That night, Qiu Yang lay in bed thinking over Uncle Zheng's words.

She turned them over again and again. After several passes, she realized something: deep down, she was not surprised.

It felt strange. She knew she ought to be moved, shocked, or lost. Instead, she was calm.

That did not seem right.

By the time Qiu Yang rose the next morning, Zhao Jian'an had already gone out. She warmed a bowl of congee on the stove and drank it. Rather than beginning her chores at once, she went to the rear courtyard, drew out her staff, and practiced for a quarter hour. Only after her hands were warm did she put it away and start sweeping and wiping the tables.

Zhao Jian'an came home earlier than usual that day, before darkness had fully fallen. He sat on the stone bench as soon as he entered, and Qiu Yang brought him tea.

“For now, don't tell anyone about the matter involving Li,” he said.

“I know.”

“When you go out alone, don't go far. Stay within the streets around Sweetwater Alley.”

“Mm.”

“And keep the sound down when you practice with the staff.”

Qiu Yang glanced at him. “I'll remember.”

Zhao Jian'an nodded and drank. “Good.”

When he returned today, Qiu Yang had noticed dust from his cuff smeared across the back of his hand. He normally never let his clothes gather dust. He must have been hurrying, brushing against a wall or something else, without even having time to care.

She looked away from his sleeve. “Uncle Zhao, look at your cuff. You didn't need to hurry so much.”

His hand paused around the tea bowl. He looked down. “I know.”

For the next several days, Zhao Jian'an spent more time at home. He neither practiced with his staff nor studied maps, but sat in the courtyard leafing through old books. As Qiu Yang worked, she heard pages turning at steady intervals.

Several days later, she met a peddler selling needles and thread at the alley mouth. She crouched, selected two needles, and paid.

“Young lady,” the peddler remarked casually, “strangers have been coming and going around your alley lately.”

“What kind of strangers?”

“Gray clothes. Short. Not much flesh on his face. He circled the alley entrance twice a couple days ago, then left without doing anything.” The peddler shouldered his load and walked away.

Qiu Yang closed the two needles in her palm. Back at the Zhao residence, she bolted the gate, then went to wash vegetables and cook.

When Zhao Jian'an returned, she was standing at the stove. The first thing he did after entering was look back at the gate. Seeing the bolt in place, he stopped.

“You bolted it?”

“Mm.” She carried the dishes to the table. “Someone told me a stranger has been loitering at the alley entrance.”

She set out the bowls and chopsticks, then returned to the kitchen.

Zhao Jian'an sat, ate several mouthfuls, swallowed, and called toward the rear. “Someone at the government office asked about you today.”

Qiu Yang had just sat down. Her chopsticks stopped in midair. “Someone from the office? What did they ask?”

“Whether a young woman was living at the Zhao residence. I said yes—my distant niece, here in the capital to recover from an illness.”

“Did they believe you?”

“It looked as though they did, for now.” He picked up some food. “But only for now.”

Qiu Yang stared into her rice. After several bites, she put down her chopsticks.

“Uncle Zhao... what can I do?”

He looked up. Her gaze immediately dropped to the table, her voice barely audible.

“I can't stop people suspecting me. But I don't want to sit here and wait while they place Qiu Chengye's crimes on my head.”

Zhao Jian'an was silent for a long time. Then he set down his bowl and looked at her.

“First learn all your characters. Memorize the map and the address in Pingyuan Town. If you don't know how to walk, don't think about running.”

Qiu Yang nodded.

That night, she practiced a quarter hour longer. She repeated every movement Zhao Jian'an had taught her twice. During the second round, even when she tired, her body kept moving as if it had learned on its own.

When she put away the staff, the study lamp was still burning. Zhao Jian'an's motionless silhouette showed through the paper window.

Qiu Yang leaned against a veranda pillar, watched that pool of light until her breathing settled, then returned to her room.

The next day, as she gathered clothes in the courtyard, the neighboring auntie's voice floated over the wall.

“Girl, has Lord Zhao hardly gone out these past few days?”

Qiu Yang folded the clothes. “Mm. He's on leave.”

“Oh. I thought something had happened. He was so busy before, leaving early and coming home late every day.”

Qiu Yang said nothing and carried the clothes inside.

Zhao Jian'an truly had been returning late some time ago. She had assumed he was busy, yet his work had abruptly disappeared.

It felt strange. But she did not pursue the thought. She put away the clothes and resumed sweeping.

At the courtyard gate, she crouched and carefully brushed dust away from the threshold. The earth along its edge was loose. Someone had stepped there recently and left before she came outside, leaving only faint traces.

She looked toward the entrance, rose, and returned the broom to the corner.

At dinner that night, Qiu Yang did not mention it. She served the dishes, sat, took a bite, chewed, then asked, “Uncle Zhao, is Li's letter still in the old archives Uncle Zheng mentioned?”

Zhao Jian'an put down his chopsticks. “Yes. In the old Far North records, sealed in the Ministry of Justice storehouse.”

“How can we get it?”

“Why are you suddenly thinking about that?”

Qiu Yang swallowed. “Li is investigating you. He won't have only one piece of evidence. If he reaches the old files and removes the page in his handwriting, we'll have nothing.”

Zhao Jian'an's fingers stilled at the table's edge. He set down his chopsticks and leaned back.

“You have a point.”

Qiu Yang did not continue. She rose to clear the bowls while Zhao Jian'an remained seated, lost in thought.

Water rushed in the kitchen, then stopped. After drying and putting away the dishes, Qiu Yang returned. Zhao Jian'an was still there. She sat opposite him.

He finally spoke. “It takes two people to obtain the key to the Ministry storehouse.”

“Which two?”

“A storehouse clerk and a Ministry supervisor. Li no longer works there, but the man who tried the case with him still does. He works in the storehouse.”

Qiu Yang remained still. “Can he get the key?”

Zhao Jian'an did not answer. His fingers slowly curled on the table, then relaxed.

“Go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow.” He rose and entered the study. Before the door closed, Qiu Yang heard him mutter something too low to make out.

She watched the door shut. The lamp burned for a while, then went dark.

Quiet returned to the courtyard. Qiu Yang poured his unfinished tea into the flower bed, washed the bowl, and went to her room after the moon had risen.

She sat on the edge of her bed without lying down or extinguishing the lamp. By its light, she studied once more the sheet of place names Zhao Jian'an had written. Only after a long time did she blow out the flame and lie down.