The city did not sleep so much as it paused.
Zhou Wei noticed it near midnight, when the shouting softened into bargaining murmurs and the laughter lost its edge. Lanterns guttered low. Doors closed halfway instead of fully. Somewhere beneath it all, a steady thrum of intent remained, like a pulse you could feel through stone if you stood still long enough.
He stood at the window and listened.
Mei Lin sat on the bed behind him, counting the coins Chen Yue had given them. Not carefully. Not greedily. Just enough to know what they had.
"It's more than we earned," she said.
"It's less than what she'll make," Zhou Wei replied.
She nodded, then let the coins spill back into the pouch. "I don't like owing people."
"Neither does she," Zhou Wei said. "That's why she pays."
A shout rose from the alley below. A man arguing with someone he could not see. A door slammed. Silence followed. The warmth inside Zhou Wei shifted slightly, responding to the city's rhythm without feeding on it.
That was new too.
"You're quieter," Mei Lin said.
Zhou Wei turned. "How."
"You're listening differently," she replied. "Not like you're waiting to react."
He considered that. "The sect taught me to anticipate punishment. The city teaches you to anticipate opportunity."
She smiled faintly. "That sounds worse."
"It is," Zhou Wei said. "If you don't choose."
They slept in turns again. Habit. Prudence. When Zhou Wei woke near dawn, Mei Lin was already dressed, braiding her hair with careful hands.
"You're early," he said.
"So are you," she replied.
They ate bread that tasted faintly of smoke and set out before the market fully stirred. The east quarter felt different at that hour. Stalls half-open. Merchants yawning behind counters. Runners delivering messages that mattered because they were early.
Chen Yue did not appear.
That, too, mattered.
Zhou Wei spent the morning working small jobs, letting the city watch him work without learning his shape. Carrying crates. Counting sacks. Fixing a broken latch. The kind of labor that built a reputation quietly.
Mei Lin moved separately.
She did not announce it. She simply drifted away when it was useful and returned when it wasn't. Zhou Wei felt the absence and let it be. Independence mattered now more than proximity.
Near midday, the warmth inside him stirred.
Not hunger.
Interest.
A thread brushed his awareness, clean and precise, like a blade drawn slowly from a sheath. Female. Controlled. Familiar.
Chen Yue.
Zhou Wei did not look around immediately. He finished tightening the latch, tested it once, then stood. Chen Yue leaned against a post across the street, expression neutral, eyes sharp.
"You adapt fast," she said when he approached.
"Fast is relative," Zhou Wei replied.
She gestured for him to walk. They moved side by side without drawing attention.
"The merchant is gone," Chen Yue said. "He ran last night. Left his partners to sort it out."
"Expected," Zhou Wei replied.
"And grateful," she added. "Which makes them pliable."
Zhou Wei waited.
"I have another job," Chen Yue said. "Different kind."
Mei Lin joined them without announcement, stepping in from a side alley. Chen Yue acknowledged her presence with a glance.
"This one isn't about ledgers," Chen Yue continued. "It's about appetite."
Mei Lin's posture tightened. "Whose."
"A matron," Chen Yue said. "Owns half the pleasure houses along the river. Buys loyalty with protection and coin. Loses interest quickly."
Zhou Wei felt the warmth inside him respond, testing the edges of the word. Appetite here was layered. Desire tangled with control and fear and habit.
"What's the problem," Zhou Wei asked.
"She's expanding too fast," Chen Yue replied. "And someone is feeding her lies. I need to know who, and what she actually wants."
Mei Lin spoke carefully. "And what do you want from us."
Chen Yue smiled. "Observation. Presence. You don't confront. You don't seduce. You don't promise anything."
She paused, letting that settle.
"You listen," she finished. "And you leave when it's time."
Zhou Wei nodded. "Where."
Chen Yue pointed toward the river quarter. "Tonight."
The river district came alive after sunset.
Lanterns lined the water, reflections breaking into gold and red shards with every ripple. Music drifted from open doors. Perfume mixed with smoke and wet wood. People moved with purpose here, each step an invitation or a refusal.
Zhou Wei felt the density immediately.
Desire did not hide here. It advertised itself.
He kept his awareness narrow, tasting without drinking. Mei Lin walked beside him, gaze steady, shoulders relaxed. She did not shrink. She did not overcorrect. She belonged in motion.
They stopped outside a broad house with carved doors and a sign etched in lacquered script. Inside, laughter rolled thick and practiced.
"This is her center," Chen Yue murmured. "Go in separately. Meet inside. Don't rush."
They did.
Zhou Wei entered through the main door, posture loose, eyes curious but not hungry. The interior was warm and dim, bodies arranged artfully in space that invited lingering. He took a seat near the wall and ordered tea he did not intend to drink.
Mei Lin arrived minutes later, guided to a different table by a woman with tired eyes and practiced hands. She did not look toward Zhou Wei. He felt her presence anyway, steady and alert.
The matron arrived without announcement.
She was older than Zhou Wei expected. Not worn. Solid. Rings heavy on her fingers. Her gaze swept the room like a net, catching reactions and letting them go.
When her eyes passed over Zhou Wei, they paused.
Not long.
Long enough.
Interest brushed his awareness, thick and layered. Not desire for him. Not yet. Curiosity sharpened by habit. Power assessing whether something was edible.
She turned away.
Zhou Wei let the moment pass.
He listened.
Snippets of conversation. Prices negotiated. Favors implied. Discontent whispered. The matron moved through it all, touching shoulders, murmuring reassurances, collecting more than coin.
The warmth inside Zhou Wei responded subtly, mapping patterns. Who leaned in. Who flinched. Who watched the matron instead of the performers.
Mei Lin shifted seats once. The matron noticed.
That was the second test.
She approached Mei Lin's table and sat without asking, smiling with practiced warmth.
"You're new," the matron said.
Mei Lin met her gaze calmly. "Yes."
"And quiet."
"Only when listening," Mei Lin replied.
The matron laughed softly. "Good habit."
Zhou Wei felt the exchange like a held breath. Not danger. Assessment.
"I like women who know what they want," the matron said.
Mei Lin did not answer immediately. "Most people do," she said. "They just don't like admitting it."
The matron's interest sharpened.
Zhou Wei felt the warmth inside him pull, testing alignment. He did not let it move.
The matron stood. "Stay," she said to Mei Lin. "I'll send wine."
She moved on.
Zhou Wei exhaled slowly.
That was the appetite Chen Yue wanted mapped. Not lust. Control masked as indulgence.
They left separately again, slipping into the night before the wine arrived.
Chen Yue waited across the street, expression unreadable.
"Well," she asked.
"She's being fed lies," Zhou Wei said. "By someone close. Someone who wants her to overextend."
"And her appetite," Chen Yue pressed.
Mei Lin answered. "She wants to be indispensable. Loved for protection. Feared for withdrawal."
Chen Yue nodded slowly. "That's enough."
She handed them another pouch. Heavier than the last.
"You did well," she said. "And you didn't bite."
Zhou Wei met her gaze. "We don't feed without consent."
Chen Yue smiled. "Good. The city eats people who forget that."
As they walked back toward the bathhouse, Zhou Wei felt the warmth inside him settle again, more precise than before. Appetite was everywhere here.
Not all of it was meant for him.
Not yet.
The city watched them go, patient and hungry, already deciding what price it would ask next.