The jade seal sat on the table between them, a cold, polished symbol of the life Guo Fucheng—Guo Rong—had lost. It was the only tangible thing left of his noble past, and it was threatening to destroy their quiet, precious future.
Li Wei didn't touch it. Her mind, reeling from the shock, now snapped into the meticulous, almost ruthless focus of a scholar facing an impossible text. "Show me the recipe again, Rong.
He unrolled the scroll for the preserved fruit wines, his hand trembling slightly. Li Wei pointed to the section detailing the grinding of the plums, her voice low and steady. "The instruction calls for the dried fruit to be reduced to a powder of 'fine snow, with zero particulate resistance.' Only a scholar, or a true Imperial Steward, would know that this specific level of fineness is impossible with a porous granite mortar. It requires a rare, high-quality stone, or in this case, a coded instruction."
"And how do we encode it?" Rong asked, running a hand across his forehead. His farmer's certainty was gone, replaced by the grim knowledge of a hunted man.
Li Wei picked up a brush, dipping it in ink. "The Grand Councillor's spies will look for an overt treasonous message. We will give them a culinary one. We won't change the ingredient. We will change the measurement. The original Imperial recipe requires three cups of water for every one cup of plums. We will adjust the water to three cups and three-tenths.
Rong frowned. "But that makes the wine recipe flawed. The extra fraction will lead to fermentation failure.
"Exactly," Li Wei said, her eyes gleaming with fierce logic. "That flaw is the key. The number 3.3 is irrelevant to the wine. But to a man with your family's ledgers, 3.3 is the coded location of the sealed vault deep beneath the capital, where your ancestors stored the documents that prove the Grand Councillor's true treachery. It will be seen as an attempt to restore a 'flawed' technique, but the Grand Councillor will know it as a direct threat."
She dipped the brush again. "To everyone else, it's a quirky instruction from an eccentric scholar trying to 'restore' an old recipe. To the Grand Councillor, it's a declaration: We know where you hid it."
The Vow of Silk and Cedar
They worked side-by-side through the night, Li Wei refining the subtle treachery in the prose, and Rong using his carpenter's tools with frantic, silent energy. Every word of the Farmer's Almanac of Flavor was now a ticking clock.
"Stop, Xiu'er," Rong finally said, his voice ragged. He seized her wrist, forcing her to look up. "The political danger is absolute. If they find me, they execute me. But if they find you a scholar wife aiding a fugitive they will use you to find me. This is not your fight."
His eyes, usually warm and steady like a hearth fire, were now dark with fear. It was a fear not of death, but of losing her. "I should have left the seal buried. I should have kept my identity hidden forever. You could have been safe."
Li Wei gently pulled her hand free and placed it on his cheek. "My husband is not merely the man who plants seeds, Rong. He is the man who holds the highest trust in the Empire. My love is not conditional on your simplicity. It is unconditional on your truth. If this book is the only way to save the man I love, then every page is a battlefield, and I will not run."
She took the heavy jade seal and the thick roll of the finished manuscript. Rong watched as she walked to the lacquered cedar box he had so painstakingly crafted. It was a perfect container, heavy and fragrant.
"This box," Li Wei murmured, tracing the fine grain. "It was meant for the book. Now, it must hide the truth."
Rong walked to the box, his decision made. He took the seal and, with a precision born of necessity, removed the false bottom he had installed for decoration. He placed the heavy, carved jade seal into the hidden cavity, covering it with a layer of silk before sealing the wood shut.
"It stays here," he said. "Hidden in plain sight, deep inside the symbol of our defiance. When we are safe, we will break the box and reclaim my name."
Li Wei wrapped the finished Almanac of Flavor in a layer of thick linen, securing it with a length of silk. It was a beautiful, dangerous package.
The Departure
Just as the sun began to cast long, gold shadows across the fields the hour the farm traditionally woke up a lone horseman arrived. It was the trusted courier, hired days earlier to take the manuscript to the capital's central publishing house. He saw the farmer and his wife standing together by the stone annex, their faces pale in the dawn light.
Li Wei stepped forward, holding the heavy parcel. She handed it to the courier, her fingers lingering a moment too long on the linen, as if imbuing it with a final, silent prayer.
"Deliver this to the publisher in the Central District," she instructed, her voice steady. "Do not delay. Do not speak of its contents. Just ensure it reaches its destination."
The courier nodded, tucked the manuscript securely into his saddlebag, and wheeled his horse around.
They watched in silence as the rider grew smaller, disappearing down the dusty path that led toward the great, distant city.
Rong placed his hands on Li Wei's shoulders, turning her to face the cold, unyielding stone of the annex. The shelter he had built for her was now a cage, and the quiet farm was no longer a sanctuary, but a prepared fortress. They had sent their weapon their truth into the heart of the enemy. Now, they waited for the war to return to them.
The silence of the farm had never sounded so loud, so empty, or so temporary.