Prosperity of the Eclipse Palace

The Records Room is warm with smoke and old ink. Jian Wei hunches over the brazier, feeding it ledgers one by one, trying to erase the trail before anyone reads it.

Kaungshen and Charlotte slip in first, with Yamamoto Toujin and the Quartermaster close behind. The open ledger in Kaungshen’s hand still shows the lifted correction, the clerk seal, and the route mark.

The Quartermaster’s face hardens as he spots the burning seals. He moves to the desk, not the brazier, choosing evidence over a chase.

Jian Wei flinches toward the back shelf, where a folded dispatch pouch waits under stacked copies. Whatever he sends next can still reach the wrong hands if Kaungshen hesitates.

Kaungshen’s hand flashes to Iron Star. The sword leaves his grip in a black streak and pins Jian Wei’s shadow to the floor beside the shelf.

Darkness ki bites through the dim room, locking Jian Wei stiff in place. The burning ledgers slip from his fingers, hissing into the brazier.

The Quartermaster lunges past the desk and snatches the folded dispatch pouch before it can be shoved or burned.

Jian Wei strains against the pinning shadow, but his legs will not answer. Smoke thickens above the desk as the last flames eat the papers.

Kaungshen shifts to the shelf instead of the brazier, fingers brushing past ledgers and dust. A thin packet is wedged behind a false backing, sealed flat against the wood.

He hooks it free in one smooth motion. Inside are copied route notes, a second seal impression, and Jian Wei’s double countersignature marked beside the eastern store line.

Kaungshen turns the packet just enough for Jian Wei to see it, then keeps his voice low and steady. The room feels smaller under the smoke.

Jian Wei’s stare flicks from the packet to the ash in the brazier. His shoulders sag, and the words start to spill before he can stop them.

Kaungshen steps in close, lifting the packet until its seal copy fills Jian Wei’s view. His glare pins the clerk harder than the sword ever could.

Jian Wei swallows, then gives a broken nod toward the ash tray as if the names cost him something. The smoke above them curls and thins, no longer hiding the room.

Kaungshen does not let the silence breathe. He keeps the packet lifted, steady as a blade tip, until Jian Wei’s gaze breaks away from the ash and returns to the page.

Jian Wei’s throat bobs. The names already given hang in the stale air, and the clerk’s hands tremble against his own knees.

Jian Wei coughs once, hard, and a gray fleck of ash stains his sleeve as he jerks from the effort. The confession costs him the last of his composure, but the trail is named now.

Kaungshen shifts one step closer and sets two fingers against Jian Wei’s wrist, then the clerk’s ankle. A thin pulse of ki locks the joints before the man can flinch.

Jian Wei tries to draw back, but the acupuncture hold catches him cleanly. His shoulders stay rigid, his fingers useless at his sides.

The smoke thins overhead as the room settles around the new location, and the Quartermaster turns toward the door with the dispatch pouch clenched hard in his hand.