Early that morning, Gavin Shea first made his way to Fried Rice Alley. William Chen, following his usual routine, arrived at the Ministry of Civil Affairs but found no sign of Gavin. He had already reviewed a dozen official performance dossiers when Gavin finally strode in.
At the doorway, Simon Wen motioned discreetly for William Chen to come over. William, after summarizing his findings to Gavin and offering a casual excuse, stepped outside.
Simon led him a few paces away, nodded toward the room, and lowered his voice. "He went to Fried Rice Alley earlier—put on quite the display. Half the street was sealed off."
William's brows lifted slightly. "I see."
Inside, Gavin sat at the head of the room, wholly absorbed in the stack of records before him. William waited until he finished reading before speaking with a faint smile. "Zhihe mentioned you stopped by Fried Rice Alley this morning?"
Gavin gave a curt nod without lifting his eyes.
"I quite agreed with what Prince Heir said the other day—'Let the matters of the underworld stay within the underworld.'" William's tone was tactful, though his meaning was clear.
"I merely went to take a look." Gavin closed the dossier in his hands. "She stayed in Castleton with the idea that she could rely on the shade of my tree. I only raised the banner for her once, that's all."
He paused briefly, then lowered his gaze. "Three days in a row—each attack growing in number: two, then three, then four. She's still a stranger in Castleton. She needs a moment to breathe."
"She used to be in that line of work as well? This is an old grudge?" William murmured, frowning.
"She told me she drifted downriver to Riverford City, unconscious, not even remembering her own name. To this day, she recalls nothing." Gavin met William's eyes.
"You believe her?" William asked.
"I do." Gavin's voice was firm. "She thinks these assassins are tied to her past, though she can't remember why. She said she would look into it herself and didn't need help.
Also, have the workshop forge a hundred small bolts for her. Choose someone reliable to oversee it—make haste—and once they're done, have Ruby deliver them."
"I'll send Baicheng to handle it." William nodded and went out to give the order.
––––––––––
Lena Sanders and her two companions, Harris Ma and Jack Golden, moved quickly this time—searching street by street, teahouse by teahouse, starting from their own quarter of the city. Guided by some faint, unspoken intuition, Lena swept through each establishment with brisk efficiency.
By midday, she stopped before a large teahouse on East Rooster Alley, her eyes narrowing slightly.
It was a grand, five-bay building with two stories, elegant and bustling, its signboard bearing four bold characters: Shanzi Teahouse.
"Let's go in and take a look," Lena said, stepping through the doorway.
The front hall was spacious, lined with scattered tables on both sides, nearly all occupied. Beyond it stretched a verdant courtyard shaded by trees, surrounded by rooms on both levels—each private chamber's windows either open or half-shuttered. Business, clearly, was thriving.
Jack Golden followed behind, quietly observing. Harris Ma, meanwhile, drifted toward the tea racks, hands clasped behind his back, sniffing each of the many cakes of tea with great seriousness.
"Boss!" he suddenly called out.
Lena crossed the floor in a few strides.
Harris Ma had taken a small, thumb-sized tea cake from a silver tray set high on a shelf. After another deep sniff, he handed it to her. "This is the one."
Lena inhaled lightly, then passed it to Jack Golden. He took several exaggerated sniffs but caught nothing distinctive. Still, if Harris said it was the same, that was enough. When it came to scent, no human nose could rival his—save, perhaps, a hound's.
Lena glanced around, looking for a place to sit.
The tea master, who had been following them since they entered but hadn't managed to speak, hurried forward with a polite smile. "Honored guests, we have private rooms upstairs."
"No need," Lena replied, pointing to a table by the front hall. "That spot will do."
"As you wish." The tea master led them over. "What tea might you prefer? We also offer several famous pastries—lotus root crisps, chestnut cakes, and fluted butter rolls, all well regarded."
"Bring us one of each. As for tea…" Lena extended her hand toward Jack Golden.
He quickly produced the two bloodstained tea cakes and the small talisman.
Lena placed them before the tea master. "Take these to your master—or your manager—and tell him we want this tea."
The man caught a whiff of the faint metallic tang clinging to the tea cakes, his face paling slightly. "At once, honored guests. Please wait."
He returned swiftly, bearing the tea cakes and talisman on a small silver tray, smiling a little too brightly. "My lords, our shopkeeper says he's never seen this kind of tea before. All the teas we have are displayed right there." He gestured toward the very shelves Harris had inspected earlier.
"I see." Lena's tone was lazy, indifferent. "Then brew us whatever you think best."
"Our Dongyuan Autumn Tea is most popular of late," the man suggested eagerly. "Shall I prepare a pot of that for you?"
"Fine," Lena said with cheerful ease.
When the tea and pastries were served, Harris leaned close, lowering his voice. "Boss, they're denying it. Should we just storm in and grab the manager?"
"Drink your tea." Lena raised her cup calmly.
"Huh?" Harris blinked.
"Boss told you to drink," Jack Golden muttered, pressing a hand to his head and shoving him back into his seat.
"And after we finish?" Harris whispered again.
"We order another pot," Lena said, taking a slow sip, eyes half-closed in thought.
"What?" Harris looked baffled.
"Why ask so much? Even if the boss explained, you wouldn't understand. Just drink," Jack shot back, swatting him again.
"You think I'm as ignorant as you? I'm a man of learning and refinement—unlike you, who can barely write your name!" Harris retorted hotly.
"Ha! You, learned? Books would run from you if they could!" Jack snapped.
Their bickering echoed lightly across the hall. Lena listened, unbothered, sipping her tea with quiet amusement.
By suppertime, she summoned a street drudge to fetch three bowls of seafood noodles and a few side dishes from the nearby food stall. The three of them ate leisurely, then ordered another pot of tea and continued their silent vigil.
Only when the vast teahouse had emptied, and a line of weary tea boys stood waiting to close up, did Lena finally rise, stretching languidly.
Without a word, the trio left Shanzi Teahouse and made their way back through the dimming streets.
That night, they returned safely to Fried Rice Alley.