The river quarter did not quiet after midnight.
It changed texture.
Music thinned to strings and low drums. Laughter lost its sharpness and became private, folded inward. Lanterns were turned down instead of off, light smeared along water and stone in long, tired lines. People who remained were either working, waiting, or deciding how much they were willing to give up before dawn.
Zhou Wei walked with his hands empty and his posture loose, letting the crowd pass through him without sticking. The warmth inside him stayed disciplined, alert without pulling. He had learned the difference between appetite and opportunity here, and he did not confuse them.
Mei Lin matched his pace half a step behind, not close enough to be read as possession, not far enough to look careless. Her presence felt different in the city. Less reactive. More selective. Zhou Wei noticed the way her attention chose what to engage and what to ignore.
That mattered.
They crossed a narrow bridge and turned away from the river, toward streets that smelled of ink and iron instead of perfume. Here, shops stayed open late because secrets preferred night. Scribes bent over ledgers. Couriers counted breaths between deliveries. Doors opened to knock codes instead of calls.
Chen Yue waited beneath a hanging sign that had once been gilded and now was not.
"You took longer," she said.
"We watched longer," Zhou Wei replied.
She accepted that without comment and turned, leading them down an alley where the stones were slick with old rain and something darker. The city pressed closer here, walls leaning in, sound funneling into a constant murmur.
"This is the price," Chen Yue said as they walked.
Mei Lin glanced at her. "For what."
"For staying useful," Chen Yue replied. "And unowned."
Zhou Wei did not ask for clarification. He listened.
They stopped at a door set back from the alley, unmarked, the wood scarred by years of opening and closing without ceremony. Chen Yue knocked once, then again, then waited.
The door opened a hand's width.
A woman looked out. Older than the matron by years, younger by wear. Her hair was bound tight, eyes sharp and assessing. She took in Zhou Wei and Mei Lin in a single glance, then opened the door wider.
"Yue," she said. "You're late."
"You're early," Chen Yue replied. "This is business."
The woman's gaze lingered on Zhou Wei. Not desire. Calculation. The warmth inside him shifted, recognizing the shape of it.
They entered.
The room inside was narrow and long, lit by a single line of lamps that cast shadows like bars across the floor. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers, seals, wax blocks, and folded papers tied in precise knots.
Information had weight here.
The woman closed the door and leaned against it. "Speak."
Chen Yue did. "Someone is pushing the matron too fast. Feeding her confidence she hasn't earned. I want to know who, and what they think they're buying."
The woman's mouth curved slightly. "You already know the answer to the second part."
"Power," Mei Lin said quietly.
The woman's eyes flicked to her, interest sharpening. "Control," she corrected. "Power is a byproduct."
Chen Yue nodded. "Names."
The woman pushed off the door and crossed the room, fingers trailing along a shelf. "Names cost," she said. "Not coin."
Zhou Wei felt the moment settle.
"What," he asked.
"Exposure," the woman replied. "Small. Precise. You take a job that irritates the right people and proves you're not attached."
Mei Lin frowned. "Attached to whom."
"Anyone," the woman said. "The city doesn't trust ties. It prices them."
Chen Yue watched Zhou Wei carefully. "This is optional."
"No," Zhou Wei said. "It's expected."
The woman smiled thinly. "Good. That means you understand the city."
She reached up and pulled down a ledger, opening it to a marked page. "There's a courier guild that's been skimming messages. Not the dramatic kind. The quiet kind that changes outcomes by hours instead of days."
"And you want," Zhou Wei prompted.
"Proof," she said. "Delivered where it will be seen. Without blood."
Mei Lin crossed her arms. "And the price."
The woman met her gaze. "If you succeed, you get the name feeding the matron. If you fail, you disappear quietly and teach the city something useful."
Chen Yue exhaled softly. "You always go straight to extremes."
"They're efficient," the woman replied.
Zhou Wei considered the ledger, the room, the door behind them. He felt the warmth inside him test the edges of the decision without pushing.
"When," he asked.
"Before dawn," the woman said. "Messages move fastest when people think they're unseen."
They left with directions and nothing else.
Outside, the alley felt wider than it had before. The city breathed around them, patient and curious.
Mei Lin spoke first. "This is the part where people get sloppy."
"Yes," Zhou Wei agreed.
"And we won't."
"No."
They split their approach, not their purpose. Zhou Wei took the rooftops, moving where lantern light failed and tile gave underfoot with familiar complaint. Mei Lin stayed street-level, blending with night workers and late customers, her pace unhurried.
The courier guild's rear entrance sat between a cooper and a shuttered apothecary. Guards lingered nearby, bored rather than vigilant. Zhou Wei waited until a cart rattled past and used the noise to slip inside through a window left unlatched for heat.
Inside smelled of ink and sweat.
Ledgers lay open on a central table. Messages were stacked in neat bundles by seal color. Zhou Wei did not touch them immediately. He listened. Counted breaths. Felt the rhythm of the place.
Greed was present. Fear too. Not sharp. Habitual.
He found the discrepancy where the woman said he would. A delay ledger. Times adjusted by margins that looked accidental until you lined them up. He copied the pattern into memory and placed a single mark on a page that would be noticed by anyone who knew where to look.
Then he left.
Outside, Mei Lin waited in shadow near the apothecary, expression calm.
"Done," Zhou Wei said.
"Too easy," she replied.
"That's how systems rot," he said. "They rely on boredom."
They did not run.
They walked.
By the time dawn thinned the night, a courier was shouting in the street and a guildmaster was pale with understanding. Doors opened. Voices rose. Someone ran for a seal that would not fix the problem.
They were gone.
They returned to the narrow room beneath the unmarked door as the city shifted into morning. The woman waited with tea already poured.
"You were clean," she said. "I heard about it before you arrived."
She slid a slip of paper across the table. A name. A position. A habit.
"The matron's advisor," Chen Yue read. "The one who whispers about expansion."
"And who feeds him," the woman added. "A competitor who wants the river to burn just enough to buy it cheap."
Chen Yue smiled. "That's expensive information."
The woman's gaze slid to Zhou Wei. "You paid the price."
She stood and opened the door. "We're done."
Outside, the city brightened into morning. Merchants set out wares. Runners stretched sore legs. Deals resumed.
Mei Lin let out a breath she had been holding. "We're in," she said.
"We're noticed," Zhou Wei corrected.
"That's worse."
"Yes," he said. "And necessary."
They walked back toward the bathhouse, shoulders brushing once as the crowd thickened. Zhou Wei felt the warmth inside him settle again, heavier now with knowledge and consequence.
The city had taken its price.
It always did.
The question was whether what it gave in return would be worth what it would ask next.