The caravan reached the grand gates of Anxi just as the sun began to rise, casting a golden hue over the city’s t walls. The gates, adorned with intricate carvings ons and tigers, stood as a testament to the city's wealth and importance.

  Guards in heavy armor ied each traveler meticulously. Merts preseheir trade permits, some with nervous expressions, while others chatted with the guards like old friends. Zhao Ming, standing at the back of the line, observed the heightened security. There were more soldiers than usual, and their eyes carried a sharp vigince.

  Overhearing a hushed versatioween two merts, Zhao picked up rumors of rising tensioween noble fas and merary groups. It seemed Anxi was not as peaceful as it appeared.

  Onside, Zhao was met with a sight unlike any he had seen before. Anxi was a city of tradis—graes stood side by side with crumbling tes, and beggars lihe streets near bustling markets filled with exotic goods.

  He parted ways with the caravan and headed toward the mert guild. Along the way, a scrappy-looking child approached him.

  "Mister, need a guide? Only two copper s!" the child grinned, revealing a missing tooth.

  Zhao sidered it for a moment and handed over the s. "Show me the noble district."

  The boy led him through winding streets, dodging rickshaws and street performers. It didn’t take long before Zhao arrived at his destinatioate of the noble family tied t Jin.

  The estate beloo House Qiao, an old ally of the Murong family. Their patriarch, Qiao Ren, was an elderly statesman who had served in court before retiring to Anxi. He received Zhao warmly upon hearing Murong Jin’s name.

  Over tea, Qiao Ren spoke didly. "Anxi is ruled by Governor Liu Feng. He is petent, but corruption runs deep in his administration. If you are to work here, tread carefully."

  As Zhao listened, he learned more about Anxi's politidscape. The city was dominated by three noble families:

  House Qiao, a lineage of schors and statesmen, known for their loyalty and strategic marriages.House Yang, a powerful military that trolled the city’s armed forces and traie warriors.House Sun, a mert family that had amassed incredible wealth through trade and trolled much of Anxi’s ey.These three families held an uneasy bance of power, stantly vying for influehe Qiao family had long supported the Murong , but they were being squeezed by both the militaristigs and the ambitious Suns.

  "The governor tries to maintairality," Qiao Ren tinued, "but everyone knows that House Yang has his ear, while House Sun fills his coffers. We schors? We are left to navigate between them, lest we fall out of favor."

  Zhao uood that his work in Anxi would be more than just ink and paper—it would require careful maneuvering through a city of silent wars.

  The m, Zhao arrived at the governor’s office, apanied by a Qiao family attendant. He reported to the appoi hall, where a scribe briefly skimmed his reendation before stamping a dot.

  "gratutions, you’ve been appointed as a ty Clerk (Zhǔbù). You’ll be assisting with record-keeping and menial tasks."

  Not long after, Zhao was suddenly summoned by his supervisor.

  "Boy, take this," the supervisor tossed him a brooken. "Go to Jade Pavilion, the fi inn in Anxi, and book a private room for tonight."

  At the inn, Zhao was met by the manager, an older man with shrewd eyes.

  "A new scribe, eh? Let me give you some advice. Your predecessor? He was transferred to a remote ty because he offended a high-ranking official. If you want to keep your position, learn how to ftter your superiors. Never ask too many questions. And, most importantly, never speak of what you hear in these halls."

  Zhao nodded, uanding that survival in this city depended on discretion.

  That evening, Zhao returo Jade Pavilion, where the private room on the sed floor was filled with the chatter of clerks and officials. The air was thick with the aroma of fine wine and roasted duck.

  A waiter stepped in, bowing respectfully. "Tonight, we have a special guest—a renowned courtesan passing through Anxi on her way to Luoyang. She will perform for the guests."

  Excitement rippled through the room. Zhao listened as a clerk expined in a hushed voice, "The third floor is reserved for noble s and higher-ranking officials. They always try to impress courtesans with gifts or poetry, hoping to earn a moment of their attention."

  The doors opened, and the courtesaered. She wore a flowing purple dress that shimmered uhe ntern lights, her mouth veiled with silk. She carried herself with a grace that silehe room.

  She introduced herself as Lian Rou and bowed elegantly. "Ladies alemen, tonight, I will present a piece titled Wild Rose. I wele any schors or noble guests to provide me with pointers after my performance."

  A murmur of intrigue spread through the audience. Some young nobles immediately straighteheir backs, while schors exged gnces, eager to offer their critiques.

  Lian Rou took her seat, plug the strings of her guqin. A soft, mencholic melody filled the air, its notes weaving a tale of longing and resiliehe room fell into silence, entranced by the performance.

  When she fihe appuse was immediate.

  "Exquisite!" a young noble excimed. "Your skill is unparalleled, Lady Lian."

  "The position is profound," a sused. "The lyrics, especially, carry a deep meaning."

  Lian Rou lowered her hands gracefully. "Thank you for your kind words. As the song suggests, a wild rose blooms untamed, untouched by fate. But I would love to hear the thoughts of those with poetic talent."

  She smiled behind her veil. "I invite anyoo pose a poem or calligraphy that captures the essence of Wild Rose. A brush and ink will be provided."

  A burst of activity followed.

  "I shall pose a verse!" a young noble announced fidently.

  "Hah! Poetry should be left to true schors," another man smirked, rolling up his sleeves.

  Waitresses quickly distributed fine rice paper, inkstones, and brushes. Zhao, sitting quietly in the er, noticed his supervisor smirking at him.

  "Zhao, you’re new. Why don’t you try? Win this, and you’ll bring honor to our table."

  Zhao sighed inwardly. He wasn’t keen on impressing others, but refusal would only make him stand out more. With a steady hand, he dipped his brush in ink and began writing.

  The petition was set. Soon, the battle of words and artistic skill would unfold.

  And in a city like Anxi, a single poem could ge one’s fate.

  End of Chapter 9