Gu Yan didn't let the list stay in Wuchen's sleeve.
Not because he didn't trust Wuchen.
Because sleeves were searched.
Bodies were searched.
Runners were searched.
But Gu Yan's pond stones were rarely searched, because everyone assumed fish were the only things hiding there.
He took the folded sheet from Wei, read it once under lamp light, then tore it neatly into four strips along the fold lines.
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
Gu Yan didn't burn them.
He didn't keep them whole.
He made them smaller, so each piece looked meaningless on its own.
"Memorize these three door codes," Gu Yan said softly, and slid one strip toward Wuchen.
Wuchen bowed and read quickly: a code, a time block, and two partial names with their last characters smudged, as if copied in haste.
Gu Yan watched his eyes. "Again," he murmured.
Wuchen repeated the codes quietly, not as a chant, but as if they were part of his breath.
Gu Yan nodded and took the strip back. He dropped it into the pond.
Paper softened immediately, ink bleeding into water like blood.
Fish mouths opened and closed around it.
Gu Yan smiled faintly. "Now it's eaten," he murmured.
Wei handed Gu Yan a small stone weight tied with thin string. Gu Yan wrapped another strip around the weight, pressed it flat, and dropped it near the pond's deeper edge.
It sank.
Gone.
The third strip went under a loose paving stone at the pavilion corner. The fourth strip Gu Yan folded into a thin sliver and tucked into the hollow of a bamboo pole that supported the lantern, sealing the end with wax that looked like old repair.
Nothing stayed whole.
That was the point.
Gu Yan looked at Wuchen. "Now you have a shield," he said softly.
Wuchen's throat tightened. "A shield?"
Gu Yan nodded. "If Han or Lan tries to bite you," he murmured, "you can offer them a piece. Not enough to burn patrol. Enough to distract teeth."
Wei's voice was flat. "And if they demand the whole?"
Gu Yan's smile sharpened. "Then we know they're ready to kill," he said quietly. "And we move first."
Wuchen bowed, three grains steady in his belly.
Gu Yan leaned forward. "Tomorrow," he said gently, "you will meet Jiang Ren again."
Wuchen's stomach tightened. "For the north gate guard name."
Gu Yan nodded. "Yes," he said softly. "But you will not ask directly this time."
Wuchen swallowed. "Then how?"
Gu Yan's eyes brightened. "You will act frightened," he murmured. "Tell him Han's clerk asked you about unlogged nights again. Tell him you're scared the guard will be blamed and then blame you."
Wuchen understood.
Make Jiang Ren think giving the guard's name is protection for the guard, not a knife for Gu Yan.
Gu Yan added, "And you bring him one more dose," he said, and slid a tiny pouch across the table.
Wuchen took it with both hands, feeling the familiar weight of warmth-as-currency.
Wei spoke quietly. "If Jiang Ren refuses the trade?"
Gu Yan smiled faintly. "He won't," he murmured. "Craving doesn't refuse."
The next morning, deacon route again. Wuchen delivered forms, painted weakness, listened for whispers.
Han's clerk didn't mention unlogged doors today.
That meant Han was chewing quietly.
Quiet chewing was worse.
At dusk, Wuchen went to the copying room courtyard again.
Jiang Ren arrived with the same hungry eyes and a face that tried to look like control.
"You have it," he said softly, staring at Wuchen's sleeve.
Wuchen bowed and let the scent escape for a heartbeat. "One dose," he whispered.
Jiang Ren's throat moved.
Wuchen leaned in slightly, voice small. "Senior Brother," he murmured, "Han's clerk… he asked about nights again. He said clever doors are confessions."
Jiang Ren's jaw tightened. "He's fishing," he hissed.
Wuchen nodded, trembling slightly. "If the north gate guard gets blamed," Wuchen whispered, "he might say he saw me. Or that I used your pass."
Jiang Ren's eyes narrowed. Fear and anger fought with craving.
Wuchen lowered his gaze. "This one doesn't want the guard to die because of me," he lied gently, wrapping the knife in kindness.
Jiang Ren stared at him for a long breath.
Then he spat a name like it hurt.
"Du Zheng," he whispered. "North wall gate. Third shift. He's the one who waved you through."
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
A real name.
A real door.
Jiang Ren grabbed the pouch from Wuchen's hand almost roughly. He swallowed it immediately, as if punishing himself for speaking.
Warmth softened his shoulders again.
He exhaled. "Don't use that name wrong," he muttered. "If Du Zheng falls, patrol falls."
Wuchen bowed low. "This one understands."
Jiang Ren stepped back, eyes still sharp despite the warmth. "And Wuchen," he added, "Qian Luo is watching you. Not Gu Yan. You."
Wuchen's throat went dry. "Why?"
Jiang Ren's mouth tightened. "Because you're the hinge," he whispered. "Hinges get oiled. Or pulled out."
He left.
Wuchen went straight to Gu Yan with Du Zheng's name in his mouth like a hot coal.
In the pavilion, Gu Yan listened and didn't smile.
He only nodded once.
"Good," he said softly. "Now we have the gate's throat."
Wei's voice was flat. "Do we cut it?"
Gu Yan's eyes brightened faintly. "Not yet," he murmured. "We put a finger on it and feel the pulse."
He looked at Wuchen. "Tomorrow," Gu Yan said gently, "you will walk past Du Zheng with nothing in your hands."
Wuchen's stomach tightened. "So he sees me."
Gu Yan nodded. "So he recognizes you," he murmured. "Recognition is the beginning of leverage."
Wuchen bowed.
Shield paper had become door names.
Door names would become throats.
And Lin Wuchen, who had started as leaky trash, now carried three grains steady and a list of people who could be made to disappear with a whisper.
He scrubbed his wrists with ash again that night, not because paste remained, but because the feeling of being marked had sunk deeper than skin.
In the inner hall, the most dangerous marker was never on your body.
It was in your memory.