Zhou Wei slept lightly.
Not the shallow, panicked kind. The kind that came when part of his mind refused to stand down. He woke before the bell, breath steady, eyes already open, listening to the sect wake around him. Wood creaked. Water splashed in basins. A guard coughed and spat somewhere outside.
The warmth inside him was awake too.
Quiet. Dense. Alert.
He did not rush. Rushing drew eyes. Instead, he let routine carry him into the morning, hands busy, posture loose. He chose paths that crossed others just often enough to look ordinary. He spoke when spoken to. Complained once about sore shoulders. Laughed softly at a joke that wasn't funny.
All of it was camouflage.
By midmorning, he began laying the trap.
Not with accusations. With questions.
"Did you hear they're reviewing old records," he said casually to a pair of outer disciples while stacking sacks near the granary.
One of them frowned. "Why would they do that."
"Inspection," Zhou Wei replied, shrugging. "They say it's routine."
The other disciple's mouth tightened. "Routine doesn't dig backward."
Zhou Wei said nothing else. He let the silence work.
Later, near the wash stones, he murmured to a cook he had spoken to before, "They asked me about assignments from years ago. Asked if I remembered anyone leaving suddenly."
The cook's face went pale. "Who asked."
Zhou Wei lifted his shoulders. "Someone from Heavenly Purity. Polite. Thorough."
That did it.
Fear spread faster than truth ever did. By noon, the sect hummed with it, thin and sharp. Zhou Wei felt it ripple outward, touching places he could not reach himself. Servants whispered. Disciples argued behind closed doors. Old memories, long buried, began to surface whether people wanted them to or not.
Zhou Wei did not push further.
Pressure applied too hard broke things unpredictably. He needed cracks, not explosions.
He checked on Mei Lin once, briefly, brushing her presence with the lightest touch. She was where she was supposed to be, posture composed, emotions steady but coiled. She felt the tension too.
When they crossed paths near the herb sheds, she spoke first.
"They're watching everyone," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"And he's watching me," she added.
Zhou Wei did not deny it. "He thinks pressure will make you slip."
She snorted softly. "He's wrong."
Zhou Wei studied her face. There was no bravado there. No reckless confidence. Just readiness.
"If he summons you," Zhou Wei said, "you accept."
Her brows drew together. "That's not what you said before."
"Before, refusal weakened him," Zhou Wei replied. "Now it gives him justification."
She considered that. "And witnesses."
"You insist on them," Zhou Wei said. "Calmly. You frame it as respect. As fear of impropriety."
"And if he refuses."
"Then you look surprised," Zhou Wei said. "And slightly hurt."
Her mouth twitched despite herself. "You make it sound simple."
"It isn't," Zhou Wei said. "That's why it works."
They separated again before anyone could notice the pause.
By late afternoon, the Heavenly Purity elder summoned the sect leadership to the main hall. Zhou Wei felt it like a tightening knot, authority pressing outward in controlled waves.
This was the window.
Zhou Wei slipped into the records room again, heart steady. He did not take anything. He did not move anything. He only noted which scrolls had been disturbed since last time.
Three were out of alignment.
Someone else had been looking.
Zhou Wei replaced them carefully, then left, rain beginning to fall again, masking his steps.
When the summons came for Mei Lin, it came openly.
A junior disciple delivered it in the courtyard, voice formal, loud enough for others to hear. Heads turned. Whispers sparked.
Mei Lin accepted the slip with a bow, expression neutral.
Zhou Wei watched from the edge of the yard, pulse even.
She did exactly as planned.
She did not go straight to the inner chambers.
She stopped at the guards' post first.
"I've been summoned," she said politely. "I was told the inspection requires transparency. Should I wait until the hall clears."
The guard hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. That would be proper."
When Elder Zhang finally arrived, his irritation hit Zhou Wei like heat off stone.
"Why are you here," Zhang asked sharply.
Mei Lin bowed. "I did not want to dishonor you by appearing alone during an inspection, Elder."
There were eyes on them now. Disciples. Guards. A Heavenly Purity attendant lingering near the hall entrance.
Zhang's smile returned, thin and brittle. "Very well," he said. "Come."
They walked together, measured and visible.
Zhou Wei let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
The trap tightened.
Inside, Zhang spoke carefully. Zhou Wei could feel it from a distance, every word weighed, every impulse restrained. Mei Lin answered calmly, deflecting without accusing, delaying without refusing.
It was infuriating.
It was perfect.
When they emerged, Zhang's fury burned so hot Zhou Wei tasted it even through distance and walls. Control strained to its limit.
That was the moment Zhou Wei had been waiting for.
Zhang was no longer thinking strategically.
He was thinking personally.
As night fell, patrols doubled. Zhang's movements grew erratic. Orders were given and countermanded. Zhou Wei felt the shift in the sect's spine as authority wobbled.
He slipped back to the south wall just before curfew.
Mei Lin was already there.
"He's going to try something tonight," she said without preamble.
"Yes," Zhou Wei replied.
"Quietly," she added. "Without witnesses."
"Yes."
She met his eyes. "Then this is it."
Zhou Wei nodded. "If he moves, he exposes himself. If he doesn't, the inspection does."
Her jaw set. "And if he comes for me."
Zhou Wei's voice was steady. "Then the net closes."
Outside, thunder rolled, low and distant.
The sect held its breath.
And somewhere within it, Elder Zhang made his choice.