"Grain Ford," Ren went on, voice flattening, "'says: 'We are poor. The tablets have not yet brought us any riders; they have brought us stares from the garrison. We have families. We will tear down the sparrow in the square. Do not send us word; it will only make our knees wobble. If we survive the next three winters, we will decide then whether your Road is still worth walking.'"
Silence, this time.
Wei's mouth twisted. "And you want to protect them too?" he asked, not quite mocking yet.
Ziyan looked at the silk. Grain Ford's hand was cramped, ashamed.
"We can't force courage," she said. "Only make room for it." She exhaled. "They tore the bird to save their children. Zhang will call it loyalty. I call it trying not to drown by letting go of one log."
"You promised not to be betrayed without answer again," Feiyan reminded her, soft but unforgiving. "You said Qi was the last time you swallowed it."
Ziyan's hand tightened on the stone until the edges bit. "I meant by courts, not by hungry villagers," she said. "But you're right. We can't let the decree stand alone. If we stay silent, his word becomes the only word in their ears."
Han crossed his arms. "So answer," he said simply. "Not with pity. With instructions."
Ren's brush was already poised. "To where?" he asked. "Everyone? Or only those like Green Dike?"
"Everyone," Ziyan said. "We can't build a city on only the brave."
She took the brush.
To any hall that has hung the sparrow and now reads Qi's decree, she wrote, strokes thick and uneven. We will not call you traitor for fearing hunger. We do not pay in grain for obedience; we pay in law where we can and riders when we must. If you tear down the tile, the Road will not send knives. But know this: when fire comes, we will ride first where the sparrow still hangs. We are not Heaven. We cannot be everywhere. Choose with open eyes which door you want to knock on when trouble walks your road.
She paused, then added:
To those who keep the mark: hide extra food. Teach your children to remember faces. Write down every time a soldier uses the decree as excuse to take more. Send us those names. Zhang thinks he buys betrayal cheaply. Make it costly. Every granary he empties for 'reward' is one he cannot use for war.
Shuye's eyes lit. "We can bleed his stores with his own kindness," he said. "If half the west claims some old sparrow 'was always just decoration' to earn grain, he'll either go back on his promise or starve his own garrisons trying to keep it."
"And when he calls it fraud?" Feiyan asked.
"Then poor men learn he lies even with gifts," Ziyan said. "Good. A ruler whose mercy cheats leaves fewer hearts when he needs them."
Ren's brush scratched as he copied.
"We should send something sharper too," Wei muttered. "Something just for Zhang."
"Already in hand," Feiyan said. "Wang Yu's next packet will deliver it into his ink."
Ziyan glanced at her.
"A story," Feiyan said, mouth lazy. "About a hall that took his grain, burned its sparrow, and then found the Road City still answering when bandits came. True? Not yet. But it will be. We'll choose one place that bends and still help them enough that the tale spreads. Zhang hates nothing more than men thinking his enemies are more reliable than he is."
Han smiled, thin and cruel. "Make his reward a promise that others believe we keep better," he said. "That's… elegant."
Ren finished tying the first batch of scraps to pigeons.
"Where?" he repeated.
Ziyan tapped the decree's cheap paper.
"Wherever this is nailed," she said. "If a town is worth warning, it's worth arguing with. Haojin. Green Dike. Grain Ford. Reed Mouth. Any hamlet Ji Lu has marked in his lists with 'sparrow'."
Feiyan's brows arched. "You're assuming Ji Lu keeps such a list," she said.
"I'm assuming he keeps every list," Ziyan said. "And that some of those lists wobble when Wang Yu coughs near them."
Laughter, sharper this time.
In Bai'an, Ren Kanyu read Qi's decree and Ziyan's answer almost in the same hour, the birds crossing somewhere over the river without knowing they were racing.
He sat in his lamplit room, both scrolls unrolled side by side. On one, Zhang called the Road City bandits and promised grain for betrayal. On the other, a woman without throne or army drew a quiet line: where her riders would go first; how she would use Zhang's own bribes to sandpaper his name.
He dipped his brush.
To His Majesty, he wrote, Qi's Regent has issued a decree naming the "Road City" a bandit confederation and offering grain to halls that renounce their sparrow-mark. Response from the border is mixed. Some tear down tiles. Others nail them higher. Notably, the Road City's own answer does not threaten those who bend. It only says where they will spend their limited protection. This is… more honest than most edicts I receive from other courts.
He hesitated, then added:
So far, in the villages where their law has taken root, violence has decreased, taxes flow more predictably, and our scouts report fewer beaten peasants—and more complaints spoken out loud. Your servant suggests we continue to let Qi exhaust itself arguing with these people. While they quarrel over names, our border towns quietly grow more orderly.
He did not add that some part of him was starting to enjoy watching a law with no throne outthink men who sat on too many.