Dawn mist clung to Willow Bridge Town, softening the clatter of hooves and cries of vendors. At the edge of the market, a cluster of beggars warmed themselves by a dying fire, bowls outstretched for alms. Most passersby ignored them.
Yun Liang, robes freshly laundered and sleeves folded with scholarly neatness, approached carrying a bamboo basket of steamed buns. He handed them out with an easy smile, offering each beggar a word of courtesy as though they were officials.
"Brother, may your day be free of hunger.""Sister, the sun is kind today—may it warm your bones."
The beggars stared. Few had ever been addressed with such respect.
One of them, the same ragged man who had whispered to Yun Liang after the poetry gathering, leaned closer. His eyes were sharp beneath his grime.
"You are generous, Gentleman Yun," he rasped. "But generosity alone does not interest the Beggar Sect. Words, however…" He tapped his ear. "…words carry weight."
Yun Liang's smile deepened. "Then let us share words over wine."
That evening, they met in a dilapidated shrine. The ragged beggar introduced himself as Old Crane, once a minor elder of the Beggar Sect. He poured rice wine into chipped cups, his hands steady despite the rags.
"The Beggar Sect has many branches," Old Crane said. "The Elder Staff values honor. The Elder Dog-Beating prefers profit. They quarrel like crows over scraps."
Yun Liang sipped, listening. "And where does a man of sharp ears like yourself belong?"
Old Crane's grin revealed broken teeth. "Wherever the wind carries whispers."
Yun Liang leaned forward, voice gentle. "Then let the wind carry mine: the Azure Cloud Sect grows fat on trade and pride. Their enemies multiply. Their friends grow restless. A careful word here, a rumor there—soon, they will fight among themselves."
Old Crane's eyes gleamed. "You speak as though the jianghu is a chessboard."
"Is it not?" Yun Liang replied with a soft laugh. "The only question is whether one plays as the piece, or the hand that moves them."
The beggar elder studied him a long moment, then raised his cup. "Very well. I will carry your whispers, Gentleman Yun. But remember—the Beggar Sect does not forget who feeds it, nor who starves it."
They drank, sealing the first strand of alliance.
Later, as Yun Liang walked back through the sleeping town, he heard the shuffle of small feet. A boy of no more than ten—barefoot, dirt-smudged, carrying a wooden bowl—ran up and tugged his sleeve.
"Scholar, Scholar! Old Crane says I should tell you—someone asked today about the Yun family. A woman, pale, with eyes sharp as a knife. She wanted to know if a boy survived."
Yun Liang froze. His breath caught. But his face smoothed in an instant, and he knelt, pressing a coin into the boy's hand.
"Thank you, little brother. Should you see her again, remember her face well. And keep it secret."
The boy nodded eagerly and scampered away.
Alone beneath the moonlight, Yun Liang's expression darkened."A woman searching for Yun blood… could it be…?"
The willow branches swayed. He closed his eyes, hearing again the cries of his family long ago.
"Mother," he whispered. "If you live, in what shadows do you walk?"
The river gave no answer. Only the night wind carried his words away, as if to mock him.