The window lattice of the tea house's private room was half-open. The clamor of the street market slipped through the gap, but it could not dispel the room's subtle stillness.
The gaze from the tavern across the street had vanished, completely merging into the murky air of the Divine Capital.
Fang Mo did not look again. He tossed the last piece of Osmanthus Cake into his mouth and brushed at crumbs that weren't there, the carefree expression on his face gradually settling into a fathomless calm.
Li Mingyue had already left, leaving behind only their agreement to meet half an hour later.
Fang Mo rose and straightened the hem of his robe.
This move had gone according to plan.
Li Fuguo, the Ministry of War, and the Demon Suppression Division—these three forces circled him like three hungry wolves around a bloodied piece of meat.
So much the better.
Hungry wolves fought among themselves, too.
As long as they had yet to decide who would take the first bite, the meat at the eye of the storm was actually the safest.
As the saying went, three monks went thirsty. The three forces checked one another, and none dared rashly kill him, their key witness, for fear of shattering the fragile balance and letting one of the other two reap the benefits.
Fang Mo straightened his lapels and smoothed wrinkles that weren't there from his cuffs.
Wearing this official uniform, he was gradually starting to look the part.
Fang Mo pushed open the door and strode out, light on his feet. He crossed Long Street, passed through two deep, shadowy alleys, and soon the Demon Suppression Division's imposing black yamen stood before him.
Rather than approach the murderous-looking front gate, he went around to the back alley, as familiar with the way