NOVEL NEXT Chapter 307: The Rule Of The Doorway
"Doorway only," I told him, one hand on the east chamber latch. "You plant your feet at the threshold. Your shadow can cross it, but you are not to."
Longzi didn't blink. "Understood."
Deming stood at my left, his half mask catching a thin line of brazier light. Yizhen lounged by the screen like a cat that had learned how to wear silk, sleeves loose, hair tied with something he swore wasn't mine.
Yaozu was a darker shape just behind, attention where it always lived—on whatever I hadn't had time to look at yet.
On the pallet, Lin Wei worked through the first stance with the wooden sword Deming had cut to fit his hands. Tap, set, draw breath. His fingers still trembled between motions, but he didn't drop the wood.
Progress. I counted those more carefully than ministers counted grain.
"Hand higher," Deming prompted, voice low, not pushing. "Elbow close. Exactly. Again."
WeiWei tried. Missed. Tried again. The small line between his brows didn't mean tears; it meant stubbornness. He'd learned that from me.
I slid the latch and let the door swing wider. Warmth pushed out—the kind made by water and patience, not by words.
"Repeat it," I told Longzi, because men who liked to win forget detail.
"Doorway only," he returned. "If the heir calls, I can answer from the sill. If you order, I leave. No foot over the line unless you make it so."
"You learn quickly," I muttered.
"I listen," he countered.
Yizhen's mouth tilted. "A rare hobby for a soldier."
"Rare hobby for anyone," Yaozu put in, because he'd already taken the measure of Longzi's calm and wasn't impressed by posture.
Mingyu slipped in after them, the cuffs of his robe pushed back, as if he'd come from his study, not from court. He didn't make a speech. He didn't need to.
He watched Lin Wei finish the stance and gave the boy his attention the way other men offered incense to gods—head bowed a fraction, hands empty, intention clean.
"Again," Deming murmured.
Lin Wei lifted. Set. Breathed on the beat I counted for him without moving my lips.
When he finished, he didn't look at me or at Deming. He looked sideways at Yizhen and then at the doorway, as if to confirm Longzi had, in fact, done exactly what he'd been told.
"Good," I smiled stroking WeiWei's head. "Let's trade the sword for a cup and get something to drink."
Deming passed the wooden blade to Yizhen without bothering to warn him.
Yizhen caught it one-handed and twirled the length just enough to make me flick him a look he deserved. He stopped. Shadow, sprawled at the pallet's foot, thumped his tail once and decided duty had been discharged.
Yaozu cleared his throat. "Two things," he reported. "Lady Huai's mother is on the road with a litter and a grievance. She has six trunks and an opinion about propriety. Also, the girl from the barracks—the one who calls herself Meimei but answers to Xiaoyun when someone uses a stern voice—was seen on the west wall asking guards where Captain Sun sleeps."
Longzi's jaw hardened. "She won't ask twice."
"She won't ask again," I corrected. "Xiaoyun goes to the river checkpoints at dawn. Salt vouchers. Cold hands. Honest work. She can count what comes in and what goes out until her mouth forgets how to follow men through corridors."
"Who's her overseer?" Yaozu asked without lifting a brow.
"Your aunt who enjoys beating rugs," I answered. "If Xiaoyun complains, the aunt can demonstrate how to sweep a floor clean of noise."
"Done," Yaozu grunted, already turning the pieces in his head so they would fall where I wanted them.
"And the mother?" Mingyu asked, not because he feared the woman but because paper liked to know if it should stretch.
"She can sit in the west audience chamber with her trunks and write letters until her fingers stiffen," I returned. "We'll heat the water. Not the room."
Deming passed Lin Wei a cup of warm water.
I cupped my hands around the boy's for a breath—heat into small fingers, small fingers into calm. He drank without spilling and set the cup down where I'd told him to set it yesterday.
Muscle memory was a kind of medicine.
Longzi didn't fidget in the doorway. Good. Men who fidget near children don't get to stay long.
"Report," I told him, because I didn't invite him to decorate my inner chambers.
"Two routes for the Emperor," he replied. "One obvious, one that looks obvious and isn't. The obvious route gets hooks instead of rope by dusk; the less obvious route keeps shadows on the left side so a blade can't live there without an oath. Brass on corners. No carpets near air. Doors propped with wedges that don't squeal. Lanterns trimmed by the same two hands so I can smell if anyone else touched them."
"And the guards?" Deming asked, the question pointed but not petty.
"They'll learn hand signs instead of speaking inside the inner court," Longzi returned. "Your drill. My tempo."
Deming's head tipped, not consent, not approval. A shared language with one word crossed out.
"You will show me both routes," I instructed. "I'll choose the one you don't like."
"I don't like either," he answered. "That's why they'll work."
Yizhen made a pleased sound. "Oh, he's going to be fun."
"Don't poke the Captain," I told him, looking over my shoulder at the other man. "He'll enjoy it too much and then I'll have to invent a new rule just to keep the two of you from building games in my halls."
"Already building," Yizhen murmured, spinning the wooden sword again before Shadow sighed at him like an old man and he stopped.
Lin Wei leaned into my hip, his eyes half on the cup, half on Longzi.
He was measuring, the way small creatures measure whether a new thing has teeth or just shape. I let him use my sleeve for courage and set my other hand briefly on Deming's forearm. Leather under my palm. Warmth under leather. He didn't look at me, didn't need to. He adjusted the angle of the cup so Lin Wei wouldn't chase it.
"Xiaoyun won't like the river," Mingyu noted, easing onto the bench with a quiet huff. "She'll complain to anyone who thinks he's kind."
"She can complain to the water," I returned with a shrug. "It always listens without agreeing."
"And Lady Huai's mother?" Yizhen prodded, because he couldn't resist plucking at string when he heard the tune.
"Will throw a fit big enough to blanket the west court," I answered. "I'll have someone sweep it up with the rugs."
"Pick a big broom," Yaozu muttered.
"Pick three," I amended. "And make one of them a clerk who knows how to read between lies."