The warehouse lanterns burned low, throwing long shadows across the stacked grain sacks and the small pile of silver mun Deok-su's men had counted twice. The midnight bells had faded, but their echo still sat heavy in Seo-joon's chest like a warning he couldn't ignore. Dawn was four hours away, and the cave had to look innocent by then.
Deok-su stood with his thick arms crossed, eyes flat. "The girl stays here under my roof until the search is done. My men will watch her. You—" he jabbed a finger at Seo-joon "—will open the cave yourself at first light. If they find anything that smells like sorcery, I hand you both over and keep the roots. Clear?"
"Clear," Seo-joon answered, voice steady. Inside, his mind was already moving pieces on an invisible board. The pot could not be in the cave when the magistrate's men arrived. It had to be moved tonight.
Min-seo stood a pace behind Deok-su's enforcers, arms folded tight across her chest. Her eyes met Seo-joon's across the room—sharp, questioning, but steady. She gave him the smallest nod. Do what you have to do.
Kang Yul stepped forward with a fresh ledger page. "I'll escort the girl to the back room. She'll be safe. No one touches her until dawn."
Seo-joon didn't like it. Leaving her here meant giving up control, even if it was temporary. But control was a luxury he couldn't afford right now. "If anything happens to her," he told Deok-su quietly, "the supply dies with me. No more roots. No more silver. Ever."
Deok-su's smile was thin. "Then make sure the cave tells the right story, root boy."
Seo-joon left without another word. Outside, the alleys were quiet except for the distant bark of dogs and the low murmur of night watchmen. Mak-bong appeared from the shadows like a ghost.
"Wol and Baek got the rest of the roots to Dal-rae," the boy whispered. "She's selling them quiet. Counter-rumors are spreading. But Gu Chil's dogs are still sniffing near the old gully. They're waiting for dawn too."
Seo-joon handed the boy a small pouch of the new silver. "Find Chae Jin-gu. Tell him to gather every hungry family he can trust. Have them ready at the cave mouth at first light. Real witnesses. Real mouths. We turn the search into a show."
Mak-bong nodded and vanished.
Alone now, Seo-joon moved fast through the back gullies, the wrapped pot heavy under his arm. He didn't head straight for the cave. Instead he circled wide, doubled back twice, and slipped into the half-flooded drainage tunnel that ran beneath the old laundry rows. The water was knee-deep and stinking, but it was the one place no one searched after dark.
He stopped in a small dry alcove, pried loose a stone, and tucked the pot deep inside. He covered it with mud and broken bricks, then scattered a few ordinary roots around the hiding spot—just enough to look like a forgotten stash if anyone stumbled on it. The Ghost-Face Jar was safe. For now.
But as he pressed the final brick into place, a cold whisper brushed the back of his mind. Not words. Just a feeling—like the clay itself was watching, patient and hungry, feeding on every calculated risk he took. He shook it off. Paranoia was a luxury too.
By the time he reached the real cave mouth, the eastern sky was already bleeding gray. He worked in the dying dark, digging fresh holes in the soft earth inside the cave and planting the last of the ordinary wild roots he'd gathered days ago. He scattered dirt, broke a few branches, and smeared mud on the walls to look like recent digging. When the magistrate's men arrived, they would find exactly what he wanted them to find: a poor beggar's lucky spot after the rains. Nothing more.
He was finishing the last hole when boots crunched on the gravel outside.
Gu Chil stepped into the cave mouth, torch in one hand, knife in the other. Two of his dogs flanked him. The thin official waited behind them, warrant already unrolled.
"Early bird," Gu Chil sneered. "Or maybe you're just here to hide the devil jar before we tear the place apart."
Seo-joon straightened slowly, hands empty. "Dig wherever you want. You'll find roots and mud. Same as always."
Gu Chil laughed once, ugly. "We'll see. But while my boys dig, I've got a message from the magistrate's cousin. He's tired of waiting. The girl gets questioned either way. Unless you hand over the supply route right now. All of it. Branded under his name."
Seo-joon's jaw tightened. "Tell your cousin the route belongs to Deok-su now. Fixed fee. Revenue share. Try to steal it and the whole market row burns with you."
Gu Chil stepped closer, torchlight painting his scarred face orange. "You're bleeding time, root boy. Dawn's breaking. And when they find nothing here, I'm still coming for the girl. I'll make her scream your name while I carve my own marks into her."
Outside, the first true light of dawn touched the slums.
The magistrate's full squad—twenty men in gray uniforms—appeared at the gully's edge, swords ready.
Seo-joon met Gu Chil's eyes without blinking.
"Let them dig," he said coldly. "Let them look. But remember this: the only sorcery here is the one that turns a leaking dog into a dead one."
The search began.
And somewhere in the drainage tunnel, the pot waited in the dark, ancient hunger stirring as its owner played the most dangerous hand of his life.