The steam from my tea fogged the latticed window, blurring the budding streets of Chang'an into a soft, impressionistic smudge. Inside the Peony Teahouse, the air was an oasis of warmth, thick with the scent of red bean pastries and the low, comforting hum of a dozen whispered conversations.

  Across the low table, Layla shifted, the movement sending a cascade of shimmering light across the deep plum-colored silk of her gown, which was intricately embroidered with silver blossoms. A thick, charcoal-grey woolen cloak lined with pure white fox fur was draped elegantly over the back of her seat. Every time she moved, gold and silver accessories on her wrists and ankles would clink together softly.

  “So it has taken me five years,” she was saying, her voice a quiet murmur that was almost lost in the teahouse buzz. She traced the rim of her delicate porcelain cup, her eyes fixed on some distant memory. “A pearl earring here, a jade comb there, sold in secret over the years… I have managed to put aside three hundred and twelve taels of silver.”

  She finally looked up at me, a wry, tired smile on her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes.

  “A fortune for a common merchant,” I remarked, “and not even a rounding error for the men who own your contract.”

  “Precisely,” she said, her playful demeanor returning as she gracefully refilled my cup. “Which is why I find myself in the company of a man who thinks in terms of fortresses and thunder. Tell me, RuLin, how goes your own little financial empire? Has your young prodigy, Xiao Qi, cornered the market on strange maps and inkless writing sticks yet?”

  I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. “The ‘Scholar's Mark' pencils are a sensation with the examination candidates, and a few caravan masters have already realized that the maps from ‘Four Corners Cartography' can cut days off their journeys. The five hundred tael loan from the Whirling Cloud was more than enough to get us started. Xiao Qi has hired two apprentices. He is becoming a master in his own right.”

  “A reward from your Lord Feng, I assume?” Layla asked, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. She took a delicate sip of tea. “And what of our cornered rat?”

  “Nothing yet,” I responded. “He remains coiled in his manor. The Censorate's official inquiry moves at a glacial pace, and Song is too paranoid to act rashly. He's a snake, but a patient one.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed my face. “It's a curiosity, though. The man has been embezzling a fortune for years. Zhu's ledgers alone accounted for thousands of taels. What does he even do with all that silver? His vices in Pingkang Li are expensive, but they are not that expensive…. right?”

  Layla let out a soft, musical laugh, “Oh, RuLin. You see wealth as a tool, something to be used to build things.”

  She leaned forward, her expression becoming instructive. “Song is a man from a poor, provincial village in JiangNan, called SongJiaTun. He may wear the robes of a Vice-Director, but in the eyes of the old noble families of the capital, he is still just a farmer's son with dirt under his fingernails. His silver doesn't just buy him horses and dancers. It buys him a new past.”

  “Last year,” she continued, her voice a confidential whisper, “he funded the complete reconstruction of the ancestral temple in his home village. He had a stone bridge built over the river where he used to catch fish as a boy. He pays for the education of every promising child from his clan. To us in Chang'an, he is a corrupt official. But to the people of his hometown, he is a great and benevolent man who has not forgotten his roots. Every coin he spends there washes away a bit of the shame of his humble birth. It is how he proves to the world, and to himself, that he is no longer a nobody.”

  “Unfortunate that a humble birth is considered a shame” I replied, absorbing her explanation, Song's ambition and insecurity becoming clearer.

  "Speaking of men who are not what they seem," I said, my voice dropping as I leaned forward, "my patron has warned me of a new player. Apparently some soldier's been asking questions. Song's work, no doubt. He's been trying to trace the source of high-grade silk and the paper used for certain messages of mine. Have you heard anything?"

  Layla's smile widened, and a new, wicked glint of amusement danced in her eyes. She took a deliberate sip of her tea before answering, apparently savoring some private joke I was not privy to.

  "Ah yes," she purred, her voice a silken ribbon. "The persistent soldier. A very serious man. He did come to my pavilion, asking his questions." She looked at me over the rim of her cup. "He is not what you think he is, RuLin.”

  She placed her cup down, her playful expression softening into something more serious. "He is a man of rare integrity. A wounded wolf, perhaps, but not a rabid dog like the ones Song employs. It would be a great pity... if such a man were to be harmed by mistake."

  The subtle warning was clear. Despite my evident confusion I filed it away.

  And with that serious business our meeting seemed to be concluded. I let out a breath, the tension easing from my shoulders.

  Layla’s expression softened, and she leaned back, a flicker of a playful smile touching her lips. Then, her nose wrinkled just slightly.

  “Speaking of... unfortunate things,” she said, her voice dropping to a teasing purr. “Forgive my impertinence, RuLin, but what is that smell? It’s very... sharp.”

  I reflexively sniffed the sleeve of my robe. I didn’t smell anything but then I’d be used to it by now. I’m pretty sure I blushed “That would be me I’m afraid. My apologies. It’s the new foundry. We're training the craftsmen on saltpeter refining. It’ll be over once the first batch is done.”

  “Can't you have our young prodigy, Xiao Qi, teach them?” she asked, taking a delicate sip of her tea.

  “He is!” I said, perhaps a bit too defensively. “But he’s managing the business side, and... well, I want to feel like I'm contributing.”

  I didn't add aloud that I genuinely enjoyed it. Toothman Yao had found me a team of younger, sharper smiths whose minds were open to new ideas. They asked why. I found their mechanical, problem-solving minds comfortingly familiar and so I’d been finding excuses to spend more time at the secret foundry.

  I couldn’t really ignore what was expected of me by Lord Feng, so I chose to limit what could be built at scale. Fire lances existed historically I’d mused, and a dozen firearms might be remembered as trivia rather than world shattering.

  So I opted to focus on refining the process of chasing red herrings while still looking as if we were working hard. I lead the earnest craftsmen to cast steel and carve steel by hand, and every prototype still shattered at the testing block.

  Xiao Kai had expressed her displeasure that we were once again boiling horse manure crystals. But at least it wasn’t happening in my courtyard this time.

  “Someone is going to notice the increase in manure demand. Do warn me before you move onto outhouses” Layla laughed “I only noticed because you usually smell so... clean.”

  She leaned forward. “It's your strangest habit, you know. This obsession with bathing every other day. Even most officials in this city are content with the usual ten-day cycle.”

  A visceral memory of my first week in this world resurfaced, the phantom itch of grime and sweat crawling on my skin. Now I could afford the cheaper soap and the fuel, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t eating into my budget.

  My next side project would have to be a bronze solar water heater. I was already drawing up the plans.

  “I seem to recall you have a similar well known habit.” I shot back.

  “My people tend to smell more noticeably when we sweat,” Layla admitted, then a shiver ran down her spine “and some of my patrons… make me feel unclean.” She sipped her tea defensively.

  “Speaking of which. Is this wise?" I asked, gesturing with my hand and changing the subject. "For us to be seen together so often? I am an aide to a powerful minister, and you... are you. I would not want my presence to frighten away more suitable patrons for you."

  Her laugh was soft.

  "Suitable patrons?" she repeated, the words tasting like ash. "RuLin, the men who seek my company come to purchase a fantasy. They wish to own a beautiful songbird, to keep it in a gilded cage and hear it sing just for them."

  She turned her gaze back to me.

  "You are the only man who has ever come to my door and spoken to the woman, not the songbird. You speak of Aristotle and empires, of justice and impossible weapons. You ask for nothing, and in doing so, you have given me something I value more than silver."

  A small and profoundly sad smile touched her lips.

  "So let them talk. Let the suitors be frightened. I find their company tedious. The conversation, I assure you, is much better here."

  "Speaking of good conversation," I said, "I might have an interesting story that deserves to be spread around."