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Morning arrived as if it had been waiting at the threshold all night.
It crossed the counter in a pale line of light, pausing to rest on the old pot.
The bell gave a single low note when Lin Xun opened the door.
The room breathed once, slow and clean.
Shy Lin rinsed the jar and left it to dry.
Sparrow Chen stood at the window, cloth in hand, polishing until the street outside felt near enough to touch.
Lin Xun warmed the pot with his palm.
The clay seemed to recall him.
He set the pavilion cloth on the counter, and the boards beneath shifted with a faint sigh, like wood that knows its purpose.
Word of the first night had travelled faster than the river's own current.
Dockhands entered with eyes gentler than the day before, standing straighter after their cups.
A clerk from the water office stepped in with a neat list and an equally neat smile.
She placed the paper on the counter, bowed to the room, and only then bowed to the man.
"Second night is the quay," she said. "Third night the quay again. The fourth night is yours. The fifth will be decided when we see how the river moves."
"The river behaves," Sparrow Chen said quietly. "It's people who must learn to keep pace."
Something in that made her smile for real.
She left a copper on the tray, not for payment but because she had decided to stay.
Lin Xun poured Bright Lotus with a breath of Dawn Mist.
Her shoulders eased before the second sip.
Jiao of the upper quay entered as the sun edged toward noon.
He carried the weary air of a man content to be so.
A small coil of rope lay in his hands... the kind of gift a river man understands.
"For the hook behind your door," he said. "It won't fail when someone in a hurry needs it."
Shy Lin fixed it to the wall, gave it a testing tug.
It held firm, like a friend steadying your arm in a crowded place.
Jiao's grin was brief but sure.
"Last night a boy tried lighting a cone in the corner by the rice sacks," he said, eyes amused.
"A gull dropped it in the water before it burned. Never landed. Just let it fall from its beak."
Sparrow Chen's laugh was quiet. "The garden spies for us now."
"No garden there," Jiao replied. "Only river. Your friends are under it."
Two coins left on the counter, and he was gone before they could be returned.
A woman followed... ink on her fingers, sleep missing from her face.
Her hairpins had given up hours before she had.
She handed over a folded sheet, covered in restless maps and lines.
"My mind runs," she said without apology. "Faster at night. Morning comes and it's still running. I heard you have a leaf that helps thoughts land."
Lin Xun's eyes moved to the box holding the river frost.
He left it untouched.
Instead, he drew Bright Lotus and bamboo, cooled the water, and poured in a line softer than one would use for noon's noise.
"First this," he said. "The frost waits for a time when soft steps are not enough."
She drank, blinking as though a curtain had been pulled without disturbing the birds outside her window.
The map lay untouched on the counter.
"I'll return at night," she said. "If my thoughts remember how to run."
"Bring them," Shy Lin told her, voice gentle. "We know the bench."
A man in silk passed outside.
The faint trace of sandalwood drifted in with him... or perhaps it was carried by his glance through the doorway.
He touched the frame, withdrew his hand, and moved on.
Shen Lan arrived near midday, slipping in like a blade that had learned restraint.
Her sword rested in its usual corner.
Her chosen seat greeted her weight as if it remembered.
"You look rested," Lin Xun said.
"I slept," she replied. "It felt unfamiliar."
He brewed Moonflower Oolong for her, ribboned with River Thread.
Her eyes moved to the new rope on the wall.
"Men you unsettled have been watching from the far corners," she said. "They were surprised the corners didn't answer."
"Corners are busy," Sparrow Chen murmured. "They hold buildings up."
She let the thought live in her gaze before leaning closer.
"Master Qian met silk this morning. If they can't take coin at the bend, they'll try to pour noise into quiet. Not on your night... tonight, on the quay. You should be there."
Shy Lin frowned. "That's another's watch."
Shen Lan's tone held the weight of the river. "If the river asks, the rules will follow."
A small cup was poured for the house and set between kettle and door.
Lin Xun met Shen Lan's eyes and understood she would be there regardless.
"Evening at the bend," he said. "We'll bring the cloth."
She rose without a sound. "I'll walk the roofs. Fewer corners that think themselves important."
When she left, her shadow went with her.
The door remained untroubled.
Afternoon brought a storm of noise.
A tea seller planted himself across the lane, cups clattering, jars painted bright with promises brighter still.
Sparrow Chen looked out. "We could shout too."
"We could open the window," Shy Lin said.
Lin Xun opened it.
He placed the old pot on the sill, quiet scale on its lid for a single breath, then Bright Lotus and River Thread inside.
Steam crossed the street, slipping above jars without touching them.
One by one, heads turned.
Some came in, leaving their noise outside.
Others left lighter than they had arrived.
The seller grew tired of his own voice and moved on.
When day's gold touched the willow switch in the vase, preparations began.
The bend was reached with Wen waiting, Jiao's rope over his shoulder, the guild clerk already marking "second night" in his book.
Shen Lan was not seen. Which meant she was present.
The cloth was set.
Water was drawn.
Calm Pour.
The ribbon found the willow's shade.
The evening passed almost like the one before, until a small boat slid from warehouse shadow.
Three men sat low, faces unreadable.
"Special posting," the middle one said. "Night tax to pay for the cost of no tax."
"No tax," Wen answered. "Not tonight. Not here. Not while the river works for all."
The quiet scale touched the pot.
Two cups were poured... one for the rail, one for the low post near the water.
Steam found them.
They breathed.
The middle man blinked as if seeing his hands for the first time in years.
"Another night," he murmured.
"No nights," Wen replied. "Go home."
They pushed away.
Shen Lan crossed the warehouse roof, eyes on the stars.
The clerk approached. "What leaf?"
"Bright Lotus," Lin Xun said. "And a quiet one."
The clerk wrote nothing of the names. Only that the bend was not loud.
They kept watch until the lamps dimmed.
Before dawn, a letter arrived... reed-marked, water-mapped.
Stacks by the warehouse. Third night.
Wen nodded. "We'll be there. If they ask for a toll in the dark, the dark won't answer."
Dawn walked along the river's skin.
At the shop, they let the old pot tell the room where it had been.
The woman with ink-stained fingers returned for the frost.
Three pale threads floated, then sank without a ripple.
The brew that followed was clear without sharpness, a window opening to a far view.
She drank.
Her voice was softer. "I'll sleep. And not be ashamed."
"Come tonight if your thoughts run again," Shy Lin said. "We'll put a stone in their pockets."
The day turned another page.
The willow in the vase let a single leaf fall, a boat finding harbour.
Third night waited in the stacks.
The rope, the cloth, the scale... all ready.
Noise would come.
They would listen first, and pour where needed.
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