Little water's eyes cooled from red back to their usual dark calm. Miss Ruyin saw it happen, held her breath, and then—choosing silence—looked away. She did not ask. The tea chamber was quiet again, the garden breeze lifting the edge of the veil on Qianya's face and carrying the scent of lotus and wet stone.
Little water slid down from the table and sat on the nearest stone stool. The top was smooth from years of palms and elbows; morning dew still clung under the seat where the sun did not reach. Carp stirred in the pond beside the pavilion, sending little rings across the green surface.
Metal flashed. Zhihao came running with his small sword, a short, sturdy thing he could grip with one hand. He grinned, took a breath, and swung at Little water's shoulder.
Two fingers rose.
Clink.
Little water caught the blade between finger and thumb. The sword hummed. A fine sting raced up his skin, sharper than a needle, like tiny threads snapping one after another. He felt the jolt, frowned, and flicked.
The sword flew from Zhihao's hand and clattered across the wooden floor, spinning until it bumped the leg of the tea table.
"Zhihao," Little water said, eyes steady. "Come here and show me your waist."
"No," Zhihao shot back, lips pressed, already moving to grab the sword again.
"Hao'er." Miss Ruyin's voice was soft but firm. "Come here. Show your waist to him."
The boy stopped. His face fell into a small pout. He dragged his feet to Little water and lifted the hem of his robe without looking up.
Little water set his palm against the boy's lower back and waist. He did not push qi; he listened with touch alone. Under skin and bone, a faint current flickered like quicksilver. It did not flow smooth. It jumped. It crackled. It left little tingles on his fingers as if the air itself wanted to spark.
He lifted his hand. "Now I understand why I felt strings when I touched your sword."
"What strings?" Zhihao asked, curious again.
"Lightning," Little water said. "Your qi is lightning."
Zhihao's eyes went round. Miss Ruyin's lashes trembled once, just once, then stilled.
"Go play," Little water told the boy. "Swing your sword. Don't hit anyone."
Zhihao beamed, ran to scoop up the sword, and began cutting the air with wild arcs—too wide, feet too close together—but with earnest joy. The blade sang in short notes as it met the breeze.
Miss Ruyin poured tea into a second cup, eyes still on Little water. "What did you find out?"
Before he answered, a guard trotted up the path from the west. Dust clung to the hem of his trousers, and his forearms were streaked with old wood grain. He bowed to Miss Ruyin, then to Little water.
"Reporting," he said. "The old house is repaired. Only the interior remains. How should we make it?"
Little water stood. "Oh? Finished? Good. Let's go and see." He glanced at Miss Ruyin. "Please wait for a moment."
She nodded once. Qianya stepped back to refill her cup. Sunlight slid along the railing as Little water left the pavilion with the guard.
---
The old house sat at the far edge of the garden where the stone path turned to packed earth. Ivy climbed one broken corner of its wall, and an old reed broom leaned under the eaves. With the roof straightened and the beams set, the shape looked plain but correct—no carved beasts, no bright paint, only wood and clay and the hint of smoke from the fresh-joined tiles.
The air here was quiet. A swallow nested in the rafters. A spider web hung like a pale veil where two beams met, trembling each time the wind passed.
"It isn't luxurious," Little water said, taking in the line of the eaves, the shadow fall, the breath of the place. "But it's fine. It has the feel of nature. And it is silent."
The guard waited, eyes lowered.
"Build a wooden table for four outside," Little water said, pointing to the flat patch of ground between the door and a mossed stone. "Sturdy legs. Broad top. No lacquer. Let the wood breathe."
"Yes."
He stepped inside. The room smelled of clean dust and fresh timber. Light fell through the open doorway in a long rectangle that made the motes visible. The interior was not large, but it had a good frame: two side bays where rooms could sit, and on one side a narrow stair that rose to a small upper floor.
"Left side," Little water said, tapping the post. "Make a pond-style bath. Stone-lined. Feed it from the garden channel, but let it be still most of the day. Set a place to change and shelves for towels."
"Yes."
"Right side, on the lower floor, build a study chamber." He walked the length, measuring with his steps. "Shelves along the far wall. A desk here under the window so I can see the yard. Above that, make the bedroom."
"Yes."
He turned back out. On the left of the house, half a body from the corner, an old tree rose—trunk thick, bark scarred by time, canopy casting generous shade. It creaked softly when the wind moved through.
"Don't damage the tree," Little water said. "Nothing touches its roots. When you dig, go slow."
The guard bowed again. "Understood."
Little water's gaze held there a moment longer, then he returned to the tea chamber.
---
Miss Ruyin was sipping fresh tea. Qianya stood beside her, veil lifted just enough to drink and then lowered again. Zhihao was still whirling his little sword by the lotus rail, now trying to copy a guard's stance he'd seen once and failing with bright determination.
Little water sat on the stone stool. He curled his fingers over his knee. "Miss," he said, "I have many questions. I don't know if you will answer."
"Go on," she said.
"How many years has Qianya been your maid?"
"Ten years."
"Next question," he said. "What is your connection with the royal family?"
"I have no connection with the royal family."
Little water laughed, warm but cutting. "Haha. Really?" He reached into his robe and drew out the token he had taken from the assassin's body the night before. On it, a dragon and a phoenix faced each other, carved with sharp lines. He set it on the table. "What does this token say then, Miss Ruyin?"
Her fingers stilled. "Where did you find that token?"
"With all that happened last night," Little water said, voice even, "I can deduce many things. You are someone of high status in the royal family. But there is someone higher than you who wants to kill your son." He glanced toward Zhihao, who had moved on to stabbing the air with serious little thrusts. "When I entered the city, there was a celebration for an imperial prince returning from the academy. He may be the son of the first wife. She wants to clear the path of her son's succession to the throne. So she wants to kill your son. Is that right?"
Miss Ruyin's breath caught. "You are actually smart."
"I am a scholar," Little water said lightly. "A scholar has to be wise."
She lowered her gaze. "Yes. I am a concubine of the emperor. And last night's assassins were indeed sent from the royal family."
Little water exhaled through his nose. "Miss Ruyin, let me tell you something. There are spies among the guards who are repairing the old house."
Her head snapped up. "What? How do you know?"
He did not answer at once. He looked past her to the pond where a lotus bud pressed at its green sheath, patient. Then he said, "Either I am lucky and you are unlucky, or I am unlucky and you are lucky."
--- To Be Continued ---