The Supervisor

The moment Li Huowang stepped through the door, he knew this was not a place where you rushed your words.

The study was small but immaculate. Bookshelves lined the left wall, stuffed with illustrated volumes and bound manuscripts. Scrolls of calligraphy and ink paintings hung on every spare inch of plaster—just like Zhuge Yuan’s bamboo tower, except this one sat at the deepest belly of the Supervisory Heavenly Office. If Li Huowang hadn’t known where he was, he would have sworn he had walked into some scholar’s private retreat.

He bowed, keeping his head low. “Er Jiu greets the Supervisor.”

“So you’re Er Jiu.” The voice was old, dry, and carried the weight of someone who had never needed to raise it to be heard. “Lift your head.”

When the Supervisor saw the fleshless face beneath Li Huowang’s hood, Li Huowang saw him in return: a gaunt, middle-aged man with a goatee and deep parentheses carved into his cheeks, so sharp they looked like they could split his face into thirds. Nothing about his clothes stood out—a plain purple robe, a jade pendant at his belt. He stood behind a desk, a vermillion brush in hand, marking documents while a small clay stove bubbled beside him, filling the room with warmth that felt almost domestic.

Remembering what Nangong had hinted at outside, Li Huowang steadied himself. He dropped his head again. “Supervisor, the entire Zuowandao sect is now gathered in—”

“You came into the city today with that storyteller, didn’t you?”

The interruption was soft, almost casual, but it cut through Li Huowang’s momentum like a blade. The Supervisor set his brush down on a jade rest with deliberate patience, picked up an official seal the size of a fist, and pressed it into the corner of the paper before him.

Li Huowang’s heart lurched, but his mouth didn’t stop. He laid out the whole story: the Zuowandao’s grudge against Zhuge Yuan, how he had wrung the information out of them that every last member was heading for the capital. Every word was true. He simply left out the details the Office didn’t need to know.

“I see.” The Supervisor’s calm, in the face of the entire Zuowandao converging on the capital, was far more unnerving than any alarm would have been.

“Sir—that’s the Zuowandao! They’re—”

“Are you teaching me how to do my job?” The old man’s eyes cooled. The pressure of a lifetime of authority rolled over Li Huowang like a weight he could feel in his ribs. “What’s the rush? Or are you trying to use the Office to settle a personal grudge?”

“Er Jiu would never presume.” Li Huowang bit down on his back teeth and stepped back half a pace.

“Hmph. No manners.” The Supervisor dismissed him entirely, returning to his paperwork as if Li Huowang were a piece of furniture.

Li Huowang stood there, frozen, for the length of a stick of incense. The Supervisor poured himself a cup of Da Hong Pao from the stove, took a sip, and only then looked back at the man in front of him.

“Forget the Zuowandao for now. Someone else is handling that. There’s another job for you—more important. Put your back into it.”

Li Huowang knew better than to show panic when the script flipped. He kept his voice level. “Yes, sir. Your orders.”

“I don’t care how you met Zhuge Yuan. Go back to the same place you were before, beside him. When the time is right, my people will contact you from the inside. You will cooperate to seize the Six-Yao Almanac from his hands.”

The Six-Yao Almanac? Li Huowang’s mind fumbled. A book? Wait—a book. The only thing near Zhuge Yuan that could be called a book. The old almanac. This Supervisor wants to steal Zhuge Yuan’s old almanac.

While Li Huowang’s thoughts were still reeling, the Supervisor kept speaking. “This matter is of the highest importance. I will oversee it personally. Do well, and if you can kill Zhuge Yuan in the process—two birds with one stone—that would be ideal. But don’t force it if you can’t.”

Seeing Li Huowang standing motionless, the Supervisor’s expression soured. “Did I not speak clearly enough?”

Li Huowang’s hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. “Yes, sir. Your subordinate will obey.”

The Supervisor wasn’t done—he laid out the promise like a piece of bait. “Do this well, and the Office will overlook your previous offenses. More than that—you will be promoted, your ancestors honored. You may pick three items from the inner treasury: any artifact, any spiritual treasure you want.”

He paused, letting the weight of the offer settle. “I know your story. The Zuowandao wiped out your family. It’s only right that you hate them. So here’s the deal: if you perform well, not only will you have a place in the campaign against the Zuowandao, but every prisoner we take will be handed over to you. Do with them what you will.”

Li Huowang nodded again. The Supervisor seemed satisfied. He picked up a stack of papers with a hand missing one finger and set them on the edge of the desk.

“Take these to the third door on the left for filing. Then you can go.”

Li Huowang stepped forward, took the documents with both hands, and left the Supervisor’s office.

The moment he was outside, the color drained from his face. “What do I do now?” The question hammered through his skull, relentless.

His plan to use the Office like a borrowed knife had failed. He had never imagined that the Supervisory Heavenly Office, upon hearing that every single Zuowandao was gathering in the capital, would react like this. Without the Office’s backing, he stood no chance against them alone. He had to find another way.

“And I’m supposed to help them move against Zhuge Yuan? Is that a joke?”

Zhuge Yuan was strange, obsessive, and talked too much. But in Li Huowang’s heart, he had already earned a place as someone close to a friend.

Racked with doubt, Li Huowang reached the third door on the left. He glanced down at the papers in his arms, ready to step inside.

Then a name caught his eye.

“Feng Erniu.” He remembered that name. The eunuch Recorder had been called Feng Erniu.

He scanned the text beneath it. “Former Recorder Feng Erniu, along with his wife… head… identified by the coroner…”

Dead? That man had worked for the Office for so long, and now—just like that, a single line on a piece of paper?

Li Huowang thought of the plump, white-haired old eunuch, and a cold settled into his chest. The vermillion circle stamped on the document burned in his vision like an open wound.

He looked up, far down the corridor toward the Supervisor’s study. He understood now. This wasn’t an accident. The Supervisor knew he had known the Recorder. The paper hadn’t been placed on top by chance. It was a warning.

Li Huowang took a deep breath. The hesitation in his eyes hardened into a fixed, cold resolve. He lifted his foot and stepped through the doorway ahead.