The streets looked different now that it wasn’t festival season, but the city was alive with the morning hustle and bustle nonetheless. The towers of Meteor Court loomed in the distance, backlit against the dawning sky, grandiose buildings of blue and gold.
He felt another wave of something bitter rise in his throat. The last time he’d been here, Gyuvin had been with him. He tried not to think of what it felt like with Gyuvin’s hand in his as they darted through crowded streets as the fireworks lit up the sky high above, but of course, the easiest way to think of something was to try not to think of it. He willed Tianling to fly faster, so the cool morning wind whipping over his face became loud enough to drown out his thoughts.
As he landed in the Astral Courtyard, he was attended to quickly by some of the court’s maids; in his snow-white robes, he stood out like a white lily in the midst of spun-gold uniforms.
“I’d like to see Young Master Jeon Minwoo,” he said politely. “Is he up yet?”
On second thought, Ricky didn’t really know what he had to say to Jeon Minwoo; they hadn’t spoken at all at the training camp outside of actual training. All he knew were the little stories Gyuvin would tell about his Minwoo-hyung every now and then when it came to his mind. But now that both Gyuvin and Hanbin were gone, it wasn’t like Ricky knew anyone else at Meteor Court anyway.
The attendants led him through the Celestial Hall and further into the grounds, through winding corridors of bridges built over water, until they reached an area marked by a sign over the entryway that read Mercury Pavilion.
“Young Master Jeon is inside, you may enter,” he was told, before the attendants left.
Ricky knocked on the door. He didn’t know what to say, but at the same time he felt the desperate, suffocating urge to talk to someone, and his mind had subconsciously sought out the only reminder he had left of Kim Gyuvin.
“Come in!”
Jeon Minwoo looked mildly surprised to see him. “Ricky,” he greeted, with an incline of his head. “It’s good to see you. Is there something wrong?”
“Sunbae, forgive me for my insolence. You’re on the Coalition’s Upper Council, aren’t you?”
“I- yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“You had a say in Gyuvin’s trial, didn’t you?”
Minwoo’s expression darkened ever so slightly, though he recovered quickly. “Yes, we all did. I did my best to speak for him during the Council discussion But the voting was anonymous and ultimately it wasn’t something I could control.”
“How could the Upper Council sentence him to execution without trial? Sunbae, no one in the last fifteen years has had that punishment. The last person who died under the executioner’s sword used forbidden techniques and wiped out two entire cities! How could a decision like that be fair?”
“I don’t know, Ricky. I didn’t think it was fair either. Honestly, I was surprised that the results of the vote came out that way, too.”
Minwoo looked a little like he thought he’d said more than he should have, but Ricky plowed on regardless. “You were surprised? What do you mean?”
“Well, amongst the Upper Council members present at the discussion, almost half of them were from the Training Camp’s senior panel.”
“Sunbae, if I can ask this, who?”
“Well, it’s not supposed to be a secret. A minimum of three representatives from each of the Coalition member sects had to be present, so…”
Ricky listened intently as Minwoo recited names. Jeon Minwoo, Sect Leader Baek Junghee and Meteor Court’s third in command Jin Sangkyu, Ahn Yookyung, Kwan Hyunjae and Moonrise Palace’s Sect Leader Shin Iseul, Lee Eunyoung, Geum Daesung and Seven Star Manor’s Sect Leader Myung Yoon…
Minwoo was right. Of all the names he’d read out, other than the five sect leaders who were obviously not involved in the senior panel business, almost half of the people there were familiar names.
“But sunbae, if they were on the senior panel, then they must have been there during the infernal rift. Wouldn’t they be more inclined to vote against him?”
Minwoo shook his head. “Ricky, the seniors aren’t simple-minded. Other than some hotheaded idiots like Han Seungho, most of the senior panel had enough logic to understand that someone like Gyuvin couldn’t possibly have orchestrated all of that on his own. I mean, come on, that boy doesn’t even listen in half his classes. He’s a brilliant cultivator without a doubt because he’s naturally skilled, but he didn’t even know what a Soul Erosion talisman looked like.”
“Was,” Ricky corrected. “He was a brilliant cultivator. Your panel had him killed.”
A flash of anger lit up in Minwoo’s eyes for just the briefest second, and Ricky half-expected to be yelled at, but all Minwoo did was sigh. “He’s my junior, Ricky. I watched him grow up. Don’t think even for a second that the grief you’re feeling could be more than mine.”
Sunbae, with respect, I highly doubt that.
Ricky nodded silently and stood up, bowing deeply. “Thank you for your time, sunbae. I apologize for visiting so suddenly without notice.”
“It’s alright. I suppose you’ve been settling back into life at Moonrise Palace well?”
Ricky glanced back to look him in the eye. Was he just asking, out of polite pleasantry? Or was it something pointed, like he could see through Ricky’s terse words and unravel the feeling that’d balled up at the back of his throat; that he could never walk the halls of the Palace again without remembering that the seniors he’d been raised to respect had stood by while an innocent boy was executed for the world to see?
He knew Minwoo had always been perceptive. Gyuvin had told him that. It unsettled him, as he left the Mercury Pavilion and re-emerged into the Celestial Hall. All around him, Meteor Court roared with life. He imagined looking into the distant crowd of golden-robed disciples and hearing familiar laughter echoing through the corridors.
Ricky mounted Tianling and left Sunshower City without looking back.
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