Yaozu's eyes smiled even if his mouth didn't. He liked work he didn't have to apologize for.
Longzi shifted his weight a fraction. Not restlessness. Calculation.
"You want something," I told him.
"A headcount," he returned. "Not guards. Not ministers. The men and women who actually keep this place standing. Laundries. Oil-cellar. Night kitchen. People who move before dawn and after last bell. I want to know their names before they learn mine."
"You'll get a list," Mingyu offered, reaching for a bamboo slip that wasn't there because I'd already given it to the laundries last week.
"No list," Longzi replied. "Names are remembered better when you hear them first."
"Go with Yaozu," I ordered. "Speak when spoken to. Learn where not to stand. If someone hands you a broom, use it. That way they'll believe you when you say you know where the dust goes."
"That's going to make him popular," Yizhen purred.
"Popular is useless," I muttered. "Believed is better."
