Lord Feng was seated behind his large, dark wood desk, a single, elegant candle flame the only source of light in the otherwise dark study. The air was still and cold. He did not look up as I was ushered in by the silent Steward, his gaze fixed on a single white Go stone he was turning over between his long, slender fingers. The Steward retreated, sliding the door shut with a soft click, leaving the two of us in a profound silence broken only by the faint crackle of the candle's wick.

  After a long moment, he placed the stone down on the desk with a quiet, deliberate tap. He finally raised his head, his obsidian eyes calm and unreadable, but they seemed to penetrate the very marrow of my bones.

  "Steward Feng's report was... unexpected," he said, his voice a contemplative murmur. "He tells me a significant piece has been removed from the board. A piece I had accounted for."

  He paused, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled state, noting my pale face and the dark, spreading stain on my robes where my wound had bled through.

  "He also tells me it was removed by a player I had thought was still learning the opening moves. Tell me, Scholar Zhang. How does a novice capture a grandmaster's stone?"

  "The novice plays in a way the master has never seen," I said with a bow. "Or with the chaotic motions the master is no longer used to."

  A small, dry, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of Lord Feng's mouth before vanishing. He picked up the white stone again, his fingers caressing its smooth, cool surface.

  "Chaos has its place on the board," he conceded, his voice a quiet hum. "A desperate move, a surprising sacrifice. It can disrupt the flow of the game, create an opening where none existed."

  He placed the stone back down, the gentle click echoing in the silent room. His eyes met mine, and the faint amusement was gone, replaced by a cold, analytical fire.

  "But 'Shadowless Hand' Gao was a master of resolving chaos. His entire discipline was built upon imposing order through precise force. A 'flurry of random punches,' Scholar Zhang, would not have been enough to break his guard, let alone his life."

  He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight casting his face in sharp, severe shadows. His voice dropped, becoming as sharp and pointed as a needle.

  "Bodyguard Ying's report spoke of a sound like thunder. And of fire. These are not the tools of a martial artist, novice or master. They are the tools of a sorcerer... or an engineer."

  He held my gaze, his authority felt absolute.

  "The game is over. The pieces are off the board. Stop speaking of poetry and tell me about the weapon."

  I smiled and repeated the explanation I gave to Steward Feng. "It can punch through the heaviest armors and shields at close range. But its steel construction is prohibitively expensive to construct at scale."

  Lord Feng listened with an unnerving stillness, his steepled fingers resting against his lips.

  As I finished my explanation, he remained silent for a long moment. He rose slowly from his desk and walked to the massive map of the empire that adorned the wall, his back to me.

  "Armor..." he murmured, the word soft. "The very foundation of the frontier garrisons' dominance. The heavy cavalry that An Lushan prides himself upon... a wall of steel that he believes is insurmountable."

  He turned from the map and his eyes burned with chilling interest.

  "So," he stated, his voice calm and precise. "It is not a weapon for armies. It is a weapon for killing generals."

  "You speak of expense as a flaw, Scholar Zhang. I see it as an advantage. A weapon that cannot be mass-produced is a weapon that can be controlled. It ensures that only... discerning hands... may wield such thunder."

  He gave me a look that was both an assessment and a command.

  "You have brought a new and terrible kind of fire into this world. The Steward was correct. I am very interested."

  He paused, the final command delivered with the weight of absolute authority.

  "You will build another. And you will provide my Steward with its design. This... art... now belongs to my household."

  "Of course," I bowed.

  Lord Feng gave a single, sharp nod of satisfaction, accepting my compliance as his due. He turned and walked back to his desk, but he did not sit. He picked up the white Go stone, once again rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

  "An asset of such... unique value requires a commensurate station," he said, his back still to me. "A mere clerkship is no longer a suitable mask for you. It attracts the wrong kind of attention. Vermin like the Iron Vultures."

  He turned around, his expression unreadable. "Steward Feng will make the arrangements. You will be officially appointed as a Retainer of my household, a ménkè, with a grade seven stipend. You will have access to the outer archives and my network of informants. It is a position of some visibility. It will grant you influence."

  He paused, letting the weight of the promotion settle in the room. His eyes became as hard as the stone in his hand.

  "It will also make you a more prominent target. A weapon is only as dangerous as the man who wields it. Do not mistake ownership of a thunderclap for the wisdom of a storm. Behave accordingly."

  The warning hung in the air, a clear reminder of the new dangers that came with his favor. Having settled the matter of my new invention and station, his mind, ever moving, shifted to the larger board.

  "Now," he said, his tone all business. "The Censorate. Your actions have forced Censor Wang's hand. He has the witness and the remnants of the proof. Vice-Director Song is trapped." He looked at me, his gaze analytical. "What is his next move?"

  "He'll take two approaches," I said. "The first will be to purge those he distrusts from his side, quietly if he's smart." I thought of Layla and I became a little worried but I didn't let that show externally. Lord Feng should not anticipate me thinking this.

  "Then he'll stall the investigative process with legal defences while using less legal methods to eliminate the witnesses. Me, Zhu, and Chen's daughter. He's already doing this but now he'll do so with urgency."

  I considered it for a moment. "At this point it is unlikely to alert Chancellor Yang, that means he must find alternative sources of silver to continue to gift Yang, to hide his issues."

  Lord Feng listened to my entire analysis without a single change in his placid expression. He gave a deliberate nod, a gesture of a master confirming a student's correct, if obvious, calculation.

  "A sound assessment," he said, his voice a quiet murmur. "A cornered dog will bite wildly. First at its own pack, then at its hunters."

  He turned from me, his gaze drifting towards the dark window, as if peering into the hidden courtyards of the city.

  "Any rats Song attempts to silence will find my cats are already watching the granaries. Your... sources... will remain secure." The slight pause was a clear, unspoken message: I know who you mean, and they are protected because they are now useful to me.

  He glanced back at me, with something that might have been amusement in his eyes. "As for the other witnesses... Censor Wang is a cagey old badger. His den is secure enough for now. And you," he added, his voice flat, "are now a Ménkè of this household. Let Song send his assassins. They will find the walls of this garden are high, and the gardeners are diligent."

  He dismissed the threats as trivialities, his mind already focused on the true strategic opening I'd identified. A cold, intellectual smile touched his lips.

  "But this need for silver... that is the most interesting part. A desperate man in search of a fortune is a fish rushing toward the bait."

  He turned his full attention back to me, his eyes sharp and demanding. The test had begun again.

  "You have shown me the weakness in his position, Scholar Zhang. Now, show me the lure. How do we offer Vice-Director Song a new source of silver that leads him directly into a snare of our own making?"

  "His avenues are few now," I said, thinking to myself. "His external, taxation related efforts have been stalled with the demise of minister Wu, a smart opponent would at least wait a while longer before re-attempting it. His efforts to embezzle during distribution has also been headed off. Those are the main avenues from his current position."

  I paused. I couldn’t remember if this was before or after the official salt monopoly but regardless the salt trade was certainly lucrative. Even though the smugglers might not yet be trying to circumvent a government monopoly, in age old tradition they were always trying to avoid the high taxes.

  "Actually that leaves the salt trade."

  Lord Feng remained perfectly still as I worked through the logic, his eyes watching me with the intensity of a Go master observing his opponent's thought process. When I landed on the final, crucial phrase, "the salt trade," a dangerous smile spread across his lips. It was a smile of pure, intellectual satisfaction.

  "Indeed," he said, his voice an appreciative hum. "The rivers of silver from the land tax and the grain distribution have been dammed, for him at least. So he must now turn to the great, hidden sea of profit that is the salt trade."

  He walked to a lacquered cabinet and retrieved a small, intricately carved wooden box, placing it on his desk.

  "The tax from salt trade is a vital part of the Imperial treasury," he continued, his tone becoming graver. "For Song to attempt to siphon from it is not merely theft; it is an act of profound arrogance. He is reaching into a dragon's mouth."

  "To lay a snare there is to risk disturbing the dragon itself. The potential for... collateral damage... is immense. Your lure must be subtle. It must be irresistible. And it must be entirely undeniable."

  He gestured toward the box on his desk. "So tell me, Scholar Zhang. What bait do we offer a man who wishes to steal the ocean?"

  "A well funded buyer," I said, and with an afterthought, "and a shrewd competitor."

  A wolfish smile spread across Lord Feng's face. He saw the shape of my trap instantly, and the sheer, elegant simplicity of it was deeply appealing to his strategic mind. He leaned back in his chair, the Go stone now still in his hand, a silent signal that my move had captured his full attention.

  "A competitor..." he mused, his voice an appreciative whisper. "Yes. Not a direct assault, but pressure. You would create a rival smuggling operation, one more efficient, more reliable, and offering a better price. You would bleed his network dry, making his partners anxious and his profits thin. You would make his current methods... untenable."

  He then turned his gaze to the second part of my proposal. "And then, when he is squeezed and desperate, a new buyer appears. A man with endless silver and a discreet, urgent need for salt, willing to pay a premium to bypass the official channels. A perfect solution to all his problems."

  He placed the stone on the desk and steepled his fingers, looking at me with the cool, appraising gaze of a master craftsman examining a perfectly constructed puzzle box.

  "You have shown me the bait and the hook, Scholar Zhang. An elegant design."

  His expression became sharp, the intellectual appreciation replaced by the practical demands of a commander.

  "Now, show me the fishing line. Who is this competitor? Who is this buyer? How do you create these ghosts and give them enough substance to fool a paranoid and cornered man? The details, Scholar Zhang. Give me the details."

  I said with a bow, "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the lay of that land. Both the seller and the buyers would have to be local to the south."

  I knew I should still offer a blueprint.

  "A buyer interested in distributing northwards would be ideal, the frontier circuits have been stockpiling resources in recent months. In turn the seller can be best made of an established Salt Gang to avoid suspicion and can be motivated with an administrative probe to clear out their warehouse before an investigation."

  Lord Feng processed my blueprint with a still, contemplative silence. He walked to the small, carved box on his desk and opened it. It did not contain treasure, but a set of perfectly matched, black Go stones, each one polished to a dull, light-absorbing sheen. He picked one up.

  "A northern buyer... yes," he said, his voice a low murmur of approval. "The frontier generals are always hungry. Their demand for salt to preserve rations is a constant, legitimate need. A large, private purchase order would be seen as prudent, not suspicious."

  He then considered my other piece. "And an established southern salt gang, suddenly squeezed by an administrative probe..." A cold, thin smile touched his lips. "You would give them a choice: face the Imperial auditors and lose everything, or sell their entire illegal stockpile at a discount to a single, discreet buyer to hide the evidence. You create a desperate seller and a perfect buyer and simply allow greed to connect them."

  He looked at me, his eyes showing a flicker of genuine, intellectual respect. "The architecture of your trap is sound, Scholar Zhang."

  He correctly interpreted my unspoken desire to remain on the primary battlefield. "You are right to remain in the capital. Your mind is the sharper weapon here. I have other hands in the south capable of building this... stage."

  He placed the black Go stone onto an empty board on his desk, the sharp click echoing with finality. The decision had been made. He would see to it.

  As I prepared to take my leave, he stopped me, his expression shifting slightly. The analytical calm was replaced by a note of caution.

  "One last thing," he said, his voice dropping. "My informants report a man has been asking questions in the city about you. As far as we can tell he used to be a soldier."

  He held my gaze, the warning clear. "He has been showing merchants scraps of silk and paper." He paused, letting me understand the implication. "Song is growing more cunning. He is no longer sending thugs. It seems he is now attempting to trace the hand that guides our moves. Be cautious. This new hound has a keen nose."