CHAPTER

43

TO ENGAGE

MEIYAO

—∞—

Meiyao was in a mood for murder. She’d already killed two today, and she felt like adding to the tally.

Meeting her father’s gaze, she stifled the urge to reach for her saber. She’d just stepped inside the palace’s underground conference room. It was a large chamber under the main building. Its existence was a secret; none but the upper brass of the palace and the sect, plus some hand-picked servants charged with the upkeep of the palace’s underground levels, were aware of it. It was the most secure location in the palace, protected by so many inscribed fields that Meiyao could only barely tell them apart with her soulsense.

She’d been here only once before, the last time she’d visited Radiant Gold City, ten years ago, together with Aunt Wanxin and Yunzhu. Wanxin had taken them on a tour of the palace, with Uncle Yiming tagging along, the two adults entirely disregarding any and all rules about restricted areas. She remembered that visit clearly—not because of the trip itself, but because of what had come after it. Because of what had happened while she was outside, what she’d found out after they returned to the sect.

The walls of the chamber were sleek, solid sheets of steel, the ceiling sitting over ten feet above the floor. The room was rectangular, considerably larger than it was wide, with a large conference table that took up most of the room. The shelves lining the walls were stacked with jade slips. Unlike virtually every other establishment the Liangshibai had a hand in, the only hint of their flair for gemstones was the diamond lights embedded on the ceiling at set intervals.

Wanxin and the core elders, after confirming that neither she nor Jieyuan were grievously wounded, had escorted them to the palace’s underground level through secret corridors in a hurry, crowded around them like bodyguards.

On their way here, Meiyao had her mind not on the assassination attempts—with the elders around them, they were as safe as they could be—but on Jieyuan’s miraculous recovery. She’d seen him being stabbed. It had been a clear, killing strike, straight through the chest, through the Heart. But then he’d gotten up, good as new, and the only indication of the mortal wound he’d suffered was the blood coating his unharmed chest and torn robes. That was made even more curious given the information she’d received earlier that day.

Now, however, all thoughts of that were tucked away in the corner of her mind as the man she shared blood with leveled her with that cold, calculating stare of his. From across the room, her father’s eyes ran over the tears on her robes, the reddened wounds littering her arms, as if a jeweler looking for chips on a gemstone, or a gardener for rot on a prize shrub.

She couldn’t recall the last time her father had looked at her for this long. The last time the man had seen fit to lavish her with so much of his attention. It made her skin crawl. And to think that once, she’d have given just about anything for his attention. Back in a time she barely believed was once real, washed away by muddy waters of time and only occasionally fished up by remembrance.

Finally, her father looked away. On the other end of the table, surrounding him, were most of the sect’s core protectors, all five high protectors that had followed them to the Summit, and just beside her father, was Zhaoyong, her grandfather in all but blood. Meiyao noticed him stepping forward, making to approach, and she gave the man a glare.

Frowning, Zhaoyong stopped his steps, and gave her a pained look. She maintained her glare; she had no pity to spare for him. Not while he stood by her father’s side. Not while he supported her father’s decision.

Meiyao felt a hand grab her wrist, and she looked to the side. Yuyan was giving her a conflicted look that said a thousand words, none of which Meiyao was interested in hearing.

Shaking off her stepmother’s grasp, Meiyao settled herself against the wall, near the door, arms crossed. Yuyan was… complicated. Meiyao couldn’t push her away, not like she could push everyone else. Yuyan and her mother had been so close that Meiyao could probably count on one hand the times she’d seen one without the other. Yuyan had always been a second mother to her.

Meiyao couldn’t forgive Yuyan for loving her father despite all the things he had done, all the things he hadn’t done, whatever betrayal she felt because of that was dampened, numbed. However, Meiyao wouldn’t entertain, not even for a moment, Yuyan’s attempts at getting her to reconnect with her family. Meiyao drew the line there, cut it into stone, cut it clear and clean.

Yuyan sighed, but said nothing as she remained by Meiyao’s side, all the while trading looks with Zhaoyong, probably in a mind-link with him. Jieyuan took position on Meiyao’s other side, closer to the door. Further off to his right were Daojue, Yongyi, and Yunzhu. Two of the core elders that had accompanied them here remained just beside the door, whereas the others made to join the other elders at the front of the conference table, taking with them the three black-wrapped corpses they’d been carrying.

Daojue had also been targeted. After escorting them out of Jieyuan’s room, the elders had stopped in the hallway, whereupon they’d been joined by Yongyi and Yunzhu, both escorted by a pair of elders. As well as by Daojue, with the two elders that followed him out bringing the corpse of an assassin with them, one with a large hole in their chest. Daojue had been carrying Gleaming End when he’d stepped out of his room, the gear-shroud bindings around the blade darkened red.

That hint of blood was the only indication a fight had happened; Daojue was otherwise unharmed and unruffled. Even now, as he stood beside Jieyuan, Daojue had his customary steely look on, the bloodied spear held to his side like a pillar.

He must’ve killed his assassin immediately; not even Daojue would’ve been able to survive a prolonged fight against a tenth-sign redsoul. A higher-realm weapon truly made all the difference in a fight. Meiyao had only managed to deal with the assassin sent after her because they’d been trying to capture her, not kill her, and she’d managed to get a lucky strike in with her saber. And even then, she hadn’t come out unscathed. Following that, she’d only managed to kill the other assassin because of Jieyuan’s miraculous help towards the end.

Yunzhu was by Daojue’s side, staring at him. Meiyao would’ve frowned if she hadn’t already grown used to that particular sight. Yunzhu had always been… unusual. Meiyao had also gotten her share of unsettling stares from Yunzhu when they were younger, but after a few months, the older girl had stopped. Meiyao couldn’t remember Yunzhu ever being this bad, however. It didn’t help that they hadn’t been in as much contact these last few years, with Qingshi coming into the picture, and with Yunzhu being a few years older and becoming a cultivator earlier than her.

Yongyi was also there, next to Yunzhu, sending her constant worried looks that she ignored. Things between them had never been the same after that day, when he hadn’t taken her side against their father. But even though she didn’t forgive him, she’d learned to look past that, much like she had with Yuyan, because at the end of the day, Yongyi was still her brother. And for years, that had worked fine for them. But then he’d gone and, much like their grandfather, voiced his support for their father’s bout of lunacy earlier this year.

Meiyao took a deep breath, pressing her lips tightly, balling her hands into fists. No, she wanted nothing more to do with Yongyi. Not anymore. He’d made it clear that he was their father’s son before he was her brother. He had no right to look worried about her, to look at her like some sad puppy left in the rain, when he’d agreed with her father to sell her off like cattle.

More core elders filed into the room, all of them making straight for the head of the table, gathering around the sect leader, although two of them stopped for a moment by Yuyan’s side to quietly conference with her. They were all talking quietly. They seemed to be having some sort of discussion; the Liangshibai elders were mostly to the right of the table, with the non-Liangshibai on the left. Her father and grandfather were in the middle, seemingly playing peacemaker. The only elders of note yet to arrive were Yiming and Wanxin.

Her father suddenly scowled, while her grandfather frowned, both of them turning towards the door. Moments later, the door slammed open, and Wanxin stalked inside, saber out and bloodied, blue eyes alight and murderous. She stepped for a moment, looking over to the side, her gaze stopping for a moment on Meiyao and the other disciples there, before she focused on the head of the table. She had a large, bloodied tear on the side of her robe, revealing a stretch of skin with a gleamstone barrier over it, staunching the wound.

Yiming rushed into the room, flanked by two more elders carrying a fourth corpse with them. “Don’t—”

Meiyao barely blinked, and there was a loud, ringing noise. Wanxin had appeared on the other side of the room, standing on top of the table, near the end, the blade of her saber striking a gleamstone barrier floating in front of the sole non-Liangshibai high protector in the room. Yiming was also on the table, standing behind Wanxin, hands on her shoulders, trying to pull her back, and virtually all elders suddenly had weapons drawn.

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Meiyao’s own hands reached for her saber, mostly on instinct, and she noticed the other disciples beside her doing the same. Even Yunzhu had taken her eyes off Daojue, looking fixedly at her mother, her sword drawn. Only Daojue stood still, as he’d been before, wholly unconcerned.

The high protector—a Fusongshi, Meiyao recalled—seemed entirely unamused as she stared at Wanxin. The middle-aged woman had also drawn her weapon, a long, elegant sword, but she only held it to the side. “Why, Paramount Protector,” the woman drawled, looking up at Wanxin, unflinching, “do my eyes fail me, or have you just tried to assassinate me?”

“Your eyes are working well enough, you chipped bint,” Wanxin spat. Yiming kept trying to pull her back, but Wanxin was having none of it, probably aura-lashed to the ground as she held her saber out. “But I was just returning the favor.”

“Wanxin,” Zhaoyong said, voice low and threatening, “cease this at once.”

“No, Chief Protector,” the high protector said, waving a hand dismissively, not taking her eyes off Wanxin even for a moment. “That’s a curious accusation the Paramount Protector made just now. I’d like her to elaborate. And Palace Head, do unhand the Paramount Protector. Your help is appreciated, but unnecessary. Should the Paramount Protector insist on this folly, I’m perfectly capable of disciplining her myself.”

Frowning, Yiming stepped back, releasing Wanxin, who pulled her saber back, but remained standing at the edge of the table, staring down at the high protector. “Fascinating,” Wanxin said, the word thick with venom. “If I’d known you were this chipping good of a mummer, I’d have spent more time with you old coots at the High Council. In your place, I wouldn’t have been able to just stand there, uttering such nonsense, after sending out four assassins only for all four of them to get killed instead.”

“Paramount Protector,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow. “Do my ears fail me, or are you seriously accusing me of not only orchestrating tonight’s assassination attempts? And as if that wasn’t a grievous enough accusation, those men are Unrecorded.” The high protector nodded to a spot on the side of the room. “You should know very well that such abhorrent practices are strictly condemned by our sect.”

On the corner the high protector had nodded to were all four dead assassins. They had all been unmasked, including the severed head of the assassin that had gone after Jieyuan, revealing faces so deeply scarred they were rendered mostly featureless.

A pang of disgust struck Meiyao at the sight of their scarred faces and what they represented. Although their mouths were closed, she knew if they were pried open, she'd find stumps where their tongues should have been.

Unrecorded. She’d never seen one before, but she’d heard about them. Cultivators raised in absolute secrecy as disposable, untraceable weapons. They were raised by clans—unbound clans, and in the case of sects and cults, adjunct clans—secretly adopted at a very young age and conditioned in such a way as to strip them of their sense of self.

“Oh, I’d put nothing past you lot,” Wanxin said. She looked from the high protector to Zhaoyong. “Father, you know I’m right. We already know the Gleaming Nobles are after those three—this was clearly their work.”

The high protector scoffed. “It’s already been established that those were rogue actors. The Geshihan and Fusongshi Clan have served the Liangshibai faithfully for ages. What would we even stand to gain from arranging the murder of those three disciples, and now you?”

“Trust me, I’m dying to know that, as well.” Wanxin turned back to the woman. “And if I have my way, I’ll have you dying to tell me.” The woman scoffed again, but Wanxin went on. “And I don’t know what your angle is, but I know what you’re after. The Gleamstone Depths. You jackals have always been after it, haven’t you?”

Most of the Liangshibai in the room frowned, but the high protector only smiled. “Oh, Wanxin. If there’s anyone in the sect with an… unusual… interest in the Gleamstone Depths, I believe it’d be your husband, Bureau Head Taishou. No?”

There was another blur of movement, and their positions had shifted—Wanxin was now on the ground, close enough to the elder to kiss, the blade of her saber between them, a paper-thin gleamstone barrier just over the high protector’s neck. Wanxin had her back to Meiyao now, but Meiyao could see the high protector’s disdainful look.

“Don’t you dare bring my husband into this.” Wanxin spoke so softly that Meiyao barely heard it, and for how low her voice was, the threat in it couldn’t be any louder.

Meiyao tensed. She knew Wanxin; before, the woman had been, at least in part, putting up an act. Wanxin was dramatic like that. This was different—Wanxin was serious now, serious in a way Meiyao seldom saw her.

And it seemed like Meiyao wasn’t the only one to have noticed that.

“Enough.” Zhaoyong’s voice filled the room. When he warned Wanxin earlier, Zhaoyong had already been firm. Now, the tone he used left no room for anything else. This wasn’t just Meiyao’s surrogate grandfather, Wanxin’s father, speaking. This was the chief protector of the sect. “Wanxin, disengage.”

If there was someone who could stand up to Zhaoyong, however, it was Wanxin. “I don’t think I will,” she said, not looking away from the high protector.

But likewise, if there was anyone who could put Wanxin in the place, it was Zhaoyong. The chief protector stepped forward, slowly, and in the dead silence of the room, his footsteps echoed. “Being the paramount protector might afford you a great deal of leeway,” Zhaoyong said, slowly, “but I’m still chief protector, and I’m still your father. You will disengage. This foolishness has run on for long enough.”

He came to a stop right beside Wanxin. Wanxin and Zhaoyong were about the same height; in fact, Wanxin might even be slightly taller. Still, he seemed to loom over her.

Wanxin finally turned around, although she still kept her blade on the high protector’s throat. “You can’t—”

“I can,” Zhaoyong said. “And I am. So unless you’d like to challenge my authority—unless you’d try to win the position of chief protector from me—you will stop.”

For a long while, father and daughter stared at each other. Then Wanxin scowled, and deliberately moved her saber away, sheathing it. The high protector watched on coolly, the gleamstone barrier over her neck vanishing.

Wanxin began walking away, to the Liangshibai side of the room, past Zhaoyong—although she stopped after a few steps, glancing back at the high protector. “You sure are lucky Lianhua isn’t here anymore, or she’d have killed you on the spot for sending someone after her daughter, and nothing would’ve been able to stop her.” Then, although Meiyao couldn’t see Wanxin’s face, she could hear the smile in her next words. “I still have half a mind to do it myself, but then again… I doubt you’ll be able to handle the fallout anyway, once a certain party hears of this.”

Suddenly, Meiyao stood up straighter. It wasn’t just the mention of her mother, even if she did agree with Wanxin’s words. It was the certain party she’d mentioned—she knew exactly who Wanxin was talking about.

The high protector knew it too, because it was at that moment that her composure broke. For the first time, she seemed unsettled. “Protector Wanxin, I don’t care for what you do, but if you dare bring those madmen—”

“She won’t,” Zhaoyong cut in. “They will be contacted, as it’d be unwise to keep these latest developments from them, but I’ll be the one to do so, and I’ll ensure they understand the situation.”

The high protector nodded. “Good. I’ll trust you to convey the facts properly, Chief Protector, because the last thing we need at that moment is a cabal war.” She sent a pointed look at Wanxin.

Giving no indication she’d heard, Wanxin kept on walking, over to where Meiyao and the other disciples were. She first exchanged glances with Yuyan, who had yet to leave Meiyao’s side, then gave Meiyao a brief, searching look, her eyes lingering briefly on her wounds.

Meiyao answered it with a brief nod, signifying that she was fine; Wanxin smiled softly, then settled herself between Yunzhu and Yongyi, pulling her mother in. The two, mother and daughter, began speaking softly to each other.

At the head table, the elders resumed speaking, also too low for Meiyao to make out anything. All the while soul-stilling, their words coming out like a quick, indistinct roll of murmurs. There was some lingering tension between the two sides of the table—the Liangshibai and the non-Liangshibai—but the conversations went on regardless. Some of the elders moved over to the corpses of the assassins before moving back, and Meiyao caught Yuyan taking on a concentrated expression a couple of times, clearly in a mind-link.

It wasn’t long later that her father stepped forward, taking his place at the helm of the table, the other elders spreading out. “We’ve been unable to determine the origin of the assassins,” he said, “or how they might have infiltrated the palace. Until the end of the Summit, Disciples Meiyao, Daojue, and Jieyuan will be housed in the elder’s residential quarters, and whenever you leave your apartments, you’ll be escorted by a pair of elders. Palace Head Yiming will strengthen our security measures to prevent a repeat of these events. Yongyi and Yunzhu, although you weren’t targeted now, that doesn’t mean you won’t be in the future, so you’ll also be coming.”

Her father’s voice was louder than usual, his expression firmer. Meiyao knew very well what that was about and couldn’t help the smirk that found its way to her lips.

Her father was obsessed with authority, with control. But for all the power his position afforded him, it was limited to the Outer and Inner Courts. The sect leader held little sway in the Core Court, and absolutely none when faced with a high protector, let alone a paramount protector. He’d been rendered into a spectator just now, unable to interfere, and that must have irked him terribly.

And then he shifted his attention to Meiyao, and something about the set of his face immediately set her on edge, her smirk vanishing. Again he ran his eyes over her wounds. “And Meiyao, see to it that you have your wounds tended. We can’t have you looking like anything but your best. You’ll soon be presented to the Radiant Gold Sect, and a lot hinges on your engagement to Wujinyao Dayang.”

For a moment, Meiyao just stood there. “Are you– Are you—” Junjie had never spoken of that matter openly. Not like this. It’d always been something understated, more like a threat, to the point she often doubted it was even real. It didn’t even make sense; even if she weren’t leaving for the Howling Lighting Sect, she could think of three different ways she could completely ruin that silly notion. She’d rebelled against it on the principle of the matter.

This was different. He’d just spoken of it aloud, for all the sect’s upper echelon to hear. He’d just made it real. He was serious. He couldn’t go back on it, not when he’d spoken it in his capacity as a sect leader. “You— You rotting—”

A hand reached out to grab her shoulder, and she shook it off. “To rot with you,” she said, glaring at her father, who stared back at her, completely unmoved. If Gleaming End had been hers, she’d have thrown it at him, there and then, rot be the consequences.

And she spun on her feet and stalked out of the room.