Lai Su lowered his head, wiping tea stains from the counter. He had risen earlier than usual that morning. After sending Bihua and Layne onto the carriage for Qingzhou, he sat alone in the shop.
Bihua had said nothing as she left; she rarely asked questions. Layne had only been excited, shouting that he'd bring his father snacks from Qingzhou.
Like any other morning, Lai Su unlatched the door, hung the wind chime beneath the signboard.
As if nothing had changed.
But he knew everything had already changed.
Behind the counter, the ledger lay open, a page unturned. The abacus was still, the tea half-cold. His fingertips tapped unconsciously against the wood grain, as if waiting, as if dreading.
Until a figure appeared.
Footsteps sounded at the door. A middle-aged man in a plain gray-blue robe stood silently on the threshold. His features were ordinary, his expression calm, yet he carried a clarity that felt foreign to the town.
He stood there as though he should not have been seen.
"Master Lai," his voice was gentle, yet flat as water. "Ten years in hiding, and there's not a trace left of the man you once were."
Lai Su's fingers stilled.
"Who are you?"
"An agent under the Envoy of the Moon," the man inclined his head slightly. "Codename: Zhen. I was sent to confirm your identity."
"Envoy of the Moon…" Lai Su repeated softly.
He had heard the term before. Back when he served as an official in Qixia City, orders sometimes arrived bearing notes in shadowy script: 'the Envoys are investigating.' To him, they had seemed like distant myths meant to inspire fear.
Only now did he realize they had been closer than he ever imagined.
"How long have you been here?"
"Three days before the festival," Zhen answered, stepping closer but not crossing the counter. "You are not our main target. Your name appears only briefly in the records. You withdrew quickly back then—had certain matters not unraveled, perhaps you would have spent your days here in obscurity."
"You won't arrest me?" Lai Su asked evenly.
"No. I won't." Zhen shook his head. "I was sent to confirm, not seize."
"The sealed warrant was delivered to the yamen this morning. Perhaps even now, they are on their way here."
At that, a flicker of emotion crossed Lai Su's face. Not fear—something steadier.
"You could have shown yourself earlier."
"Of course." Zhen nodded. "But we've been watching your family as well—neighbors, customers, your every action. All filed away."
"I never meant to flee," Lai Su said quietly.
"Yet you sent your wife and son away. Do you think that spares them?"
He fell silent.
"I came only to tell you: they are close." Zhen's voice softened. "You still have a choice—whether to leave as a dragged criminal, or with some dignity intact."
From his robe, he laid a sealed envelope and a brass token upon the counter. He did not hand them over, only set them down gently.
"They will recognize these. When they see them, they will know who you were, and that I was here."
He paused at the doorway, turning once more.
"This case is not closed. None of you will escape. Your circle flew too close to the sun. The dossier has long been filed in the capital, under the Minister's direct oversight. As for you and your family's fate… I cannot say."
The wind chime tinkled faintly as the gray-clad man departed.
Lai Su lowered his gaze, then slowly sat down.
The envelope was yellowed in the sunlight. Scratches scarred the brass token; its letters were too worn to read. Even if he could, what would it change? The world spun beneath him.
He remembered his wager—that he had staked himself to buy Bihua's freedom, to live without regret. He had thought his caution enough, his obscurity secure. After so many years, he had almost believed it forgotten.
"Fortunately she knows so little," he murmured. "Otherwise, she might have chosen chains over this so-called freedom."
Soon after, noise rose outside—shouts, wheels grinding, the stamp of boots, drawing closer to the shop.
Lai Su did not move. Behind the counter, his face was calm, the teacup trembling faintly in his hand but spilling not a drop.
Heavy footsteps halted at the door.
"By order of the Youzhen yamen and Qingzhou's tribunal—we summon Lai Su! Will you walk out yourself, or be dragged?"
The voice was not loud, but it cut through the entire street.
Neighbors had already sensed the disturbance. Eyes peeked from door cracks, mothers clutched children back, whispers rippled—shock turning to hesitation, to something heavier.
"Master Lai? Just a rice seller, wasn't he? Since when did he cross Qingzhou's law?"
Officials in uniform stormed into the shop, with soldiers behind. They froze at the sight of Lai Su sitting calmly behind the counter.
An older officer unfurled a scroll and intoned:
"By order of Qingzhou's tribunal—investigation of embezzlement in Qixia City. Former tax officer of Qixia's granary division, now rice merchant Lai Su, is accused of concealing identity and involvement. You will come with us."
Another stepped forward, picked up the envelope and token, checked them against the warrant, nodded.
"Identity, seal, and evidence—confirmed."
At once, two soldiers moved in, dropping the heavy wooden yoke onto his shoulders.
He did not resist. Rising, he smoothed his robe, cast his eyes across the familiar shopfront, and walked out on his own.
Outside, the crowd had swelled.
"He was only selling rice…"
"I told you, his shop was too steady—never rich, never poor. That's no ordinary trade."
"But his wife, his child—they were good people…" a woman whispered.
"Who knows what she knew?" muttered an elder. "A man's corruption drags down his whole family. Common enough."
Among the crowd, schoolchildren stood silent. One boy tugged his teacher's sleeve.
"Is that… Layne's father?"
"Quiet, Lin Ji." Master Shen frowned, holding him back. His own gaze lingered on Lai Su's back, heavy with conflict.
"Lai Su was my friend," he sighed. "I never imagined he had once worn an official's robe… or that it would end like this."
"What did he do wrong, teacher?" another child whispered.
"He…" Master Shen faltered. "He took what should never have been taken."
Elsewhere in the crowd, a tall, thin constable slipped away. He had known Lai Su for years. At a crossroads, beneath an old locust tree, he paused only a moment before rushing toward the town gate.
He needed a carriage—needed to catch up with the wagon that had left that morning.
The mother and son had to know. Even if they didn't believe him, he knew: once Bihua learned the truth, she would turn back.
If only he could reach her first…
The procession moved slowly from Youzhen's main street. Lai Su walked in the center, flanked by officers, with soldiers and scribes behind.
At the street's end loomed the yamen prison—and beyond that, the road to Qingzhou.
The crowd dispersed. Dust hung in sunbeams, cutting slanted light across the stones beneath his feet. Each step rang sharp, like a drum against the heart.
He did not speak. He did not look back.
Only the wind passed through the rice shop's half-open door, its hinges creaking twice—
as if waiting for someone to return and close it.