There was a visitor to the Palace a couple of days later, somewhat an unexpected one; visitors as a whole were uncommon considering how arduous a journey it was to scale the mountain in such bitter conditions, but such little commotion had been made that had Ricky not caught a glimpse of fur-lined golden robes being escorted back out of the Palace, he wouldn’t have known someone was here at all.
Golden robes. Meteor Court?
He headed for Yookyung’s room immediately and knocked.
“Sunbae?”
The door opened, and Yookyung regarded him with a sour look. “What do you want now?”
“Was that Minwoo-sunbae? Or someone else from Meteor Court? Did they tell you anything?”
Yookyung slammed the door in Ricky’s face, and Ricky let a beat of silence pass before he gathered up the nerve to knock again.
“Sunbae?”
The door opened again, almost as violently as it had closed. “Why are you always meddling in things that aren’t your business?” Yookyung asked, more resigned than accusatory.
Ricky ignored his pointed question. “Was that Minwoo-sunbae or not?”
“Yes, it was.”
“He came to talk to you about Gyuvin, didn’t he? What did he say?”
Yookyung sat down at his table and sighed. “He said Kim Gyuvin claimed not to be aware of why his imprisonment was ordered. He came to me to ask me for help because the Coalition wasn’t answering to Meteor Court.”
“Why aren’t they answering to Meteor Court?”
“Well, the Coalition is investigating one of their disciples, after all. I suppose they’re worried Meteor Court will try to cover for Kim Gyuvin some way or another, so they’re keeping all information from them until the trial is over.”
Ricky frowned. “Minwoo-sunbae and everyone else don’t even know why Gyuvin was even imprisoned?”
“No, not until now. The report’s confidential, remember? I didn’t show it to him, but I told him briefly what the situation was. It doesn’t make any sense to hide it from them, the truth will be discovered regardless.”
“So Minwoo-sunbae knows now? Do you think they’ll be able to get him out?”
Yookyung shook his head. “As far as this matter goes, Meteor Court has no say over what the Coalition decides. Nothing they say or do will change anything, for now at least. Kim Gyuvin will stay in the Fortress until the commencement of his trial.”
Ricky bit his lip, his eyes downcast.
“Ricky, you need to let this go. I’m not going to tell you this again,” Yookyung said sternly, but not without some concern. “You need to trust in the rules. The Coalition will do things the lawful way. If Gyuvin is indeed guilty, he must be punished. You should know better than anyone that that’s the way the world should work.”
Ricky nodded, expressionless. “Rules exist for the good of the people.”
“To maintain control and bring peace to all,” Yookyung finished. “I know it’s not always the easiest pill to swallow, but it’s something we all have to live with.”
Ricky left. He didn’t bring up the matter to either Zhanghao or Yookyung again, and as the weeks passed, a quiet sort of unease started to settle inside him, like he knew something terrible was imminent, so imminent he could feel it in his chest with every breath he took. Somehow, he knew something was going to go wrong. He believed in his heart of hearts Gyuvin was not a killer. He didn’t have it in him to have such evil intent; to murder his best friend? To conspire with infernal forces to orchestrate such catastrophes upon his fellow cultivators? Even if Kim Gyuvin died a hundred times over, he wouldn’t accumulate enough resentment in him to be capable of anything close.
No one on that judgment panel knew Gyuvin like he did, or like Hanbin did, or like anyone else who’d met him. But he knew what he believed was immaterial. He needed to do something concrete, something that would make a difference. He couldn’t just stand by and let Gyuvin die. But the more time passed, the more Ricky began to feel like his hands were tied. There were so many things he couldn’t do because the rules forbade it, but the idea of doing nothing was so deeply horrifying he knew he had to keep thinking. And keep thinking he did, for weeks and weeks, moving through training and meals and reflection periods like a ghost, with nothing on his mind other than the same question that’d been going round and round for what seemed like an eternity in itself.
What am I going to do now?
There was a long-distance communication spell sent to him, during the morning silent self-reflection hour, almost five weeks after that conversation. When he heard Yookyung’s voice speak in his ear, without having to listen till the end, he knew what the message was going to say. Gyuvin’s trial was going to commence.
If he wanted to save Gyuvin, he had to leave, now.
He waited until nightfall. There were too many people around during the day for him to leave without being noticed, and he couldn’t risk his plan being foiled before it even began. He slipped out through a side door in one of the lesser-frequented wings of the Palace, mounting his sword and soaring into the night sky without looking back. The night winds were bitterly cold against his cheekbones. It was almost fall now, though the seasons changing had never been noticeable up in the Kunlun mountains.
Seven Star Manor would be a two day journey by sword, but he was unfamiliar with the territory and couldn’t risk getting lost. He’d fly by sword down to the city surrounding the foot of the Kunlun mountain range, and he’d hire a carriage to take him there. Yookyung’s communication spell had said the trial was commencing in four days. It would be tight, but if he didn’t waste any time, he could make it.
His carriage reached the outskirts of the city just before noon on the fourth day of his journey. He paid the carriage driver handsomely in gold pieces and stepped out of the carriage; he had brought nothing with him other than his sword and the bag of gold pieces tucked into his sleeve. Unsheathing Tianling, he mounted his sword, soaring into the air over the city, looking out below him for the Judgment Gallery. Yookyung would be somewhere down there, sitting with the rest of the Coalition’s upper council. Minwoo-sunbae would be there too, and Meteor Court’s sect leader. Ricky couldn’t remember if Kwan Hyunjae was on the upper council too, but the city opened out beneath him like an art scroll, resplendent buildings decorated in red, white and gold, he wished with all his heart that Hyunjae-sunbae wouldn’t be there.
The time he’d spent at the training camp and the events that had transpired at that Peak had left him with a strange sense of disconcertment as he stepped back into his old life at the Palace. He’d never thought much about sects other than his own and he’d always generally had a good impression of them all, but nowadays when he thought of Seven Star Manor all he could think of was Han Seungho, and he would wonder inwardly if all scholars were as awful as he was, and walked around with an air of superiority like he did.
And when he thought about home, sometimes he thought about Kwan Hyunjae. Hyunjae-sunbae was Zhanghao’s shizun, mainly because he was the only senior at the Palace well-versed enough in the use of a whip like Xuanhua to be able to train a disciple in its use. He was strict but very, very outstandingly talented, and Ricky had always looked up to him. But even so, Ricky resented him a little, deep inside, for using his talent to bring Gyuvin down. It didn’t make sense; not many things made sense as of late, but he’d never been in a position where his sect’s decisions contradicted so greatly with his own personal agenda.
It felt wrong. Like he was an impostor walking through the halls of the place he’d grown up in, a monster hiding under a pelt of sheep’s wool. Ricky wondered, if they knew he was having these thoughts, these plans, if they would punish him. He wondered if they’d turn on him, too, just as easily and willingly as they’d turned on Gyuvin, who’s greatest sin was being his father’s son.
He had no time to worry about things like that. If he was to be punished, then so be it. There wasn’t much he couldn’t handle. He had to find the Judgment Gallery, before Gyuvin’s trial proceeded too far.
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