On the seventh night of work in the market, Bai An began to hallucinate.
His body trembled, drenched in cold sweat despite the chill, and his eyes twitched beneath closed lids as if chasing invisible ghosts. Zhang Hon sat beside him, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead, while Bai Su wept in silence, afraid that making a sound might steal away what little life his brother had left.
Bai An whispered, voice faint and confused:
— "The river… where's the river? It was in the dream… Mother was there…"
Zhang Hon didn't reply. His eyes watched the child's chest rise and fall, slowly.
He knew this kind of fever. Not necessarily deadly, but it required specific treatment—treatment he didn't have. Fever-reducing herbs were sold in a distant corner of the market, controlled by the merchants of Lan Hu, who gave nothing for free.
In the stillness of night, he knew he had no choice.
He looked at Bai An's small hand, clenching at the air like it was reaching for a mother who was no longer there.
If he failed… the boy would die dreaming of her.
If he succeeded… he'd take a step from which there was no return.
But choice was a luxury he didn't have.
At sunrise, he made his decision.
---
He didn't go to work. He left stale bread and water near Bai Su and said softly:
— "Keep him warm. Don't let him sleep alone."
Then he left the alley.
---
The stench of rot and medicine mixed with urine was the first thing that greeted him at the entrance to Lan Hu's corner. The men didn't smile, the women didn't speak. Everything was run with a glance; every deal sealed with a nod or a long silence.
He approached a half-burned table, behind which stood a bald man with a pale face and eyes sunken deep into shadow.
— "Fever herbs. For a small child."
The man looked at him, then at his injured hand.
— "Thirty bronze."
— "I have nothing."
— "Then go die with him."
But before he could turn away, Zhang Hon said:
— "I can work."
The man sneered.
— "You all say that."
— "But I can get into the back passage of the Eastern Market… the sect there doesn't watch well at dusk. I can deliver a message, watch someone. Give me something in return."
The man was silent for a while. Then he said:
— "We're tracking strange movements from the Bai Xuan Sect. They're shipping an unusual load tomorrow. Sealed crates—no one knows what's inside. Watch the cargo. Learn who's carrying it and where it goes. Be back before dusk… and I'll give you the dose."
---
Zhang Hon returned to work in the morning as if nothing had happened. No sign of exhaustion or hunger. He was quieter than ever, his eyes scanning the market—not darting, but devouring every detail.
Since dawn, he'd felt eyes on him. Not following the market… but following him.
He thought it was in his head.
Until he saw the shadow on the rooftop… unmoving, only watching.
At noon, he saw it.
A wooden cart pulled by three unfamiliar men. Not regular laborers. No marks on their faces. No shared language. Just tense glances and hurried steps.
Thick skin. Chains.
One guard whispered:
— "That's not herbs… not even food."
Zhang Hon didn't approach. He only followed the cart's shadow like chasing a nightmare he knew he wouldn't wake from.
He memorized the alleys they took, where they stopped. He didn't know the whole city—but his memory never failed.
---
On a low rooftop near the tea shop, Li Mu sat, a cup in hand and a smile that didn't belong to this place.
His eyes followed the cart… then shifted to Zhang Hon.
---
At dusk, Zhang Hon returned to Lan Hu and told the man what he'd seen.
The man said:
— "If you're lying, I'll send someone to cut out your tongue."
— "Try me."
The man tossed him a small bottle, its scent sharp and pungent.
— "The fever will break tonight… if the boy's still alive."
---
On the way back, it was late, but his steps were unhurried. He was thinking.
In the market, those who carry the crates don't know what's in them. Those who give food don't ask for anything in return. Those who smile… hide daggers.
This city… no one is innocent.
And as he neared the alley, he found Li Mu waiting for him, seated.
— "Did you enjoy the role?"
— "What role?"
— "Spying. Disguising. Being a rat in their eyes… but a wolf in your own."
Zhang Hon was silent, then said:
— "If you knew what I did, why didn't you stop me?"
Li Mu smiled.
— "Why would I? I just wanted to see… who survives first: the child, or the wolf protecting him."
---
That night, the sky wasn't just gray… it was mute. No sound, no wind, not even barking dogs. As if the city was holding its breath, waiting for something it didn't understand.
In the alley, Bai An was breathing calmly, for the first time in days. Bai Su lay asleep on his brother's chest.
And Zhang Hon sat there, watching the dark.
The child slept. He breathed quietly.
For the first time, the silence wasn't terrifying… it was precious.
Zhang Hon didn't smile. He just closed his eyes, as if something inside him had come to an end.
He whispered to himself:
> "Everything starts at the edges.
No one notices the wolf creeping in… until it's already among the herd."
Then he closed his eyes.