The six of them left the shrine the way they came in—without noise, without fan fair, and without blood being spilt.
Yaozu took the first turn and vanished into the alley that watched the rear.
Mingyu and Deming fell into a low exchange that sounded like inventory: gates, posts, which captains could be trusted not to show off.
Yizhen didn't hurry. He moved with that lazy precision that let a man look harmless until the last step mattered.
But Longzi…Longzi counted doors.
He didn't count for poetry. He counted because walls lie and he wanted to force them to tell the truth.
Two side gates, one jammed. Three windows, one bar rotten.
A monk sweeping where a runner should stand.
A fishmonger pretending not to watch their hands.
He logged it all and filed it where he kept distances and names.
Xinying didn't look back to see who trailed her. She already knew.
