They ate quickly when the tray arrived—plain congee, slivered ginger, two slices of crisp pear, a side of almonds Deming insisted on salting himself because he didn't trust the kitchen's understanding of restraint.
Mingyu passed by the open screen at exactly the moment a minor official entered the courtyard, timing a conversation about irrigation to the second; Longzi's silhouette ghosted at the far colonnade, and Yaozu's shadow forgot to exist.
"Now," Xinying decided, wiping her thumb clean with the fold of her sleeve. "The shrine."
They didn't take the main path. There were too many eyes dressed as lanterns.
Yizhen broke left through an arch that had forgotten its name and followed a white-washed passage that walked you along the back of incense halls where temple boys learn to count bells without counting coin.
The River Shrine rose from the water's edge like something that had remembered its own reflection for a thousand years and didn't trust it.
