"Should we go in and hand in the letter?"
I waited until the tea shop owner disappeared behind the curtain before speaking. The old man carried the empty cups with the same slow patience he did everything else, slippers dragging faintly across the wooden floorboards. Somewhere deeper in the shop, water hissed against hot metal.
Across from me, Qiang lifted his cup.
"Hmm. Let's wait a little."
Steam curled around his face before fading into the cold drifting in from outside. I exhaled through my nose and leaned back in reluctant agreement.
The Concord employees from earlier had already left. They had swept through the shop like weather—voices, coffee, complaints—and vanished just as quickly, leaving their table occupied by an old man reading a newspaper and a younger woman eating quietly beside the window.
I picked at the fish on my plate.
Breakfast had cooled slightly while we waited. Oil glistened faintly beneath the pale morning light spilling through the windows. Outside, carriage wheels rolled across damp stone with a soft grinding rhythm.
I glanced toward Qiang's untouched side dish.
"Are you going to finish that?"
My chopsticks were already halfway there.
He lifted his eyes just enough to look at me.
"Yup."
A tragedy.
"Stingy."
He snorted quietly and returned to eating.
The teashop settled around us in layers of sound—the clink of porcelain, low conversation, the rustle of newspaper pages. Warmth from the stove pressed softly against the cold lingering in my sleeves, and for a moment the city outside felt far away despite being only beyond a pane of glass.
I took another sip of tea.
The bitterness lingered pleasantly on my tongue.
At least something here made immediate sense.
Eventually, Qiang set his cup down.
"We should go."
The cold met us immediately once we stepped outside.
The street carried that grey winter brightness where the sun existed mostly out of obligation. Breath fogged in the air as people moved past in coats and scarves, boots tapping against wet stone. A carriage rattled by close enough to splash water toward the curb.
We crossed the street while traffic thinned.
The Concord Liaison building stood directly ahead now, larger than it had looked from the teashop window. Pale stone walls climbed upward with too many windows to comfortably count, ironwork framing the entrances in severe lines that reminded me more of government offices than sect compounds.
The trees near the entrance had already surrendered most of their leaves.
Only a few remained, trembling weakly in the wind.
As we climbed the steps, the noise from the street dulled strangely fast behind us.
Then we stepped inside.
The building looked down at me.
That was the first thought that entered my head.
The ceiling stretched upward through multiple floors crossed by balconies and hanging lamps, pale light giving everything a distant, underwater feeling. Footsteps echoed against polished stone while clerks moved through corridors carrying stacks of paper. Others crossed the main hall with purpose sharp enough to make me instinctively step aside.
Even the quiet here felt organized.
People moved like parts inside a machine too large to fully see all at once.
And where people were absent, something else remained—the sense that the building continued functioning regardless.
Ghosts maintaining bureaucracy.
Honestly terrifying.
I didn't like that thought at all.
We approached the nearest reception desk where a woman sat organizing documents into perfectly neat piles. She wore the same dark Concord attire as the people from the teashop earlier, though hers looked more formal. Her dog ears twitched faintly as she looked up.
Qiang stepped forward smoothly.
"We are from the Liè Guāng Zōng—the Sect of the Blazing Light. We were tasked with delivering this letter."
He handed over the sealed envelope.
The clerk accepted it carefully with both hands.
"Please wait a moment."
She disappeared through a side doorway almost immediately.
I watched people crossing the hall while we waited. Somewhere above us, heels clicked sharply against stone. A distant clock ticked loudly enough to notice between passing conversations.
Then the clerk returned much sooner than expected.
"Sorry for the inconvenience," she said politely, "but could you please wait a little longer?"
Her smile remained professional, though her tail swayed once behind her chair before settling again.
Qiang nodded.
"Of course."
She gave a small bow and left once more.
I immediately turned toward him.
"So," I whispered, "what do you want to do to pass the time?"
"I don't know."
He was already reaching into his coat.
"I would continue with my book, I suppose."
"That is boring."
He looked at me over the top of the book.
I shifted slightly out of arm's reach just in case.
"Let's try guessing how many cultivators are in this building."
Silence.
A man carrying documents passed behind him. Another clerk hurried down a far corridor.
Qiang slowly lowered his book.
"How would we even verify that?"
"That's part of the fun."
"No."
"Tsk."
I slumped deeper into the chair before pulling out my own novel in protest.
"A Story of East and West," I murmured, reading the title again as I adjusted my position.
The leather cover was still stiff from being new.
I crossed one leg over the other and opened to where I had left off earlier.
The hall continued moving around us while I read. Footsteps came and went. Somewhere nearby, paper was being stamped repeatedly with rhythmic force. The air smelled faintly of ink, dust, and cold iron from the radiators lining the walls.
It should have felt dull.
Instead the whole place felt slightly… off.
Too orderly.
Or maybe I was just used to sects where people occasionally exploded walls during arguments.
I had only gone a few pages in before the clerk returned.
"Already?" I blinked.
She smiled politely.
"Thank you for waiting. Where are you currently residing?"
Her ears twitched again as she spoke.
Qiang gave the hotel's address while I closed my book halfway, watching the exchange.
"We will have someone come retrieve you," she explained.
Retrieve.
Interesting word choice.
I glanced at Qiang, but he simply nodded like this made perfect sense.
"Understood."
The clerk bowed slightly.
"Please enjoy your stay in the city."
And somehow, that was the end of the interaction.
No dramatic secret mission.
No hidden vault.
No mysterious artifact.
We were simply… done.
A little anticlimactic, honestly.
Not long after, we stepped back outside into the cold.
The street noise returned immediately after the strange muffled quiet of the building. Horses snorted clouds of steam while carriages rolled past in uneven rhythm. Somewhere farther down the street, a vendor shouted about roasted chestnuts.
I stretched my shoulders.
"Now can we see the city?"
Qiang paused beside the gate.
A carriage rolled by behind him, wheels splashing through shallow water left from earlier rain. He kept one finger tucked between the pages of his book like he fully intended to continue reading the moment I lost the argument.
"No need to think about it," I pressed quickly. "We already finished our task."
He raised an eyebrow.
I immediately corrected myself.
"Okay, we finished the part they explained to us."
His expression shifted just enough to tell me he noticed that wording too.
Damn it.
I sighed.
"We can continue reading in a quiet restaurant."
That finally seemed to appeal to him.
After a brief pause, he nodded once.
"Fine."
Victory.
Small victory, but still victory.
We walked without much direction at first.
The city unfolded slowly around us as we moved farther from the Concord district. Buildings crowded closer together here, their lower floors occupied by cafés, bookstores, cloth merchants, and small restaurants with steamed windows. Cold air carried traces of coal smoke and cooking oil, blending into something oddly comforting.
People dressed differently here than back home.
Western coats mixed with eastern robes. A man in a tailored suit passed a woman wearing layered silks beneath a thick winter shawl. Languages overlapped in passing conversations, some familiar, others entirely foreign.
It felt less like one nation and more like several agreeing temporarily not to argue.
I liked it immediately.
Maybe too quickly.
A tram bell rang somewhere down the street.
We passed a bakery warm enough to fog its windows completely before eventually stopping outside a quieter teashop tucked between two taller buildings.
The sign hanging outside creaked softly in the wind.
Inside, the atmosphere settled around us almost immediately.
The shop was small and dimly warm, lit by hanging lamps whose light reflected softly against polished wooden walls. Only a few customers occupied the room—a couple speaking quietly near the back and a student asleep beside a stack of books.
Perfect.
We took a table near the window.
The waitress arrived carrying a small notepad.
"What would you like?"
"Hojicha," I answered almost immediately.
Qiang ordered tea of his own before already reaching for his book again.
Hopeless man.
I loosened my scarf slightly as warmth from the stove reached the table. Outside the window, the city continued moving through winter grey while inside the teashop time slowed pleasantly.
The tea arrived moments later.
I wrapped both hands around the cup first, enjoying the heat against my fingers before taking a sip.
"Hojicha," I exhaled softly.
The roasted flavor settled warmly in my chest.
For the first time since arriving in the city, something felt familiar enough to quiet the lingering strangeness of travel.
A dangerous feeling, probably.
Beside me, Qiang turned a page.
Outside, another carriage rolled through the cold.
And for a little while longer, the world allowed us peace.