The Lotus Society was not generous.
They did not give me blades polished to perfection, nor killers trained to obey. What they handed me was a handful of wolves, lean and scarred, with their eyes always measuring, their teeth always ready to snap at the leash.
Silent Reed's parting words still lingered as I stepped into the lantern-lit chamber beneath the apothecary ruins: "They are yours. Break them, or be broken by them. The leash is not only for your neck."
Three figures waited in the gloom, each a shadow that breathed suspicion.
* * * * * * * * *
Wei Lan, the poisoner, was first to lift her gaze. Thin as a reed stalk, her sleeves stained with brownish streaks, and her smile just a little too wide. She fiddled constantly with a small gourd at her hip, as if caressing a lover. Her eyes had the twitching brightness of someone who always calculated the profit of betrayal. She inclined her head only slightly.
"Leader," she said, but the word dripped with irony.
* * * * * * * * *
Beside her leaned Qiao Han, scarred from temple to jaw. His hair was shorn close, his stance wide, one hand always on the hilt of the cleaver-like saber strapped to his back. He said nothing, but his lip curled when he looked at me. This was a man who respected only steel drawn and blood spilled. To him, a scholar's robe was as good as a coffin.
* * * * * * * * *
And finally, at the edge of the chamber, hunched over a small stack of scrolls, was Shen Yu. Thin, pale, eyes like ink bleeding into rice paper. He bowed deeper than either of the others, murmuring,
"I will record faithfully."
Faithfully — for whom? His brush moved even as he spoke, recording every word. Not for me, but for the archivists of the Lotus.
* * * * * * * * *
Three wolves. Each one already thinking of where to sink their teeth. Reed's gift was never meant to strengthen me. It was a trap — a test to see if I could leash what should not be leashed.
I let silence stretch until it cut the air thin. Then I smiled faintly, hands folded behind my back.
"You wonder why Reed gave me command." I paced slowly, letting my steps echo. "A poisoner who dreams of silver. A swordsman who dreams of blood. And a scribe who dreams of secrets. He did not choose you for your loyalty. He chose you because you will tear each other apart without someone who understands the leash."
Wei Lan's eyes narrowed. Qiao Han's grip tightened on his saber. Shen Yu's brush scratched faster across parchment.
"Fortunately," I said softly, "I am very good with leashes."
* * * * * * * * *
The first flicker of respect came not from words but from calculation. Wei Lan tilted her head, reassessing. The poisoner's smile faltered. Qiao Han spat onto the ground, a thin spray that splattered against stone, but he did not draw. And Shen Yu — his brush paused.
That was enough.
* * * * * * * * *
The first assignment arrived before the night ended.
A sealed order from the Lotus, pressed with wax shaped like a blooming lotus flower. I broke it open with deliberate care, letting each of them see my calm. Inside, neat characters described our task:
An Iron Hand shipment, grain carts bound for Longhe's eastern granary. Seize it. Disrupt their flow. Deliver the goods to the Lotus safehold at the river bend.
Simple on parchment. Deadly in practice.
I read it once, then again, before lowering the scroll. "We intercept at the eastern road," I said. "But listen well — this is not a mission of blades. This is a mission of threads."
Wei Lan scoffed softly. "Grain or gold, what difference? Poison the sacks, scatter the guards, done."
Qiao Han bared his teeth. "Or slit their throats and drag the carts home. Simpler."
Shen Yu said nothing, brush scratching as he recorded every suggestion.
I smiled thinly. "Simpler… but not wiser. If we poison the sacks, suspicion falls on us. If we leave corpses, suspicion falls on us. The Lotus wants more than grain. They want fear, confusion, division. That requires subtlety."
Qiao Han's nostrils flared. "Subtlety doesn't feed a man's belly."
I let silence hang again, then stepped close until I was within reach of his blade. I looked up into his scarred face, voice barely above a whisper.
"Strength without a leash is a dog gone rabid. Do you want to be useful, Qiao Han? Or do you want to be put down like Bao Liang?"
His eyes flickered — he knew the name, knew the story of the Snow Road, where Bao Liang's blood fed the frost. The threat was not shouted. It was remembered. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hand from the saber.
The leash tightened.
* * * * * * * * *
I turned to Wei Lan. "And you, poisoner. Greed makes poison in the veins. If you hunger for profit, I will feed it to you — but only if your venom bites when I command. Cross me, and your next meal will taste strangely bitter."
Her fingers twitched on the gourd. Then she laughed lightly, a sound like cracking glass. "Perhaps you will do, Leader. For now."
* * * * * * * * *
Finally, Shen Yu. I let my gaze linger on the scribe's brush, on the parchment filling with lines of ink.
"You record faithfully," I said. "So faithfully, in fact, that I suspect your scrolls will leave this room faster than our footsteps. Good. Record everything. But from now on, each order will carry a code. Only I will know the key. If your masters read it wrongly, blame the hand that guided you, not mine."
Shen Yu bowed deeply, hiding the tremor of his hand.
* * * * * * * * *
That night, as the lanterns guttered low, I lay awake while the others slumbered fitfully in the chamber. I stared at the ceiling stones and let the patterns shift into a web.
Three wolves at my throat. A leash in my hand. And Reed, somewhere above, watching from the dark, waiting for me to stumble.
But wolves can be turned. Wolves can be fed lies, pointed at throats, and bound by hunger stronger than loyalty.
By dawn, they would no longer be Reed's gift. They would be my knives.
* * * * * * * * *
The road east wound like a pale serpent under the morning sun. Our footsteps kicked up dust as we moved, disguised as merchants with empty carts.
Wei Lan walked close to me, her gourd swinging. Every so often she glanced at me sidelong, as if measuring whether my confidence was bluff or steel.
Qiao Han stalked behind, his saber wrapped in cloth but his presence loud as thunder. Passersby parted around him like reeds before a storm.
Shen Yu trailed slightly, scribbling even as he walked, brush scratching against parchment tied to a board.
Three wolves.
At the river bend we waited, hidden behind willow branches. Soon enough the Iron Hand carts appeared — six of them, wheels creaking, oxen snorting, guards in dull armor marching alongside.
Wei Lan's fingers tightened on her gourd. Qiao Han's breath hissed sharp through his teeth. Shen Yu's brush slowed, ready.
I held up one hand, stopping them. "Not yet. Watch."
And as the dust rose behind the Iron Hand column, I saw what I expected: not just guards, but shadows at the edges. Men in black cloaks. A different faction, trailing.
Reed's trap.
This was not just a mission. It was bait — to see whether I could hold wolves together when other wolves snapped at their heels.
I smiled faintly in the willow shade.
Perfect.
* * * * * * * * *
The convoy creaked forward, six carts heavy with grain, guards trudging with the weariness of men who had marched too often and eaten too little. Their armor caught sunlight in dull flashes, but it was not iron that worried me. It was the shadows.
The cloaked figures at the edge of the column moved too smoothly, too deliberately. They were not simple bandits. I saw the short blades hidden at their belts, the signal glances. Black Sand Guild, without question. Reed had not lied when he said every leash could choke. He had simply chosen not to tell me this one would be pulled today.
I breathed slow, forcing calm into the marrow of my bones. To my cell, I showed only faint amusement.
"Do you see?" I murmured. "Six carts. Twenty guards. And wolves at their heels. We need not bare our teeth at all."
Qiao Han shifted, one hand gripping his saber hilt beneath the cloth. His scar pulled tight as he growled. "You mean to let them fight each other? Cowardice."
I looked at him, a long, steady look that pricked the heat in his eyes. "Cowardice? Or wisdom? Let another bleed for our prize. Then step over the corpses and take what is left."
He spat into the dirt, but did not draw. A leash is not always iron. Sometimes it is patience pressed into the throat until even wolves hesitate.
Wei Lan smirked, tapping her gourd. "And if the Black Sand finishes too quickly? Grain rolls away while we wait."
I leaned closer, whispering just for her. "If that happens, poisoner, then the profit is richer still. For I will not only take grain. I will take the Black Sand's purse while their backs are turned. Do you like that arithmetic?"
Her laugh was soft and greedy. "Perhaps."
Shen Yu scribbled, brush dancing like a spider. His eyes never met mine, but I saw the smallest tremor in his hand. He would report everything — but only what I wanted him to.
* * * * * * * * *
The trap sprang at the bend of the road.
One cloaked figure whistled, a high sharp note. In an instant, shadows erupted from the scrub. Knives flashed, throats opened, the grain convoy howled into chaos. The guards fought back with spears, oxen bellowing as blades sliced reins.
Iron Hand discipline clashed against Black Sand ferocity. Blood slicked the dirt road, spilling into the dust until every step splashed red.
And we waited. Hidden in the willow's shade, silent as ghosts.
Qiao Han trembled with fury, veins standing at his neck. I could feel the hunger in his stance. He wanted blood.
I let him burn.
Only when both sides were locked, their cries rising, did I move.
"Now."
We emerged as the third shadow.
Qiao Han roared and tore the cloth from his saber, cleaving the nearest Black Sand mercenary down the spine. Blood sprayed across his scarred face, and he grinned like a beast unchained.
Wei Lan uncorked her gourd with a flick. A hiss of violet vapor burst into the wind, swirling across the melee. Men screamed, clutching their throats as their lungs filled with poison. The gas clung to cloth and skin alike, searing, choking.
But I had anticipated her eagerness. While she grinned at the carnage, I had already tied soaked rags around my own nose and mouth — and handed two spares to Shen Yu in advance. Let her believe I trusted her. In truth, I trusted her greed enough to prepare for betrayal.
The scribe's eyes widened as he realized I had foreseen this. He bowed his head, pulling the rag across his mouth, ink-stained fingers trembling. His brush scratched furiously even now, recording how I saved him. A debt planted, whether he wished it or not.
* * * * * * * * *
The battlefield convulsed. Iron Hand fell in droves, choking. Black Sand scattered, hacking wildly at shadows they could no longer see.
I directed my wolves with gestures, not words.
To Wei Lan — a nod, and she moved her gas deliberately, sparing the carts. She thought she obeyed out of cunning; in truth, she obeyed because I fed her ambition.
To Qiao Han — a raised fist, and he drove straight into the thickest knot of guards, his violence breaking their line. He believed he proved himself. In truth, I had pointed him where he would draw the most eyes and the most blades away from me.
To Shen Yu — a hand brushing parchment, and he remained close, recording. He thought he was spying. In truth, I guided every line he would report.
The leash tightened.
* * * * * * * * *
It ended in thunder.
Qiao Han split the last Iron Hand guard from clavicle to hip, leaving a ruin of meat and armor. Wei Lan's gas thinned, drifting away into the morning air. The road lay slick with blood, littered with bodies twitching in their last moments.
Six carts of grain stood silent amid the wreckage, oxen stamping nervously but unhurt.
Wei Lan laughed, spinning her gourd. "Easy. Too easy."
Qiao Han ripped a chunk of cloth from a corpse and wiped his blade, sneering. "Iron Hand bleeds soft. Not worth the steel."
Shen Yu simply wrote, brush soaking deep into parchment already black with ink.
* * * * * * * * *
But I was not satisfied. The Lotus had ordered me to deliver the grain intact. If I obeyed, I would prove myself obedient. Nothing more.
Obedience was another leash.
Instead, I reached into my sleeve, pulling out a small pouch of Northern Tribes wolfskin tokens I had kept since the Snow Road. I scattered them among the bodies, pressing one into the hand of a dead Iron Hand guard, another into a Black Sand throat.
And then I poured a thin stream of oil across one cart's canvas and set it alight.
Flames roared, eating grain, painting the sky black.
Wei Lan's mouth opened in protest, but I raised a hand. "The Lotus asked for disruption. This is disruption. Iron Hand will see the Northern Tribes' claws in the dirt. Black Sand will see betrayal. And the Lotus…" I smiled thinly. "…the Lotus will see success. What they do not see will not hurt me."
Qiao Han grunted, almost approving. Wei Lan hesitated, but greed shone in her eyes at the thought of selling suspicion to the highest bidder. Shen Yu wrote it all, but wrote what I had planted.
* * * * * * * * *
By dusk, we rolled five carts into the Lotus safehold at the river bend.
Silent Reed waited there, perched on a beam like a raven, eyes glinting above his black scarf. His gaze swept the carts, the bloodstains, the faces of my wolves.
"Five carts," he said softly. "Not six."
"The sixth fed the fire," I replied. "Better that Iron Hand see Northern claws in the flames, than Lotus hands on their stores. Wouldn't you agree?"
Reed's eyes narrowed. A long silence stretched, so tight I heard my wolves hold their breath.
Then, at last, Reed laughed — a sound like wind rattling through hollow reeds. "Clever. Too clever. But clever men often stumble on their own shadows."
He dropped from the beam, boots crunching on stone. His hand brushed my shoulder lightly, as though weighing it. "Do not weave your web too fast, Lin Xuan. The spider who builds too eagerly may find he is the one caught."
I bowed my head, lips a thin smile. "And yet the fly who hesitates dies in another's silk."
Reed's eyes lingered on me, unreadable. Then he turned, his cloak whispering like a blade.
* * * * * * * * *
That night, when the wolves slumbered fitfully in the safehold's cellar, I lay awake again, staring at the rafters.
Reed's warning echoed in my mind. Too clever. Too eager.
But I felt no leash around my throat.
No — the leash was in my hands now. Wei Lan, bound by greed. Qiao Han, bound by dominance. Shen Yu, bound by the illusion of faithfulness. Even Reed, for all his cunning, tolerated me because I made his game more interesting.
The leash was mine.
For now.
And until the day I cut it, I would strangle the world with it.