The spirit stone felt heavy in Li Fan's palm, a small, warm coal of condensed power. It was one of his last. Hoarding it was a plan for a long life. He wasn't going to have a long life unless he bought some insurance, right now.
His target was Guard Captain Ma. He'd chosen him carefully, observing the palace's human terrain like a general. Ma was a career soldier, his face a roadmap of old scars and weathered patience. Two days ago, Li Fan had seen him standing rigid at attention in a courtyard while Young Master Zhao, in front of a snickering entourage, lectured him about the "improper polish" on his squad's breastplates. Ma had taken the humiliation in silence, his jaw a hard knot, but his eyes burning with a quiet, banked fire. He was a man who valued duty and discipline, and had just been slapped with the opposite.
Li Fan found him off-duty in a lower-tier tavern frequented by guards and junior cultivators. Ma sat alone at a corner table, methodically working through a clay jug of wine, his back to the wall. The noise of the place flowed around his island of silence.
Li Fan approached, moving slowly to be seen. He placed the spirit stone on the rough wood of the table, between Ma's jug and his cup. It glowed softly, casting a tiny pool of light on the stained wood.
Ma's eyes flicked from the stone to Li Fan's face. No surprise, just a deep, weary suspicion. "Advisor Li." His voice was gravel. "You dropped something."
"It's not a drop, Captain. It's a gift."
"I don't take gifts."
"It's not a bribe," Li Fan corrected, sitting down without invitation. He kept his hands on the table. "A bribe is payment for a future action. This is… recognition. For a job that's impossible, done by a man who tries to do it right anyway." He nodded toward the door, in the general direction of the palace. "I saw you the other day. Taking that dressing-down for your squad's kit. You absorbed the blame to shield the men under you. That's leadership. That's professional integrity. In my experience, that's the first thing to be eroded in a place under stress. It shouldn't be."
Ma stared at him, his expression unreadable. He took a slow drink of his wine, his eyes never leaving Li Fan's. "You talk pretty. You're a mortal with a death sentence and powerful enemies. Why would you care about my integrity?"
"Because right now, integrity might be the only currency that still has value," Li Fan said simply. "I'm not asking you for anything, Captain Ma. I'm giving you this stone because men like you are the reason places like this haven't collapsed into pure chaos yet. Consider it a… a tip. For keeping the lights on."
He pushed back from the table and stood. "Enjoy your drink."
He walked away, leaving the spirit stone glowing on the table. He didn't look back. The gamble was in the leaving. A bribe demanded a whispered promise. A gift of respect demanded nothing. It simply sat there, a test of the man's character.
He didn't know if Ma would take it, throw it, or report it.
The answer came the next afternoon.
Li Fan was crossing the Nine Blessings Bridge, a narrow, elegant span over an ornamental chasm. Halfway across, he met Young Master Zhao coming the other way, flanked by two of his usual sycophants. The bridge was too narrow for them to pass without one side yielding.
Zhao's face lit up with malicious delight. "The mortal termite. Out of his hole. You're in my way."
Li Fan said nothing. He had no recourse. He could try to back up, but that would be an admission of defeat that Zhao would exploit forever.
"I said," Zhao repeated, taking a step forward, his aura a faint, prickling pressure, "you're in my way. Kneel and crawl past, and I'll consider it."
Before Li Fan could move or speak, a solid, rhythmic tramp of boots sounded from behind him.
"MAKE WAY! OFFICIAL PATROL! CLEAR THE PATH!"
Captain Ma's voice was a bark of pure, unadorned authority. He marched at the head of six guards in perfect formation, their armor gleaming (perfectly polished, Li Fan noted). They moved as a single unit, a wedge of disciplined steel.
They didn't stop. They didn't slow. They came straight up the bridge.
Young Master Zhao was forced to step back, then back again, pressing himself and his companions against the bridge railings with a stunned, furious expression as the squad marched impassively between him and Li Fan.
Captain Ma didn't look at Li Fan. As he passed, his gaze fixed ahead, he gave a single, almost imperceptible jerk of his chin. Keep moving.
Li Fan didn't need to be told twice. He fell into step just ahead of the last guard, effectively absorbed into the patrol. They marched across the bridge, their collective footsteps drowning out Zhao's sputtered curse from behind.
On the other side, the patrol broke off toward the barracks without a word. Captain Ma didn't look back. No acknowledgement passed between them.
Li Fan stood alone, his heart settling from a rapid beat to a steady, strong rhythm.
It had worked. Not a grand alliance. Not a sworn loyalty. A simple, professional courtesy, extended because Li Fan had acknowledged the captain's professional worth. A buffer of decency.
He looked down at his now-empty hand where the spirit stone had been. It was the best investment he'd ever made. It bought no land, no power. It bought a single, fair-minded man's choice to do his job properly, at a specific moment.
It was a thin shield. But in a world of naked blades, even a thin shield could be the difference between a cut and a killing stroke. He had spent a resource, but he had proven his theory: in the economy of favors, respect could sometimes yield a higher return than fear.
And he now knew Young Master Zhao's face when he was the one being forced to step aside. That alone was worth the price.