Du Zheng looked ordinary.
That was why he was valuable.
He stood at the north wall gate beside the register board like any other guard, robe plain, posture straight, eyes half-lidded in bored discipline. Ordinary men didn't attract questions. They attracted assumptions. Assumptions were doors.
Wuchen approached at midmorning with empty hands, exactly as Gu Yan ordered.
Empty hands meant no errand.
No errand meant no excuse.
Just presence.
He bowed at the edge of the gate's shadow. "Guard."
Du Zheng's eyes flicked to him without moving his head. "Runner," he said, voice flat.
Wuchen kept his gaze lowered and let his breathing leak a little, ugly and thin, the way Gu Yan liked it painted. Not too much. Just enough to look like he was always on the verge of shaking apart.
Du Zheng's gaze slid to Wuchen's cuff, where the jade token edge showed.
A faint tightening at the corner of his mouth.
Recognition.
Not of Wuchen's face.
Of the mark.
Marks were safer to remember than people.
"You're Lan's," Du Zheng murmured.
Wuchen bowed deeper. "This one carries many marks."
Du Zheng snorted quietly, almost amused. "That's how you stay alive," he said.
Wuchen didn't deny.
He held the moment like a cup, letting it settle. Then he spoke softly, as if embarrassed to ask anything of a gate guard.
"This one… is afraid," he said.
Du Zheng's eyes narrowed. "Afraid of what?"
Wuchen kept his voice small. "Doors," he whispered. "People say unlogged doors are confessions."
Du Zheng's gaze sharpened, then smoothed. "People talk too much," he said.
Wuchen bowed again. "Yes."
Du Zheng watched Wuchen for a long breath. He didn't ask who had told Wuchen to speak. He didn't need to. Guards smelled politics the way clerks smelled ink.
"You shouldn't be here with empty hands," Du Zheng said quietly. "It makes you noticeable."
Wuchen's throat tightened. "This one didn't mean to offend."
Du Zheng exhaled once, controlled. "If you're smart," he said softly, "you forget my face."
Wuchen bowed low. "Yes."
That sentence was the finger on the pulse.
Forget my face meant: I remember yours.
It wasn't protection.
It was a warning shaped like advice.
Wuchen let his fingers warm and tremble slightly, ugly leak, as if gratitude made him weaker. "Gratitude," he whispered.
Du Zheng's mouth tightened. "Go," he said. "Before someone asks why you're staring at a gate."
Wuchen bowed and left at a runner's pace, empty hands swinging naturally, breath stacked again once he rounded the corner.
He returned to Gu Yan and reported exactly.
Du Zheng recognized the jade mark. He warned Wuchen not to be seen empty-handed. He said forget my face.
Gu Yan listened and smiled faintly.
"He's cautious," Gu Yan murmured. "Good. Cautious men can be steered."
Wei's voice was flat. "He also knows you're bait now."
Gu Yan nodded. "Everyone knows," he said softly. "That's why we don't pull yet."
He leaned forward slightly. "Tomorrow," Gu Yan said gently, "you will pass him again."
Wuchen's stomach tightened. "With an errand."
Gu Yan smiled. "With a gift," he corrected.
He slid a small cloth pouch across the table.
Not tonic.
Not spirit sand.
Just a few dried, pale herbs that smelled like throat-soothing tea.
"Guards stand in wind," Gu Yan murmured. "Wind dries throats. Give him this and say you remembered his kindness."
Wuchen understood.
A tiny comfort.
Not enough to be bribery.
Enough to start a habit.
Wei added quietly, "Habits become leashes."
Gu Yan nodded. "Exactly," he murmured. "We don't cut the gate. We oil it."
Wuchen bowed and took the herb pouch.
He left the pavilion with three grains steady in his belly and a new kind of fear sitting cold behind his ribs.
It wasn't fear of Han.
Or Lan.
Or patrol.
It was the fear of becoming someone who could make an ordinary man like Du Zheng tilt a gate open… just because a runner remembered his throat was dry.