The Eastern Capital glistened in daylight like lacquered gold—but Ziyan knew better. The true city lived in its alleyways, beneath its markets, behind the velvet curtains of "respectable" houses.
For two days, she and Shuye wandered, seeking money, bargaining with old contacts, offering favors.
They got nothing.
One merchant laughed in her face. "Eight hundred taels? For a whore's name scratched on a contract? Try again when she's a minister."
Another demanded something worse—information about Feiyan's torture, offering silver in exchange for the names of the guards.
Ziyan left before she did something she'd regret.
By nightfall, Shuye was limping, and her voice was raw. Even the Black Market brokers, who trafficked in blood and bones, told them there was nothing to be gained.
"This city is rot," Shuye muttered, slumping beside her beneath a broken lantern post. "It's all rot. How did Lianhua survive here?"
"She didn't," Ziyan replied. "She adapted."
It was on the third day that Ziyan changed tactics.
She took out a worn letter—a favor owed by a silk trader who once used her father's name to win a seat in the trade guild.
She visited him in person.
"Lady Ziyan," the man said nervously, "I didn't expect—"
"You owe me," she cut in. "And I'm collecting."
"W-what do you need?"
"Leverage. On the Madame of the Lotus Pavilion."
His eyes widened. "That woman? She's more dangerous than Li Jun's cousins. She has a ledger of her own—names, debts, court secrets…"
"Then help me ruin her," Ziyan said. "Or I ruin you."
They struck fast.
A rumor planted at the southern couriers' guild claimed that the Madame had sent false tributes to the Ministry of Rites. A fake shipment was arranged—overpriced silk, poor dye, bad stitching—all under her seal.
The Ministry caught it within hours.
By sunset, the Madame had been summoned for questioning.
Ziyan and Shuye watched from the second story of a bathhouse as the Pavilion's guards scrambled.
"She'll be desperate now," Shuye whispered. "She'll sell off contracts to cover the fine."
"Exactly."
They approached the Madame at dusk, cloaked in civility.
The Madame was everything Ziyan expected—painted lips, robes of gold-trimmed crimson, and a smile like dried blood.
"You," the Madame said, raising a lacquered brow. "The little bird who flies too close to fire."
"I'm here for Lianhua," Ziyan replied.
"Ah. The quiet one. Graceful fingers. Keeps too many secrets." She tapped her cheek with one painted nail. "Eight hundred taels."
"She's not worth that anymore," Ziyan said. "Not after your little tribute mistake."
The Madame's eyes narrowed. "You presume to threaten me?"
"No," Ziyan said coolly. "I'm offering you a way out."
A long pause.
Then the Madame hissed through her teeth. "Six hundred."
Ziyan didn't blink. "Three hundred. You'll need the rest to bribe your way back into the Minister's good graces."
The Madame stared at her for a long time—calculating, seething.
Finally: "Four hundred. Final offer."
Ziyan dropped the pouch of silver and promissory notes on the table.
"Pleasure doing business," she said, her voice like glass.
They returned to the Pavilion under moonlight.
The doorman said nothing. He simply bowed them in with stiff formality. Inside, the atmosphere had changed. The servants watched Ziyan like they were afraid to meet her eyes.
Lianhua was waiting in her chamber, kneeling beside an incense burner. She did not look surprised.
Ziyan placed the contract in front of her.
"Done," she said. "You're free."
Lianhua said nothing. Her fingers reached out and traced the seal. She folded it once and placed it beside her with quiet reverence.
Then: "Why?"
"You helped us," Shuye said.
"That was a transaction."
"So is this," Ziyan said. "But it doesn't have to be the last one."
The room was quiet.
Then Ziyan stepped closer.
The Phoenix mark on her palm burned—not painfully, but bright and sudden. It pulsed as she looked at Lianhua—not her face, but her presence.
And Ziyan saw it.
Not just skill.
Precision. Calculation. Ruthlessness shaped by survival. A mind like silk-wrapped steel.
Potential.
"I want you to join us," Ziyan said softly.
Lianhua's eyes flicked up. "Now?"
"No. When you're ready."
Ziyan turned.
But the Phoenix mark continued to glow.
And Lianhua said nothing as they left—only watching, as if weighing the weight of her freedom against the war that was coming.