The air inside the Evernight Pavilion was warm with steam and silence. Lanterns glowed with soft amber light, casting gentle shadows across polished wood and low tables. The scent of Misty Dew Tea mingled with a sharpness that hinted at Qi enhancing herbs.

  Tao and Jian followed a quiet attendant through the teahouse. None of the patrons looked up. Those who sat at the low tables did so with the stillness of people who knew not to pry. Most wore plain robes, faded, travel worn, or patched at the sleeves. The air smelled faintly of herbs and tea, and while no one flaunted spiritual energy, the careful way they moved spoke of caution.

  One man hunched over a chipped teacup, his hair tied back, a short blade resting across his lap. Beside him, a pair of younger cultivators passed a worn jade slip between them in silence, its glow faint and unsteady. A woman with pockmarked skin and ink stained fingers scrawled notes across the margins of an old scroll, her lips moving just enough to suggest she was memorising as she read.

  Some sipped tea. Others watched the steam. Conversations were rare and quiet, more gesture than word. The only constant was a shared effort to remain unremarkable.

  Everyone in the room looked ordinary.

  Which made it all the more clear that none of them were.

  They were guided to a private booth at the back, partitioned by thin curtains. The server bowed once, then vanished.

  For a long moment, nothing happened.

  Then she entered, Ming Yao.

  She moved like someone who didn’t need power to command a room. Her presence was quiet but undeniable, like a needle resting beneath silk. Her robes were plain but precise, dark slate grey with deep blue trim.

  Ming Yao was tall for a woman, with a posture that gave the impression she measured everything she saw. Her features were sharp but composed, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips set in a line that rarely moved. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain like beneath the warm light of the teahouse, but it was her eyes that drew the most attention. Dark and steady, they held no warmth, no cruelty, only calculation. The kind of gaze that never looked away first.

  Her hair was black, pulled into a high twist held by a single jade pin. A few loose strands curled deliberately at her temples, softening nothing.

  There were no rings on her fingers, no token of cultivation on display. But the way the room subtly adjusted around her, the sudden stillness, the slight dip in conversation, said everything that needed saying.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I was told you were asking around,” she said, her voice smooth, neither cold nor warm. “That tends to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

  “We’re looking to move something discreetly,” Tao replied. “Nothing that would cause trouble for your people.”

  “You already cause trouble,” she said mildly. “You just haven’t noticed yet.”

  There was no threat in her voice. Just fact.

  Jian didn’t speak. Tao gave a respectful nod. “We don’t expect charity. We’re willing to prove ourselves.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because that’s the only way you can get a recommendation from me.”

  She reached into her sleeve and drew a small box, plain wood and unmarked, bound in a thin thread of gold. The spiritual aura it gave off was faint but unmistakably tainted with the sweet trace of narcotics. From the same sleeve, she produced two round tokens etched with ghostly faces, setting them carefully atop the box.

  “You’ll go to the cultivator market near the northern court,” she said. “There’s a food stall there that sells grilled lotus root. Show him your tokens. Then give him the box.”

  Tao frowned slightly. “And after?”

  “You come back here,” Ming Yao said. “Make sure you bring back both your tokens intact.”

  Jian raised an eyebrow. “What are the tokens for?”

  “They will act as identification,” she said. “And once you activate them with your Qi, they will mask your identities.”

  There was a pause. Then Tao reached forward and accepted the box with both hands.

  “No questions,” Ming Yao said. “No mistakes.”

  She rose, already done with them. “Do this, and you’ll have your recommendation. Fail, and you’ll leave the city wondering why you ever asked.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she stepped through the curtain and was gone.

  Outside, the lanterns were brighter now, the evening pressing in. Tao and Jian stood just outside the teahouse, the box secure inside Tao’s ring. They each held one of the ghost face tokens in hand, feeling the cool weight settle in their palms. As they channelled a thread of Qi into the centre, a fine web of script etched across the surface lit up in pale silver.

  Tao felt a faint ripple pass over him. His skin tingled, and when he looked at Jian, the edges of his figure blurred slightly. It was subtle, not true invisibility, but enough to veil their faces and movements from casual recognition.

  The talisman’s concealment array was crude by sect standards, but clever in its layering. Jian shifted his weight, watching the faint distortion trail his sleeve before it faded again.

  “Clever,” he murmured.

  Tao nodded, slipping the token into his inner robe. “It will keep watchers guessing. But not if we hesitate.”

  Jian said nothing for a long moment. Then, “It’s a simple errand.”

  Tao gave a faint shake of the head. “Not simple. A test. They’re watching to see how we move, who we notice, and whether we’re stupid enough to look inside.”

  Jian’s fingers tapped the side of his leg. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

  Together, they stepped into the night, walking toward the northern court, their faces half lost in the glow of shifting lanternlight.