The compound woke to rumor instead of announcement. By the time Wei Liang reached the pens for morning roster, word had already spread in the clipped, half-whispered way bad news always traveled among labor disciples — a transport hit on the southern road, guards found unconscious at the fork by the split pine, cargo gone without a trace.
Elder Gong barked through the assignments like nothing had happened, either genuinely unaware of what the wagon carried or trained well enough not to show it. Wei Liang scrubbed the same trough he scrubbed every morning, giving nothing away, while Brigh worked beside him with barely contained tension humming off his shoulders.
"You heard," Brigh murmured, not looking up from the bucket he was filling.
"I heard."
"Whole inner courtyard's talking about
