The pass-token felt heavier than it should.
It was just a lacquered tube with a contract strip inside—a thin metal ribbon etched with runes so fine they looked like hair. But Shen Jin could feel the hooks in it the way a craftsman could feel a warped blade: subtle, designed to bite later.
"Two days," Gu Xingzhou said, staring at the tube like it was a snake. "That's not a plan. That's a breath."
"It's a window," Shen Jin replied. He slid the tube into an inner pocket and cinched his coat. "Windows are enough if you know which wall to climb."
They didn't stay in the bakery cellar long. South Cage was still counting bodies; the market was still ringing warning bells. If the Guild could find a hiding hole in a city of fog and drains, so could the Court—and so could anything that wore feathers.
Luo Xian carried her brother the first few blocks, jaw clenched, shoulders shaking with the strain she refused to show. Luo Jian was light in the way sick people were light—like the world had already started letting go of them.
Gu walked point. Shen Jin walked last, one hand always near his sleeve.
The Broken Ring Key had cooled, but it never truly went quiet. It pulsed faint warmth against his skin, as if it had its own opinions about where he should be.
They moved through the city's underside: maintenance corridors, closed courtyards, rooftops where laundry lines hung like spiderwebs. The horns of Court patrols drifted in from different directions, forming a circle of sound. Not close enough to catch, not far enough to ignore.
"Where's this healer?" Luo Xian asked, voice raw.
"Cen Bai," Shen Jin said. "He works under the river-arches—keeps ward-stones for dockworkers. He doesn't like the Court. He dislikes the Guild more."
Gu snorted. "So he's smart."
Luo Xian didn't laugh. She looked down at her brother. "He won't treat Jian for free," she said.
"Not for free," Shen Jin agreed. "For truth."
They reached the river quarter just before dawn, when the fog thinned enough to show black water moving like oil. The arches beneath the main bridge were crowded with sleeping figures and bundled goods. A few lamps burned low, guarded by men with ropes for belts and knives for smiles.
Cen Bai's place was marked by a different kind of sign: three smooth stones stacked in a spiral on the arch wall, each stone etched with a pale ring.
Shen Jin tapped the stones twice, then once.
A slit opened in a hanging canvas. A young man with ink-stained fingers and a tired face peered out. His eyes flicked to Gu's shoulders, to Luo Xian's crossbow, then to Luo Jian's bruises.
"We're closed," he said.
Shen Jin kept his tone gentle. "People don't close when they're needed."
The man's expression tightened. "People who get involved die. That's what closes."
Shen Jin took a single step forward, letting the foglight show his face—no disguise, no apology. "You know my name," he said.
The man's mouth hardened. "Everyone knows your name. The Court nailed it to walls."
"And yet I'm standing here," Shen Jin said. "So either the Court is sloppy… or someone wants me alive."
The man hesitated. "Who are you looking for?"
"Cen Bai," Shen Jin said.
The canvas slit widened. A second figure emerged from the shadows: a taller man with a simple gray cloak, hair pulled back, eyes too calm for a city that ate calm people. His hands were clean. Not soft—just clean, like someone who washed blood off often enough to respect it.
"You're loud for a wanted man," Cen Bai said.
Shen Jin inclined his head. "I'm quiet where it matters."
Cen Bai's gaze moved to Luo Jian. "Bring him in."
They stepped into a narrow chamber carved into the arch's stone. Dried herbs hung from hooks. Ward-stones lined shelves—small smooth rocks etched with rings and bars, each one humming faintly under the skin if you listened with your bones.
Cen Bai laid Luo Jian onto a low cot and peeled back the boy's collar with careful fingers. His eyes narrowed at the bruising along the neck.
"This isn't only rope," Cen Bai murmured.
"No," Luo Xian said, voice shaking. "It's fear."
Cen Bai didn't respond. He pressed two fingers to Luo Jian's throat, then to the boy's temple. Luo Jian flinched.
"Hold still," Cen Bai said softly. "I'm not your enemy."
Luo Jian's eyes fluttered. "Feathers," he whispered again, as if the word was stuck to his tongue.
Cen Bai's gaze sharpened. He looked up at Shen Jin. "That word," he said, "is a door I don't like."
Shen Jin kept his face blank. "We don't like it either."
Cen Bai stepped back and reached for a ward-stone the size of a fist. He placed it on Luo Jian's chest, then traced a ring pattern in the air with his knuckle. The stone flared pale blue. Luo Jian's breathing eased by half a notch.
Luo Xian sagged, relief leaking out of her like water.
"That will keep him stable," Cen Bai said. "For a day."
Luo Xian's head snapped up. "A day? He needs—"
"He needs a clean sever," Cen Bai interrupted. He looked at Luo Jian's throat again. "Someone marked him. Not with ink. Not with metal. With a pattern."
Gu's expression went hard. "What pattern?"
Cen Bai lifted Luo Jian's chin and turned the boy's neck. In the candle's weak light, Shen Jin saw it: faint, almost invisible ring-lines beneath the skin, like a tattoo drawn in bruises.
"An oath-trace," Cen Bai said. "Or an echo of one."
Shen Jin felt the Broken Ring Key burn faintly in his sleeve, as if it recognized its kin.
Luo Xian's voice went small. "Can you remove it?"
Cen Bai stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "Not here," he said. "Not safely."
Luo Xian's hands clenched. "Then where?"
Cen Bai's eyes lifted to Shen Jin again. "Where were you going?" he asked.
Shen Jin didn't bother lying. "The Nine-Ring Road."
Cen Bai's expression didn't change, but the air in the chamber did. It tightened, the way air tightened before a storm.
"People who see the Road," Cen Bai said quietly, "either come back broken… or don't come back at all."
"I've been broken," Shen Jin replied. "It wasn't fatal."
Gu snorted once, humorless. Luo Xian didn't smile.
Cen Bai picked up another ward-stone and turned it in his palm. "You're bringing a plague of attention," he said. "Court patrols. Guild hunters. Feathers."
"We're not asking you to fight them," Shen Jin said.
Cen Bai's gaze hardened. "You're asking me to be near you. That is fighting."
Shen Jin stepped closer, just enough that Cen Bai could see his eyes clearly. "I'm asking you to decide," Shen Jin said. "Do you want the Court to keep hanging cages in the street? Do you want the Guild printing chains and calling them coin? Do you want feathers putting patterns under children's skin?"
Cen Bai didn't answer. He looked down at Luo Jian, at the ward-stone pulsing on his chest.
Shen Jin continued, voice low. "I can pay," he said. "Ring Marks. True ones."
Cen Bai's mouth twitched. "Money doesn't heal curses."
"Then I'll pay in information," Shen Jin said. He pulled the two counterfeit Ring Marks out and set them on the table. "These are new," he said. "Clean. Too clean. If you've seen them in the docks, then you know the Guild is printing."
Cen Bai's eyes flicked to the discs, then narrowed. He picked one up, held it to the candle, and watched the inner geometry stutter.
"It's a leash," he murmured. "And you're smart enough to feel the collar."
Shen Jin nodded. "I'm smart enough to offer you scissors."
Cen Bai set the disc down. "And what do you want from me?"
Shen Jin didn't hesitate. "Wards," he said. "Not fancy. Reliable. Enough to keep a crew alive long enough to reach the Road's mouth. And"—he glanced at Luo Jian—"enough to keep him breathing."
Cen Bai's gaze sharpened. "Breathing is easy," he said. "Living is complicated."
Gu's voice cut in. "We don't have time for poetry."
Cen Bai's eyes moved to Gu. "You look like a man who solves problems with fists," he said.
Gu shrugged. "It works."
Cen Bai looked back at Shen Jin. "And you," he said, "solve problems with doors."
Shen Jin's sleeve warmed. He didn't move.
Cen Bai exhaled, slow, then reached up and took a small iron chime from the arch wall. He rang it once. The ink-fingered assistant appeared in the canvas slit.
"Pack three ward-stones," Cen Bai said. "Salt-calm, breath-hold, and a mirror-skin."
The assistant's eyes widened. "Master—"
"Do it," Cen Bai said. "And bring my kit."
The assistant vanished.
Luo Xian's shoulders loosened by a fraction. "You'll help?" she asked, disbelief cracking her anger.
Cen Bai didn't look at her. He adjusted the ward-stone on Luo Jian's chest. "I'll treat him," he said. "For now."
"And the rest?" Shen Jin asked.
Cen Bai's gaze met his, calm and sharp. "I'm not joining you," he said.
Gu's jaw tightened. Luo Xian's relief snapped back into tension.
Shen Jin nodded as if he'd expected it. "Then sell," he said. "Sell us wards. Sell us clean bandages. Sell us time."
Cen Bai's expression didn't soften. "I don't bargain with doomed men," he said.
Shen Jin leaned in slightly. "Then bargain with a door you don't like," he murmured. "Because the feathers are moving. And the next child they mark won't have a sister with a crossbow."
Cen Bai's hand paused, just for a breath.
Outside, the river quarter horns sounded—closer than before.
Cen Bai's eyes flicked toward the canvas slit. "They're sweeping this sector," he said.
Shen Jin's voice stayed steady. "Then you can either let them walk over your arch," he said, "or you can help me move before they do."
Cen Bai stared at him for a long beat.
Then, very quietly, he said, "You're not just loud. You're contagious."
Shen Jin didn't deny it. "I'm alive," he said. "And alive things spread."
Cen Bai looked down at Luo Jian, then up at Luo Xian, then at the counterfeit Ring Marks on the table.
Finally, he spoke as if it hurt.
"You get one day," he said. "One day of my wards. One day of my hands. After that, you're outside my arch."
Shen Jin nodded. "One day is enough," he said. "If we don't waste it."
In his sleeve, the Broken Ring Key pulsed warm approval—like a lock recognizing a new tool.
(End of Chapter 6)