Master Yan found the blood on the lamp handle before he found it on Lu Chen's blanket.
He woke the boy with his boot against the hearthstone. Lu Chen sat up too quickly. His wounded hand opened beneath him, and a fresh spot spread through the binding.
“Give me that.”
Yan took the hand without waiting. The old man cut away the cloth with his horn-handled knife. Beneath it, the heel of Lu Chen's palm was split and the wrist punctures had swollen. Yan turned the arm toward the light.
“What bit you?”
Lu Chen watched the knife. “Something in the wash channel.”
Yan pressed beside a puncture. Lu Chen flinched and tried to pull away. The old man's good hand held him in place.
“Then the channel can pay for the cloth.”
He washed the cuts, scraped away the grit, and used the last clean corner of a bandage to cover them. The salve burned. Lu Chen's arm shook in his grip. Yan waited for the shaking to ease before tying the new binding.
While Lu Chen lowered his sleeve, the edge of Zhao's token showed above his waistband.
Yan looked at it. For a moment, neither moved. The iron mark had already brought enough questions into this forge. Lu Chen pushed it beneath his shirt, feeling his own breath tighten.
“If you drop that here,” Yan said, “I'll put it in the furnace.”
He returned to the hearth. Lu Chen remained seated until he could use his fingers again.
Outside, the seventh dawn brought carts for the completed picks. Corporal Meng arrived with his tally slate and two armed men. Yan met them beside the stacked hampers. The tools from the night work had been counted and bound. Gao's confiscated pair was entered against his own name on Yan's work slate.
Meng read the marks. He sent one man to the racks and another to the fuel bins. The one at the racks broke open a binding, chose a pick from the middle, and tested its edge against scrap iron. The other checked that the unused billets matched the account.
Lu Chen stood beside the bellows with his bandaged hand behind his back. Liu San kept his injured leg straight, resting most of his weight against the wall. When the guard glanced at his knee, Liu began pumping the cold bellows as though work could make the question go away.
Meng noticed. He also noticed the grease on the old man's shoulder brace and the exhaustion in every face.
“Your apprentice count hasn't changed?”
Yan pushed the slate nearer. “You've seen them.”
Meng counted the living bodies again, then marked the receipt. The forge's quota had been met. He pressed the relief mark into the soft clay attached to the slate and handed it back.
Hu Gou let out a sound that might have become a laugh. Yan silenced him with a look.
“Don't celebrate in the yard,” Meng said. “The stockade list is already closed. If you make yourself troublesome, I can open it.”
He ordered the hampers carried out. His men took the tools, and the relief slate stayed on Yan's bench. Lu Chen watched the little mark until the curtain fell behind the last guard. It had saved the forge from the cauldrons. It had not made the valley safe for him.
After the carts left, a woman from the neighboring fuel shed came to Yan's curtain. She carried a clay receipt of her own. Its relief space was empty. She asked to borrow two finished picks, to make up the shortage before her children were counted against it.
Yan kept the curtain between them. There were no finished picks left. She pointed to the return slate on his bench and asked him to sign that her shed had supplied their fuel. It had, but the fuel had already been entered against her own account. Signing it again would make both tallies false.
Lu Chen stood close enough to hear her offering the coat from her shoulders. He wanted Yan to refuse quickly so the woman would go away. Then she looked past the curtain and saw him, wrapped hand held against his chest. Her mouth tightened. She turned to the old man instead, as though the thin apprentice had brought another misfortune into the doorway.
Yan gave her the names of the men who had received the fuel. He gave her no tools and no promise. She left with the coat still on and the unmarked receipt in her fist.
Lu Chen helped lower the curtain. The relief mark on their own slate seemed smaller now. He did not erase it, share it, or stop preparing to leave. When Yan returned to the mortar, the boy went to gather the empty vessels that would support his next trip below.
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By midday, workers were hauling mirror frames up the citadel road. The great ships were expected soon, but the crews were preparing before they arrived. Men scraped ice from the receiving platforms. New stakes went into the stockade approaches. Wherever Lu Chen looked, a guard had been added to a place that had stood empty yesterday.
He carried wash jars outside and saw one of the bronze frames beneath a tarp. It was larger than any polished vessel in Yan's store. The men moving it wore thick gloves and avoided the covered face. Lu Chen did not know whether it held one of the mirrors Captain Wu had warned him about. He could not afford to stay and learn.
He returned with the empty jars. Yan handed him a bundle of old leather bands to trim.
The horn-handled knife stayed on the bench between them. Lu Chen cut the bands, gathered the usable pieces, and laid them beside the old man's brace. When he reached to put the knife back, Yan placed a small grease pouch on top of his hand.
“The cold opens cheap boots.”
Lu Chen looked up.
Yan was watching the forge doorway. “Use it before the leather breaks.”
The knife went into Lu Chen's apprentice pouch with the grease. He understood what the old man had given him. He did not ask for a promise, a farewell, or another explanation. None of those would open the gate below the mountain.
Liu San waited until Yan left to sign for a fuel delivery.
“The lamp came back wet,” he said.
Lu Chen kept sorting leather.
“I know what poisoned wash smells like. I carried it before you.”
Liu crouched with difficulty. His wounded knee would not fold cleanly, so he leaned against the bench. He looked toward the empty hearth recess, where Lu Chen had once hidden the stones, then at the bindings concealed beneath the boy's vest.
“You're leaving.”
Lu Chen put down a leather strip. He wanted Liu to be wrong. He wanted to reach the next night without anyone knowing what he had done. The older apprentice had already seen too much.
“Keep your voice down.”
Liu's mouth tightened. “You made me work. You made me lie about this.” He touched the mark beside his throat. “Now you're going to leave me with them.”
Lu Chen heard boots pass outside. Both waited until the sound was gone.
“You can't follow with that knee.”
“I can still be dragged to the salt frames.”
Liu spoke without looking directly at him. Even now, crowded into the same forge, the older apprentice kept a careful space between their bodies. Fear of the wire had made him obedient. It had not made him willing to trust.
“I know the lower coal chute,” Liu said. “If they close the hoist, you need another way down.”
Lu Chen stopped sorting.
Liu had carried fuel through those passages for years. This was knowledge he could use. It was also a threat. If the older apprentice went to Meng, Lu Chen might never reach the siphon at all.
“Show me,” he said.
“And I come.”
He agreed with a small movement of his head. Liu stood too quickly and almost fell. Lu Chen caught his elbow, then released it when the older apprentice stiffened at the touch.
They left separately. Lu Chen made another trip for empty vessels, putting scraps of binding cord and the saved mash into his pouch. Liu carried a fuel sack toward the lower store. The forge continued working behind them; Yan's grinding resumed after the curtain closed.
At the store, Liu showed him the coal hatch. It opened onto a sloping chute with old footholds cut into one wall. The first stretch was black with dust. Liu descended slowly, using his good leg. Lu Chen handed the sack down, then followed.
Below, the passage joined an old storage gallery. Lu Chen recognized the turn from the night Liu had attacked him with a pry bar. He felt the same tightening in his stomach, but now the older apprentice leaned on the wall and waited for him to lead.
They approached the active drift. A guard stood at the junction with a lamp and a slate. Further back, another checked the door of an ore cage. The route to the siphon ran beyond them.
Liu caught Lu Chen's sleeve.
“Closed.”
It was not fully closed. The guard was receiving a medicine runner from the upper store, and the second man had turned to examine the load. Lu Chen knew the shape of the corridor beyond the lamp. He could reach the low drainage arch if someone held the first man's attention.
He also knew what would happen if that attention turned toward Liu's knee, his throat, and the boy beside him.
The older apprentice followed his gaze.
“No,” Liu whispered.
Lu Chen took the empty jar sack from him. “Tell them Yan sent you for the old vessels. I'll bring the rest through.”
“You tell them.”
Liu tried to step back. Lu Chen held his sleeve. The wounded knee faltered. Their boots scraped stone, and the sentry raised his lamp.
“Who's there?”
Lu Chen pushed the sack into Liu's arms and gave him a hard shove around the corner. The older apprentice stumbled into the light. Lu Chen dropped behind a pile of rejected ore and went still.
Liu began talking too quickly. The guard ordered him to stop and set down the sack. The second man left the cage door and approached from behind, keeping his spear low.
“Name.”
Liu gave it.
The sentry looked down at his tally. His eyes moved to the bound knee. “The forge apprentice?”
Liu glanced toward the dark corner.
The second guard saw the glance. He moved before the older apprentice could turn. His spear butt struck Liu across the side of the head, driving him into the wall. Liu's hands flew up too late. He hit the stone, slid downward, and stayed there with his neck bent against the sack.
Lu Chen's first impulse was to retreat. His heels moved backward before he forced himself to stop. The guards had not rushed blindly toward the corner. One covered it with his spear while the other inspected Liu's sack.
Lu Chen lowered himself onto his stomach. Behind the ore pile, a space remained where carts had broken the timber skirting. He pressed through it, scraping his injured hand against a nail. The wire sheaths caught; he loosened them and pulled the cloth free.
Liu made a wet sound. The guard beside him told the other to bring a lamp closer. Neither came after Lu Chen yet.
The boy reached the far end of the broken skirting and rolled into the service passage. He could still see part of Liu's face beyond the scattered ore. Blood had reached the floor. The older apprentice did not move when a guard lifted his chin.
Lu Chen thought he had killed him.
He did not go back to find out. He rose inside the dark passage and moved toward the low drainage arch, carrying the knife Yan had given him and the last vitriol bound against his ribs. Behind him, a guard called for a litter. Lu Chen heard the order without understanding what it meant, then lost it beneath the sound of water.