Night lay like ink, soaking every brick and tile of Helsing City.
The clamor and glitter of the day had faded away, leaving only the hollow echoes of the night watchman's clapper.
The City Guard's West Camp.
Inside the duty room, candlelight flickered, stretching Zhang Meng's shadow long and thin across the wall, where it swayed faintly.
He had dismissed his attendants and sat alone at the table, his fingertips brushing absently over the cold hilt of the saber at his waist.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the "eyes" and "ears" he had sent out.
Waiting for the spies he had carefully selected and stationed throughout Elm Forest Alley to bring back the day's final reports.
At a quarter to eight that evening, a dark figure slipped soundlessly over the camp wall and, in a few bounds, stopped outside the duty room's window.
The figure paused beneath the window, bent a finger, and tapped the frame three times in a measured rhythm.
Zhang Meng's gaze sharpened. He rose and opened the door.
"Sir." The newcomer wore night-black clothing that covered him tightly from head to toe, leaving only a pair of eyes whose keen gleam was carefully concealed. This was one of Zhang Meng's most capable spies, known as Night Owl.
"Speak." Zhang Meng kept his voice low, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's.
Night Owl dropped to one knee and spoke steadily, without a trace of unnecessary emotion. "Sir, at a quarter to four this afternoon, Sun Dehai of the Seven Treasures Pavilion personally drove a black-canopied carriage bearing the Pavilion's distinctive covert mark to Elm Forest Alley. He stopped beneath an old locust tree a short distance from the target's courtyard gate."
Zhang Meng's breath caught slightly.
Sun Dehai of the Seven Treasures Pavilion? That influential figure