Wuchen didn't like carrying gifts.
Gifts were softer than orders, which meant they stuck deeper.
He carried the small herb pouch in his sleeve anyway and walked to the north wall gate at the hour when wind was strongest and the guards' faces went numb.
Du Zheng was there again, posture unchanged, eyes half-lidded. The register board hung beside him like a second spine.
Wuchen approached with his head lowered and an ordinary runner's pace, not lingering. He bowed.
Du Zheng's eyes flicked to him. "Again," he said flatly.
Wuchen swallowed and held out the herb pouch with both hands, keeping his fingers slightly warm, trembling just enough to look thin. "Guard Du," he said softly, using the name as if it had slipped out by accident, "this one… remembered your kindness. Wind is sharp. This is throat tea. Not valuable."
For a breath, Du Zheng's face went still.
Names were the real gift.
His gaze sharpened at the sound of his own name in a runner's mouth.
"Who told you my name," Du Zheng asked quietly.
Wuchen bowed deeper. "No one," he lied gently. "This one heard it when guards called shift."
Du Zheng stared at him a long moment, then took the pouch without touching Wuchen's fingers.
He didn't smell it. He didn't open it. He only weighed it in his palm like he was weighing the trouble inside it.
"You shouldn't say my name," he said softly.
Wuchen's throat tightened. "This one is sorry."
Du Zheng's mouth tightened too. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "Be careful."
He tucked the pouch into his belt sash as if it were nothing and said, lower still, "If you keep coming here, someone will decide you're buying the gate."
Wuchen bowed. "This one only wanted to repay kindness."
Du Zheng's eyes flicked to the jade edge at Wuchen's cuff again. "Kindness," he repeated, almost mocking. "People with marks don't do kindness. They do transactions."
Wuchen kept his gaze down and let his fingers cool, as if ashamed.
Du Zheng exhaled once. "Go," he said. "And don't come empty-handed again."
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
That wasn't advice.
That was instruction.
A habit being set.
Wuchen bowed and left, heart steady by force, three grains held low.
He returned to Gu Yan and reported everything: Du Zheng's reaction to hearing his own name, his warning about buying the gate, his comment about transactions, and his final instruction.
Gu Yan listened with bright eyes and a faint smile that looked like patience.
"He took it," Gu Yan murmured. "Good. He didn't refuse."
Wei's voice was flat. "And he told Wuchen not to come empty-handed. So he's already participating."
Gu Yan nodded once. "Yes," he said softly. "Now the gate is oiled."
Wuchen swallowed. "Senior Brother… what next?"
Gu Yan's smile sharpened slightly. "Now we wait for someone else to push on the gate," he murmured. "Han will push. Lan will push. Patrol will push. When they do, Du Zheng will remember who brought him warmth."
Wei added quietly, "And he'll decide which mouth he wants to feed."
Gu Yan looked at Wuchen. "Tomorrow," he said gently, "you do not go to the gate."
Wuchen blinked.
Gu Yan smiled. "Absence," he murmured. "You let the oil sit. If you drip too much, it looks like bribery. One drop is kindness. Two drops is habit. Three drops is evidence."
Wuchen bowed. "Understood."
As Wuchen left the pavilion, he felt the shape of the new leash settle around his own choices.
He hadn't opened any doors.
He hadn't asked to pass unlogged.
He had only given a guard tea.
And yet the gate now had a memory of him.
In the inner hall, that was how the softest traps worked.
They didn't close on your wrist.
They closed on your conscience.