The court reconvened at dawn. Long banners of red silk hung from the rafters, each embroidered with coiling dragons that seemed to writhe in the shifting lamplight. The air was thick with incense, heavy enough to taste on the tongue.
I stood where I had stood yesterday — alone on the jade floor, surrounded by a ring of scribes and guards. Shen Yue was just beyond reach, her hand on the hilt of her sword as if it might shield me from words sharper than any blade. Han Qing loomed behind her, face set in stone.
The Lord Protector sat as before beside the puppet Emperor, his expression perfectly neutral. The Emperor's small hands fidgeted on his knees, eyes darting from speaker to speaker, lips moving faintly as if whispering silent questions to ghosts.
Wu Kang reclined with languid arrogance, though his eyes burned with hungry focus. Wu Ling sat nearby, stroking a string of black pearls through her fingers, her smile slight and untroubled — like someone savoring music only she could hear.
The tribunal resumed with documents.
A court clerk stepped forward, scrolls trembling in his hands.
"These are sworn reports from the tax overseers of Bù Zhèng. Records of fields left unseeded, entire hamlets burnt to the foundations — lists of men executed by order of the Fourth Prince for suspected treachery."
He swallowed. "In all, it records nearly three thousand put to death beyond the casualties of the battlefield."
A sigh like the breath of a dying beast rippled through the hall. Some ministers turned away, hands pressed to their lips. Others stared at me with wide, fixed eyes.
Then came another witness — a local priest, still thin from weeks imprisoned, eyes haunted.
"They brought the traitors to the temple steps. Skinned them while they still lived, so their screams would teach the children obedience. I begged for mercy on their souls. The Fourth Prince told me mercy was for men who feared the afterlife. He said he feared nothing at all."
Wu Kang gave a small laugh, the sound slipping through his teeth like a blade.
"Are we to bind the future of Liang — our daughters' marriages, our sons' inheritances — to a prince who boasts of fearing neither gods nor ghosts?"
He didn't look at me. His eyes found the rows of cautious nobles, the greedy young lords waiting to see which banner to kiss.
Wu Ling's dark lashes lowered. She turned her face slightly as though embarrassed — but her lips curved, faint, approving.
Through it all I remained still. Under my ribs, the cold thing purred, almost pleased. Each accusation, each tremor in the ministers' voices, fed it. I could feel it pressing against the inside of my chest, hungry, eager. It did not care about trials or marriages. It wanted only to see how bright fear could burn before it devoured the light.
At last the Lord Protector spoke.
"This court has heard two days of testimony. Tomorrow, it will render judgment. Tonight, let every house consider carefully what future they stake upon these claims."
His eyes found mine for just a breath. No warmth. Only calculation — the same look he might have cast over a battlefield, weighing which flank to sacrifice.
It should have ended there. Ministers were already bowing, whispering, preparing to slip from the hall in nervous flocks.
But then Wu Jin stepped forward.
His soft, aimless expression did not change, even as he raised a hand lightly.
"Before we all scuttle off to clutch our ledgers and count which way the wind might turn — perhaps we should consider one small thing."
The hall froze. Even Wu Kang's fan paused half open.
Wu Jin's voice was gentle, almost bored.
"Victory in Bù Zhèng did not grow solely from my brother's cruelty. Taxes from my treasuries armed the campaign. Generals pledged to my seal rode under his command. Should we condemn him outright — shall we also weigh my household? Shall we drag my own clerks into this chamber to ask why their gold bought axes to hew southern necks?"
His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Or is it more convenient to let some horrors be shared by all, so none of us must kneel alone on these jade tiles?"
A breathless silence. Some ministers actually flinched.
Because to destroy me outright would mean implicating Wu Jin — a prince with quiet reach, whose soldiers still guarded half the granaries of Ling An. Who could starve them by winter if he chose.
Wu Kang's mouth twisted. His fingers drummed once on the lacquer of his armrest, sharp, controlled. Wu Ling's lashes lifted; her gaze lingered on Wu Jin a moment longer, unreadable.
The Lord Protector inclined his head.
"Then let it be deferred another day. Tomorrow we shall hear final statements. This matter will not wither from the sun's heat — nor will it fester uncut."
He raised his hand.
"This court stands adjourned."
The Emperor's small sigh was the last sound before the hall erupted in hurried bows and hasty whispers. Ministers scattered like startled crows, robes fluttering.
Outside the pillars, Shen Yue caught my arm. Her grip was firm enough to bruise.
"You saw what Wu Jin did. It looks like he bought you time — but he's just protecting his own purse strings, his own fragile alliances. He's not your shield. He's only hedging bets so he won't fall if you do."
"I know," I said. And under my ribs, the cold thing uncoiled, pleased. Because every tangle of loyalties, every compromise, made this court weaker. Made them all easier to swallow.
Wu Jin found me as I reached the long gallery overlooking the lake gardens.
He smiled that small, distracted smile. "I've always preferred gardens to court chambers. Easier to see where the roots might strangle each other."
"And do you see which vine I am?" I asked.
His eyes were soft, almost sad. "The sort that strangles everything, even itself. Which is why it's best to keep it thriving — at least until I decide which side of the trellis I prefer."
When he left, Shen Yue exhaled shakily.
"You're still standing. But tomorrow they'll want your blood on the jade tiles, or else they'll be terrified forever."
I only smiled, cold. Because under my ribs, the thing that watched through my eyes was smiling too.