The fat nobleman opened his mouth to resume his accusations, but before he could get a word out, a hand reached past him from behind.
Xi Shu had circled around.
His grip was firm as he caught the nobleman's wrist and lifted it high into the air. In the nobleman's clenched fist was a small leather pouch—embroidered with silver thread, clearly expensive, and clearly not his own.
"What's this?" Xi Shu asked, his voice calm and cold. He held the man's arm up so everyone could see.
The nobleman's face went from red to white. He wrenched his hand free from Xi Shu's grip, but it was too late. The crowd had already seen.
Whispers erupted.
"That's his pouch, isn't it?"
"He was holding it the whole time."
"He accused the boy of stealing it."
Someone in the back laughed—not loudly, but loud enough. Then another. The nobleman's face flushed again, this time with embarrassment rather than anger.
"How is that your business?" he sputtered, waving a hand at Shen Yao and Xi Shu. "I simply didn't see it the first time I checked. That's all. I found what I was looking for. The matter is closed."
Shen Yao laughed.
It was a quiet sound, almost friendly—but something beneath it made the nobleman take half a step back.
"You found what you were looking for," Shen Yao repeated slowly. "Good. Then you won't mind apologizing."
The nobleman stiffened. "Apologize? To him?" He jabbed a thumb at the kneeling boy. "Why should I?"
Xi Shu had already returned to Shen Yao's side. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were cold.
"You can't humiliate someone in public," Xi Shu said quietly, "and then call it nothing."
The nobleman's face darkened. "He's just nothing but a street rat," he spat, glaring down at the boy.
Then, quick and mean, he drew back his foot and kicked the boy forward—hard.
The child lurched, his hands scraping the floor as he fell toward the crowd. His head dropped. His shoulders tensed, expecting to hit the ground.
But Shen Yao moved.
He stepped forward and ducked in one fluid motion, catching the boy by the arms before he could collapse. The child's weight pressed against him—light, trembling, but silent. Shen Yao steadied him, then slowly lowered him to his knees again, one hand still resting on the boy's shoulder.
The crowd went quiet.
Shen Yao didn't look at the nobleman at first. He looked at the boy's face—still downturned, still unbroken.
Then he raised his head beneath the hood.
"An apology," Shen Yao said. His voice was softer now. Almost gentle. "Unless you'd rather, we discuss this somewhere more private. With more questions."
The nobleman stared at him. Behind him, his own attendants had lowered their heads. Even they could see their master had gone too far this time.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then the man's shoulders sagged. He turned to the boy—not quite looking at him, not quite meeting anyone's eyes—and muttered something that might have been an apology. It was barely audible. It was utterly without grace.
But it was something.
Shen Yao watched him for a moment longer, then turned away. He crouched down in front of the boy, so their eyes were level.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The boy looked up. His eyes were red, but dry. His hands were still clenched.
"...Wei," he said finally. His voice cracked. "Wei Lin."
Shen Yao nodded slowly. He reached into his robes and pressed a few silver coins into the boy's palm, closing the dirty fingers around them.
"For your mother. And your sister."
Then he stood, pulled his hood lower, and walked out of the tea house without looking back.
Xi Shu fell into step beside him.
"Young master," Xi Shu said quietly after they had walked a block in silence. "That nobleman will remember your face."
"He never saw my face," Shen Yao replied.
Xi Shu was quiet for another moment. Then: "He'll remember *me*."
Shen Yao almost smiled.
"Let him."