The records arrived before breakfast.
Not carried by a regular palace courier. By Cheng, who brought them in from the outer gate with the careful expression of someone who understood exactly what he was delivering and had decided that understanding was above his pay grade. He set the stack on Ethan's table without comment and went back to his post by the door.
Ethan looked at the books.
There were seven of them. Bound in dark cloth, recently copied, the ink still sharp and clean. Current records, like Long Shen had said. The most recent one was dated three months ago. These were not public documents. These were the kind of records that sat in the imperial study and went nowhere without direct authorization.
Xixi materialized over his shoulder and looked at the stack.
She said nothing.
"Don't," Ethan said.
"I really didn't say anything."
"Your ears are doing a thing."
Xixi flattened her ears unconvincingly and disappeared.
