He sipped his tea slowly, like a man who had all the time in the world and knew it.
I remained kneeling. I kept my head low. But not too low. He was the kind of man who noticed how long someone's eyes stayed on the floor.
"I've heard," Prince Zhen said lightly, "that in your district, winters rot the fingers if the gloves are dyed poorly. Something about the ink binding to blood."
I didn't respond.
He wasn't asking about weather.
He was asking about origin. Background. Whether I was really from where I claimed.
He continued, as if making idle conversation.
"And in those same provinces… there was a small scandal some years ago. A child poisoned a village official. No one could prove how. No records, either."
He glanced at me then sharp, but not unkind.
"I've always wondered if it was real. Or if the poison was simply never found."
The heat behind my ears flared.
I hadn't told anyone about that story. I barely remembered it myself.
He was circling now.
And I realized he hadn't summoned me here to accuse.
He summoned me to see how I danced around the truth.
"I didn't think you'd answer," he said after a pause, folding the scroll on his lap. "That's good."
He stood.
I remained still.
"You don't give away answers easily. That makes you more useful than you know."
He walked to the threshold, paused, and added
"There's a physician's ledger missing from the north archives. If you come across it, bring it to me."
A test.
Or a command.
But either way… he'd just spoken to me like I was already his shadow.