Jiang Ren's craving made him punctual.
He found Wuchen before Wuchen had a chance to "accidentally" cross his path, waiting near the lantern repair shed with his hands tucked into his sleeves like he was cold. His posture was controlled, but his eyes weren't. They flicked to Wuchen's hands too quickly.
"You brought it," Jiang Ren said softly.
Wuchen bowed and didn't answer immediately. He let the silence make Jiang Ren feel how thin the string was.
Then Wuchen pulled out the tiny pouch.
Not openly.
Just enough that the scent escaped a little, rotten-sweet and warm, like relief remembered.
Jiang Ren's throat moved. "Give it," he said, voice tighter.
Wuchen lowered his gaze. "Senior Brother," he said quietly, "this one can't waste Auntie He's things."
Jiang Ren's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
Wuchen's stomach tightened. So Gu Yan was right. Comfort could be traded.
Wuchen kept his voice small, embarrassed, like asking for shelter. "This one… is afraid of doors," he whispered. "Unlogged doors. Passes. People disappear."
Jiang Ren's jaw tightened. "You want patrol protection."
Wuchen bowed. "This one wants to know which doors are safe," he said, letting it sound like fear, not ambition. "If Senior Brother gives me a list of unlogged doors issued this week… just names and dates… this one will trade."
Jiang Ren stared at him.
For a long breath, the wind leaned the lantern flame and made the oil smell sharper. Jiang Ren's pride fought with his need.
Then need won.
"You're greedy for a runner," Jiang Ren muttered.
Wuchen bowed lower. "This one is only afraid."
Jiang Ren exhaled hard. "Fine," he hissed. "I can get a list. But not the official ledger. A copy. And not every name."
Wuchen kept his gaze down. "Enough to keep me alive."
Jiang Ren's eyes sharpened. "Enough to blackmail," he corrected.
Wuchen didn't argue. Arguing would make him look clever. Clever smelled like Gu Yan.
He let his fingers tremble slightly, ugly leak, and whispered, "Please."
Jiang Ren swallowed.
"All right," he said. "Two nights. I'll bring you what I can."
Wuchen bowed deeply, then finally handed over the pouch.
Jiang Ren took it like a starving man taking broth. He didn't open it immediately, but his fingers pressed it once, as if feeling whether it was real.
Wuchen watched his throat move as he swallowed saliva.
Jiang Ren looked away, embarrassed by his own need, then said more than he meant to.
"Patrol is being squeezed," he muttered. "Han is asking for pass verification by name. Lan's dog is sniffing shelves. Zuo is furious."
Wuchen kept his face dull. "Zuo?"
Jiang Ren's mouth tightened. "And Qian Luo is watching," he added, then stopped as if he'd bitten his own tongue.
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
He'd said the name again, on his own, without being pushed.
That meant it wasn't just a secret.
It was a fear.
Wuchen bowed. "This one understands."
Jiang Ren stepped back. "Don't play games," he warned, voice cold. "If you tell Gu Yan everything patrol says, you die when patrol burns."
Wuchen bowed. "This one only wants to survive."
Jiang Ren left, pouch in his sleeve, steps faster than before.
Wuchen stood under the lantern for a long breath, holding his three grains steady, feeling the cold truth under his ribs.
He had just traded comfort for a list that could burn patrol.
He had just watched a man's need turn into words.
And those words weren't just information.
They were a map of who was afraid of whom.
When Wuchen returned to Gu Yan, he reported the deal: two nights, partial list, Jiang Ren's added confession about patrol pressure, Han's verification, Lan's sniffing, Zuo's fury, and Qian Luo watching.
Gu Yan listened, eyes bright, then nodded once.
"Good," he murmured. "Now we wait."
Wei's voice was flat. "And if Jiang Ren can't get it?"
Gu Yan smiled faintly. "Then his craving grows," he said softly. "And a craving man steals."
Wuchen's throat tightened.
Gu Yan looked at him. "You did well," he said gently. "But remember: don't let comfort touch your own tongue."
Wuchen bowed.
He left the pavilion and practiced the Nine Knot Seal until his wrists ached, because his body was the only thing he could still claim as his.
But even that felt temporary now.
Because in the inner hall, the moment you learn to trade comfort, you also learn the worst truth:
Everyone has a price.
And prices always go up.