Tenth day on the northern road
Rain turned the highway to porridge.
Wheels sank to the axles; horses strained until veins stood like whipcords.
Lan Yue rode point with Shen, scouting firmer ground along ditches thick with last year's reeds.
Behind them the column stretched—twenty supply wagons, two hundred guards, one disguised prince, and a chest of silver to buy grain that might not exist.
Evening – Abandoned Post-house
They camped inside a roofless relay station.
Moss-covered beams leaned like drunk sentries.
While fires sputtered, Shen spread maps across a stone table, weighing corners with daggers.
Yue studied the ink: granary symbols circled in red, each annotated with last autumn's inventory—full bins, healthy surplus.
She remembered Shen's warning—ink tastes different than mouldy rice.
They would reach the first depot by noon tomorrow; the truth would breathe.
Night – Scout Circle
Yuan volunteered third watch, walked perimeter with a lantern hooded in blue glass.
Yue found him near the broken well, boots caked.
He spoke low:
"Riders shadow us—three, maybe four.
Hooves muffled.
They keep the distance of cautious wolves."
She offered her flask; he drank, eyes on the dark.
"Bandits or spies?" she asked.
"Either way they report to someone who prefers us hungry."
He returned the flask, fingers brushing hers—cold, steady.
"Tell Shen at relief.
And Yue—if arrows start flying, aim low.
Horses are expensive; men can be replaced."
He smiled to soften the jest, but the words lodged like burrs.
Dawn – First Granary Depot
The storehouse sat on a hill, whitewash bright, banners snapping.
Clerk Tian greeted them with bow so low his cap brushed mud.
Ledgers open, he proclaimed ten thousand sacks of millet in perfect condition.
Shen requested inspection; Tian hesitated, then smiled.
"Of course, Highness.
But bins sealed against damp.
Opening takes hours."
Yue watched labourers linger near railings—too well-fed, shoulders too square for common porters.
Their eyes tracked the silver chest, not the grain.
Inside the Bin
Shen ordered seals broken.
Tian's smile thinned.
Doors swung; a sour smell rolled out—millet grey with mould, heated until kernels wept.
Shen thrust arm into the heap, drew out a fistful of black dust.
"Explain," he said, voice winter-quiet.
Tian spread hands.
"Unseasonal rains, Highness.
We reported losses—"
"To whom?"
"Imperial clerks—"
Shen's gaze flicked to Yue; she stepped aside, blocked the exit.
Labourers shifted; hands drifted toward wagon spokes—concealed blades.
The Reveal
Shen drew no sword; instead he lifted a single mouldy grain, held it before Tian.
"This could feed a family for a day.
You let it rot, then sold the good stock northward—to Wolf merchants, perhaps?"
Tian's face cycled fear and defiance.
"Highness mistakes—"
A whistle shrilled outside—Yuan's signal.
Arrows clattered from the roofline; the false labourers rushed.
Yue loosed twice; two men dropped, legs pierced.
Shen moved—economical, precise, blade flashing only when necessary.
Within heartbeats the depot yard lay still: three wounded, one dead, Tian pinned against a bin by Shen's dagger through his sleeve.
Interrogation
Under threat of the remaining silver being seized, Tian confessed—grain diverted in autumn, sold across the border for salt and silver, replaced with mouldy reserves, paperwork forged in the capital.
Names spilled: a deputy minister, a northern broker, and a palace eunuch who sealed approvals.
Shen recorded every word, then turned to Yue.
"Seal the depot.
Confiscate ledgers.
We ride for the next granary at dawn."
He glanced at the sky, calculating miles and masks.
"And send a rider south—the web is larger than one clerk's purse."
Night Camp – Ten miles on
They pitched in a willow copse beside a frozen stream.
Fires stayed small; no songs.
Yuan cleaned blood from arrowheads, eyes distant.
Yue sat opposite, rubbing ointment into bruised wrists.
He spoke without looking up.
"First blood outside a drill yard."
"First of many," she answered.
He nodded, set the blade down.
"Then let it weigh on the right side of the scale."
Across the camp Shen bent over dispatches, candle glow framing his silhouette like drawn steel.
He wrote long into the night—lists of missing grain, names of traitors, and a plea for imperial auditors that might arrive too late.
Before Sleep
Yue walked the picket line, snow crunching.
She felt the hare-and-swan charm inside her cuff, thought of the clerk's terror, of Tian's children probably waiting in the capital unaware their father had traded honour for coin.
She touched the charm's stitching, promised silently: Every stolen sack will be weighed against its thief, every empty belly answered.
The wind carried smoke from dying fires; somewhere a horse snorted, restless.
Above, stars glittered like scattered grain—clean, unreachable, a reminder that hunger on earth was a human arithmetic, not heaven's.
Miles Ahead
Three more granaries dotted the map, then the border itself—where the Wolf scouts watched and the Emperor's name grew thin as paper.
She tightened her cloak, returned to her cot, and lay listening to the camp settle into uneasy dreams.
Tomorrow the road would ask harder questions; tonight she let the cold numb the taste of first blood, knowing clarity—like dawn—would arrive whether she welcomed it or not.