"What are we going to do?"
The question left my mouth before I had fully decided to ask it.
They had been stabilised—breathing restored, pulses steady, burns treated with methods that straddled medicine and cultivation. The immediate danger had passed. And yet the room felt more precarious than the cemetery had ever been.
Mr Mumei-shi had vanished somewhere between the road and the inner hall. One moment he had been seated across from us in the carriage, robes immaculate despite the chaos; the next, he was simply… absent. No farewell. No explanation. As if the world had folded him neatly away.
"We do nothing," Miss Li Hua said calmly, lifting her teacup. "Or rather—we have already done too much."
Her voice did not rise. That, somehow, made it worse.
"What?" Heiwa protested, unable to keep the edge from her tone. Her expression was tightly wound, intellect and fear wrestling openly on her face. "If what Mr Mumei-shi said is true, then the entire province is in danger. We can't just sit with our hands folded."
Miss Li Hua set her cup down with deliberate care.
"Child," she said, not unkindly, "you should already know this. Cultivators are not well-behaved because of virtue."
The room stilled.
"Power corrupts," Mr Mumei-shi's voice said from behind us, reappearing as effortlessly as he had vanished, "but fear keeps the powerful in line."
He sounded tired.
He adjusted his sleeve, as though brushing away the topic itself. "Those girls—" he began, then stopped, choosing another path. "What of the Marquis's son? You were eager enough to involve him earlier."
"We can still ask for his insight," Heiwa insisted, grasping at the idea. "He understands glyphs. He understands magecraft. We need every mind we can—"
I caught her hand before she could go further.
"Heiwa," I murmured. "Please."
She fell silent, though frustration still flickered behind her eyes.
"I know you want to help," Mr Mumei-shi said, softer now, adjusting his robe as he seated himself again. "But matters such as this are not solved by goodwill alone."
He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, "We may have already told the Marquis's son more than was wise."
"I don't understand," Heiwa said, her voice small despite herself. She looked from him to Miss Li Hua, searching for footing.
Miss Li Hua reached for a biscuit, breaking it cleanly in half.
"First," she said, "you will report yourself."
That earned her a collective look of confusion.
"As a newly formed Golden Core," she continued, unbothered. "You are legally required to do so. Though"—she waved a hand dismissively—"that is not our immediate concern. You still have time."
"Golden Core?" I echoed, turning to Heiwa in disbelief.
She looked just as startled.
"Later," Miss Li Hua said briskly. "Now—do you know why the Prime Minister hesitated to send reinforcements?"
We shook our heads.
"It was not indifference," she said. "Nor incompetence. It was restraint. Had more cultivators been deployed, the conflict would have escalated beyond control."
"I understand that," Heiwa said quickly. "But this is different. A mage is killing people."
Miss Li Hua studied her for a long moment.
"Is it?" she asked.
The question hung in the air.
"A high-ranking mage," she continued slowly, "operating on foreign soil. Do you believe his home nation would simply… ignore that?"
Silence answered her.
"He possesses knowledge," she went on. "Grimoires. Techniques. Records. His country would not want such things in Therian hands. And this country"—her gaze sharpened—"would very much want them."
The implications settled like dust.
"Which means," Mr Mumei-shi said quietly, "this is no longer a matter of local justice."
"What those girls did...," Miss Li Hua added, looking out toward the courtyard, "was reckless."
The word carried no cruelty. Only fact.
"The capital may already have dispatched the White Shade," she continued. "And the nation of Draken is rarely far behind when foreign operatives are involved."
She rubbed her temple, fatigue finally showing.
"If you move too loudly," Mr Mumei-shi warned, "you will draw attention that none of us are prepared to handle."
Miss Li Hua gave a thin smile. "Not as though we are not already entangled."
At that moment, footsteps approached the gate.
Miss Hazel entered the room, visibly shaken. "There's a police officer outside," she said. "He says he was informed of… an incident at the cemetery. He wishes to ask questions."
Her hands trembled slightly.
She was the only one to be found without burns. Miss Li Hua had explained earlier—quietly, clinically—that Hazel had likely absorbed and displaced some of the effect. A transfer, not immunity.
Hazel's gaze drifted to Zinnia, asleep beside Mr Mumei-shi, her small chest rising and falling peacefully. Her butterflies were gone, leaving only a simple doll.
Something unreadable crossed Hazel's face.
"The police," Mr Mumei-shi said, already rising.
He gathered his hair, tied it back, and walked toward the door. As he passed Hazel, he offered her a gentle smile—one meant to reassure, or perhaps to apologise.
"And that," Miss Li Hua said, standing and smoothing her hanfu, "is precisely why we wait."
"What?" Heiwa whispered, fear finally cracking through her composure.
I felt it too.
Not fear of punishment. Not fear of death.
But fear of a system so vast and unseen that it functioned perfectly without our understanding—quietly, efficiently, and without mercy.
Whatever we had stumbled into did not need our consent.
It was already in motion.