Green Dike woke to the sound of boots.
Not the hurried, stumbling boots of bandits, but the measured rhythm of men who believed the road belonged to them. Frost cracked under their soles; breath smoked; dogs barked, then thought better of it.
Headman Luo stepped out of his house as if this were simply another morning when the river had risen too high. He wore his best coat and his worst expression.
The soldiers rode in under Qi's dragon banners, twenty strong, cloaks slapping against cuirasses. At their head was a captain Luo did not know: square jaw, eager eyes, the sort of man who thought sharpness made him tall.
He stopped his horse under the tavern eaves where the sparrow tile hung.
"By order of the Regent," he called, voice hard with borrowed authority, "this village is to present its ringleaders."
Men and women edged into the lane. Some clutched hoes; some clutched children. No one reached for blades. The sparrow above the door watched, crooked and unimpressed.
Headman Luo stepped forward.
"Green Dike has no ringleaders," he said. "Only farmers, a tavern, and a woman who hits harder than she looks."
The tavern-keeper's wife snorted softly. Her fingers tightened on the ladle.
The captain swung down from his horse. The stirrup jingled in a brittle way, as if the cold disliked him too.
"You hang seditious marks," he said, gesturing at the tile. "You weigh under those tablets. You call yourselves… Road City."
He spat the words as if they tasted like someone else's teeth.
Luo's heart thumped once, hard. They had known this day would come. Ziyan's letter had been clear: Choose with open eyes which door you want to knock on when trouble walks your road.
He lifted his chin.
"We hang the sparrow," he said calmly. "We obey the tablets. We pay our taxes to Qi. The Road City gave us law where none walked, Captain. Your Regent has given us nothing but new names for old hunger."
A murmur. Someone tugged at Luo's sleeve, warning. He did not look back.
The captain smiled then, and Luo liked him less with his teeth showing.
"The Regent's new decree," he said, "says those who keep these marks are bandits in disguise."
"We're poor farmers," Luo said. "If we were bandits, we'd at least have decent boots."
A few huffs of nervous laughter.
The captain's hand tightened on his whip. "You're also amusing yourself at my expense," he said. "That can be corrected."
Behind him, one of the soldiers shifted unsympathetically. Another glanced up at the sparrow, eyes uneasy.
Headman Luo took a breath.
"Captain," he said, "do you have the decree with you?"
The man frowned. "Of course."
"May we see it?" Luo asked. "Under witness. You're obeying it, after all. We'd like to be sure we understand what we're to be punished for."
The captain blinked. "You can't read."
"Some of us can," Luo said. "And those who can't know ears."
A few villagers nodded vigorously.
The captain hesitated. He had expected fear, perhaps begging. Not a request for paperwork.
"My orders are clear," he said.
"Then showing them won't hurt," the tavern woman said. "Unless you carry something you're ashamed of."
That earned a ripple of suppressed snorts. The captain's ears reddened.
He jerked the scroll from his belt and unrolled it with unnecessary violence.
"'Any hall displaying the sparrow mark or claiming Road City protection is to be treated as suspect,'" he read loudly. "'Ringleaders are to be publicly punished as example.'"
He glared. "There. See? Ringleaders."
Headman Luo bowed slightly.
"And who decides who is ringleader?" he asked. "Does it name any? Does it say 'Luo of Green Dike', 'Li of Haojin', 'Cao of Stone Gate'?"
"Don't try to be clever," the captain snapped. "You carved those tiles. You shouted 'witness' when soldiers came. You wrote to Yong'an."
"Yong'an wrote back," Luo said. "So did Bai'an."
That made the captain's face twitch.
"You want ringleaders?" Luo went on. "Then let's count correctly. Raise your hands if you have shouted under those tablets."
Hands. Dozens. More than he'd hoped. He hadn't told them to, this time. They had learned.
"Raise them," the tavern woman added, eyes glittering, "if you've ever seen a soldier take grain without record before the sparrow came."
Some soldiers looked at their boots.
The captain's jaw hardened.
"Enough," he barked. "You think this is a debate? You think bandits in Yong'an and soft generals in Bai'an can protect you from the Regent? I say you—"
"Captain," a voice cut in. "You might want to read the rest of your own decree."
It came from one of his men: older, scar on his chin, eyes tired. He had the look of someone who'd spent too long obeying and had finally grown curious about the cost.
The captain turned. "What?"
The soldier pointed to the lower lines.
"The part where it says captains who fail to carry out the order will be 'corrected'," he said evenly. "It doesn't tell us how many heads to take. Or what to do if the whole village insists they are equally guilty."
Murmurs among the troops now. They had heard stories from Haojin. About a captain who cut wood instead of people, and somehow still slept at night.