Ling Shouyi responded the same way he responded to most things.
He didn't praise. He didn't scold. He made the household move.
By evening, the main hall had received two additional visitors: a clerk from the Finance Ministry who carried a sealed pouch of gate logs, and House Steward Ma with a stack of household purchase slips. Both entered, bowed, spoke quietly with the minister, and left without lingering.
No drama. No announcement. Just quiet tightening of the net.
Ling Liyu heard about it from Auntie Zhou, who delivered the information like she was handing over porcelain.
"Second Young Master," she said softly, "the minister has taken your summary. He requested the household's salt and oil purchase slips for the past month. House Steward Ma delivered them."
Liyu nodded. "Any reaction?"
Auntie Zhou hesitated. "The minister's face did not change."
Which meant nothing and everything.
"Did Father say anything?" Liyu asked.
"He only said… 'good,'" Auntie Zhou replied, sounding faintly astonished.
Good.
From Ling Shouyi, that was not a compliment. It was a confirmation: your thinking aligns with mine. Keep going.
Liyu exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
Auntie Zhou bowed and withdrew.
Liyu sat at his desk, the household purchase slips spread before him. They were smaller than official documents, written in quick handwriting, stamped with the household seal.
Oil purchase: five jin, five jin, six jin.
Salt purchase: three jin, three jin, three jin.
The numbers were almost comically stable.
For a household preparing for a major palace banquet and receiving increased guests, stability made no sense. Cooking needs fluctuated with event schedules. Servant meals, steward meals, master meals. Extra visitors. Extra waste. Extra everything.
And yet the numbers sat flat as a pond in winter.
He didn't need to be a financial genius to see it.
This household had been smoothed too.
Someone here was doing the same thing the transport summaries suggested: keeping salt and oil "perfect" on paper.
Which meant either the household was being skimmed, or the household's records were being manipulated to match an external pattern.
Or both.
He pressed his fingers against his lips, thinking.
If the same corruption mechanism touched both military supply routes and ministerial households, it wasn't just theft. It was a network. A system of leaks that fed something larger—money into influence, influence into protection, protection into more leaks.
And then a new, smaller thought cut in: If the household's oil and salt records were being controlled, then someone in the kitchen chain was involved. Or someone in the steward chain.
Steward Fang.
Household storeroom.
Chen Yao.
He tapped his desk once, then stood.
He needed one person who could look at a record and not immediately try to protect themselves.
He needed someone who had something to lose but not enough power to hide.
He needed Chen Yao.
Liyu walked to the side office near the storeroom again.
The assistant steward was there, as always, seated at his desk with a ledger open. His brush moved with quiet speed. He looked like a man who survived by being useful and invisible.
When Liyu entered, Chen Yao stiffened.
But this time, he didn't go white. His hands didn't shake as badly. His bow was still deep, but it wasn't a collapse.
"Second Young Master," he said.
Liyu stopped at the same respectful distance as last time. "Chen Yao. I have a question."
Chen Yao's eyes flickered up, then down. "This lowly one will answer if I can."
Liyu held out one of the household purchase slips. "Does this look correct to you?"
Chen Yao took the slip with both hands. His fingers were careful. His eyes scanned the numbers quickly.
Then his brow creased.
"This…," he started, then stopped.
Liyu waited, giving him silence to think.
Chen Yao swallowed. "Second Young Master, oil and salt purchases should not be this steady."
"So you agree," Liyu said.
Chen Yao's shoulders tightened like he'd admitted something dangerous. "This lowly one… only speaks from accounting logic."
"Good," Liyu said. "Then speak more. Why would it be steady?"
Chen Yao hesitated. His eyes darted briefly toward the door, then back.
"Because," he said quietly, "someone wants it to be steady."
Liyu's pulse quickened. "Who has the power to make it steady?"
Chen Yao's throat bobbed. He chose his words like stepping through a trap field.
"The purchase slips are written by kitchen staff," he said. "But they are approved by the household steward chain. The final stamp is held by House Steward Ma. The kitchen cannot stamp without approval."
"So if the numbers are fake—" Liyu began.
"They were approved," Chen Yao finished.
A quiet, damning fact.
Liyu looked at him. "Do you think House Steward Ma is corrupt?"
Chen Yao froze. His face went blank with panic.
"Second Young Master…," he whispered. "This lowly one cannot…"
Liyu held up a hand. "I'm not asking you to accuse anyone. I'm asking: are there other explanations."
Chen Yao exhaled shakily, relief mixed with fear.
"Yes," he said. "There are other explanations. House Steward Ma may be approving what he's given without checking. Or… he may be forced to approve."
Forced.
By who?
Liyu didn't ask it aloud. Asking it aloud was dangerous.
Instead, he asked the safer question that still cut toward truth.
"What would you do," Liyu said, "if you wanted to confirm whether the household's actual oil use matches the slips?"
Chen Yao blinked. The question was technical. Safe territory. His shoulders loosened slightly.
"This lowly one would check the storeroom withdrawals," he said. "Not the purchase slips. The slips say what comes in. Withdrawals show what goes out."
"And who records withdrawals?"
"The storeroom assistant records," Chen Yao replied. "Under Steward Fang's supervision."
Steward Fang again.
Liyu's mind moved. "Can you get me the withdrawal record?"
Chen Yao's eyes widened. Fear surged back.
"This lowly one… has no authority to take storeroom records out," he whispered. "If Steward Fang learns…"
"I didn't ask you to take it out," Liyu said. "I asked if you can show it to me here."
Chen Yao hesitated, then nodded slowly. "If Second Young Master orders it, I can request it for 'review.' But… it will be noticed."
"Then we make it normal," Liyu said.
Chen Yao looked at him, confused.
Liyu leaned slightly forward, voice low. "You said my new behavior is strange. People are watching. So if we do something secret, it will look secret. But if we do something openly 'efficient,' it looks like my new hobby."
Chen Yao stared. Then, very slowly, comprehension spread across his face.
Second Young Master isn't hiding. He's using visibility as camouflage.
"That's… clever," Chen Yao whispered, before he could stop himself.
The words hung in the air.
Liyu didn't react like a bully would. He simply nodded once, as if acknowledging a useful observation.
"Request the oil and salt withdrawal records," he said. "Tell Steward Fang I want to understand household flow before I suggest further 'waste reduction' to Father."
The phrase waste reduction was a shield. It matched Ling Shouyi's values. It also made the request sound obedient, not investigative.
Chen Yao bowed. "Yes, Second Young Master."
He stood and moved toward the storeroom office door.
Then he stopped.
He turned back, face tense, and said quietly, "Second Young Master… this lowly one must ask."
Liyu's eyes lifted. "Ask."
Chen Yao swallowed. "Why are you doing this?"
The question wasn't about oil. Not really.
It was about the change. About the sudden calm. About the strange, consistent behavior from a young master who used to break people for entertainment.
Liyu held Chen Yao's gaze.
In the old life, he would have deflected. He would have lied politely. Or he would have mocked the question.
Here, he chose something else: a truth that couldn't be weaponized easily.
"Because," Liyu said quietly, "I don't want this house to rot from the inside."
Chen Yao's eyes widened. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more.
But instead, he bowed deeply. Not a terrified bow. A respectful one.
"Yes," he said. Then he left.
Liyu stood alone in the side office, listening to the quiet.
The servants in this house feared him.
His father measured him.
His brother protected him.
But Chen Yao—who had every reason to hate him—had just asked him why.
Not what. Not how. Why.
And for the first time since waking up in this body, Liyu felt something like an anchor drop inside him.
He wasn't doing this to be praised.
He wasn't doing this to impress a general.
He wasn't doing this because he wanted power.
He was doing this because he couldn't stand the idea of living in a system that broke people quietly and called it normal.
It was a modern thought.
It was also, he realized, the kind of thought that got people killed in ancient courts.
He pressed his fingers to his scar and exhaled.
Then he walked back to his room, because the withdrawal records would come soon, and once he had them, the next step wouldn't be quiet anymore.
It would be decisive.