? When Zhang stole grain and names both?"
Sun's jaw clenched. "We were fighting on three fronts," he snapped. "Holding what we could. Your little rebellion distracted—"
"My rebellion?" Ziyan's laugh cracked. "I begged your court to see what Zhang was doing. I brought proof in my hands. Your Emperor wept and signed and then let fear eat him hollow. Now you bring me his writ and call it duty."
Feiyan watched Sun's hand drift toward his sword and back away. "Careful," she murmured. "She's had practice being betrayed. She doesn't startle like she used to."
Sun's face flushed dark. "Whatever quarrels you have with the Regent," he said, "Qi is still your home. Your blood is Qi's. You will not stand under wolves and call it virtue."
Ziyan's fingers brushed the bandage on her palm where the infiltrator's knife had grazed her. "Home," she said softly. "Ye Cheng burned. The capital bartered. The Emperor signed my name under orders he did not know how to carry. Tell me, General Sun, where exactly do you see my home?"
He faltered. For a heartbeat, she saw the man under the armor: someone who'd watched towns fall and maps change faster than letters could be written.