Meng Yao's smile could charm venom from snakes. At fifteen, the boy moved through Crimson Phoenix Pavilion like shadowed water – greasing palms at the fish market one moment, sweet-talking spice merchants the next.
"Lady Wei arrives tonight," Steward Liu muttered, adjusting his ink-stained sleeves. "Fresh river shrimp, winter bamboo shoots, no shortcuts."
The boy's eyes gleamed. "The benefactor who burned our chains?"
Steward Liu's silence was answer enough.
——
Wei Xuan traced ledgers in the pavilion's top-floor study. Moonlight caught on Meng Yao's personnel file: Age 15. Mother: Meng Shi (former courtesan). Strengths: Calculative, adaptable, survives on crumbs of opportunity.
Steward Liu set down a lacquered food box. "Yunping's seasonal delicacies."
"You're no servant now," Wei Xuan chided, chopsticks hovering over braised eel. "Sit."
The scholar-turned-advisor obeyed. "Your brother...the Jiangs' head disciple?"
"Too loyal for his own good." Wei Xuan's blade hummed beneath the table.
"Regarding Meng Yao—" Steward Liu's tone turned clinical, "—ambition outweighs gratitude. He'll serve until better prospects arise."
"Monitor him," Wei Xuan said. "But let his claws grow. Sharp tools cut deepest."
——
Meng Yao froze when Wei Xuan strode past the kitchens. The patron saint of whores and orphans was a girl his age, her cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood, eyes colder than the steel blade she rode.
Steward Liu snapped fingers before his face. "Eyes low, boy."
"Yes, sir." Meng Yao bowed, mind racing. This fragile-looking girl had dismantled brothels, built schools, rewritten fates. His fingers itched to grasp similar power.
——
In Liyang, seven-year-old Xue Yang stabbed calligraphy paper with his brush. Wei Xuan observed the ink-splattered demon child from the doorway.
"Progress?"
The tutor wiped sweat. "Broke three brushes this week. But his knife-throwing..."
A dagger embedded itself in the ceiling beam above Wei Xuan's head.
She plucked it free, frost spiraling down the blade. "Enroll him in combat training."
Outside, Wei Xuan rode her blade into the crimson dusk. Behind her, Xue Yang's laughter echoed through the charity school – feral, unbroken, hungry.