Chapter 41 - The Hollow Verdict

For three days after the funeral, everything returned to a strange calm.

Too calm.

The streets no longer murmured my name. The shrine flames had dimmed. Even the ministers, who once whispered behind folded fans, had gone back to their ledgers.

The city exhaled.

I stayed in my estate. I reviewed drills, reorganized my ledgers, and burned three letters I never intended to send. Shen Yue walked the gardens but did not speak much. Wu Jin remained silent, though I knew he watched. Even the Lord Protector said nothing — as if waiting to see who would flinch first.

Part of me thought it might be over.

Then the summons came.

It wasn't a letter. It wasn't even a formal notice.

It was a decree — red-sashed and stamped with both the Lord Protector's seal and the emblem of the Internal Court.

Attendance Required: Hall of Justice. Sunrise. No guards. No advisors. You are to come alone.

I held the parchment long after the ink had dried.

No accusation.

No explanation.

But I didn't need one.

Because whatever peace we had — it had just ended.

The court was louder than usual — not in voice, but in silence.

When ministers fall quiet like this, it is not because they respect the law.

It is because the law is no longer clear.

Wu An stood at the center, stripped of his sash and blade, kneeling beneath the lacquered pillars of the Hall of Justice.

Behind the rows of seated nobles stood a new figure.

Elegant. Pale. Unsmiling.

His voice did not rise — it was too precise for that.

Yi Huan, Head of the Silk Guard, spoke calmly as he unrolled a decree beside Minister Shen Yuan.

"On the seventh night after the funeral," he announced, "Minister Yao Zheng of the Revenue Office was found dead in his study. Stabbed once through the base of the skull. No signs of struggle."

He paused.

"Witnesses confirm Lord Wu An was seen in the vicinity earlier that evening. He arrived unaccompanied, citing private reasons. Minister Yao had, only days earlier, spoken publicly against the rites held during the passing of Lady Consort Xian."

The whisper spread instantly — but not from outrage.

From interest.

From calculation.

This was not a killing.

It was a message.

The Lord Protector's face remained still, but his hand tightened over the lion seal of the court.

Wu An raised his head. His voice was low. Cold.

"I did not kill Minister Yao."

Wu Kang, dressed in mourning grey, looked properly aggrieved. His expression — flawless.

But Shen Yue, watching from behind the chamber curtains, felt the tension in the air.

She saw the mask for what it was.

Wu Kang had sacrificed his own man.

For power. For blood. For narrative.

And now it was Wu An's turn to burn.

The Lord Protector finally broke the silence. "Regardless of guilt, your proximity casts a shadow. And with the southern rites already under review…"

He let the words hang in the air like smoke over a battlefield.

"By joint agreement of the Ritual Office and the Internal Court," said Yi Huan, "you are hereby stripped of your command. Your engagement to Lady Shen Yue is annulled. You are to be confined to your estate under ceremonial house arrest until further deliberation."

Not a death sentence.

Not yet.

Just enough to bind him in chains of implication.

Wu An's fingers didn't tremble.

But Shen Yue flinched.

And Wu Jin — silent as ever — simply leaned back, one brow arched.

The hall didn't cheer.

Because no one truly believed the danger had passed.

Eastern Palace – That Night

Wu Kang paced barefoot over the lacquered floor.

"He was too close," he muttered, grinding his teeth.

Yi Huan closed his fan with a snap. "He was becoming dangerous."

Taian, stretched across a low bench, glanced up. "Yao Zheng was loyal."

"He was also disposable," Yi Huan replied coolly. "And his death served a larger purpose."

Wu Kang turned sharply. "You forget your place."

Yi Huan bowed faintly. "I remember it. My place is where the Empress sends me."

Taian sipped his wine. "You're playing a dangerous game, brother."

"No," Wu Kang said softly, "I'm ending one."

But behind his certainty was a storm.

Because he had felt something that night — something old, something watching.

And whatever Wu An had become, it wasn't just a man with soldiers anymore.

Wu An's Estate – Before Dawn

The wind scraped against the estate walls like knives.

Wu An stood before the cold brazier, a letter unfolded in his palm. No seal. No signature. Just five words in elegant black ink:

"Trust no light. The shadow sees better."

The message had been slipped beneath his chamber door. No footsteps heard. No guards alerted.

He watched the ashes in the brazier shift — unburnt incense curling like breath.

Something stirred behind his eyes.

A memory.

Of fire that did not consume.

Of a woman in red who was no longer alive, yet no longer dead.

Of sacrifice not made — but accepted.

He closed his hand around the paper.

"I've worn worse chains," he murmured.

A whisper rose from behind him.

"You're not the only one they've underestimated."

Liao Yun stepped from the shadows.

No bow. No apology. Just presence.

"You came," Wu An said.

"You didn't light the brazier," Liao replied. "But it answered you anyway."

Wu An studied him. "Why help me now?"

"Because your brother plays fast," Liao said. "But not deep."

Wu An smiled faintly. "And you?"

"I move pieces the others don't see."

Shrine District – Hidden Room

The black candle dripped slowly as Shen Yue traced the lines of an old sutra with her finger.

"He was framed," she said.

Wu Jin, seated opposite her, tilted his head. "Of course he was."

"And my father said nothing."

"He serves the Ritual Office," Wu Jin replied. "He sees politics, not truth."

Shen Yue closed her eyes. "He won't forgive me."

"No," Wu Jin said. "But you haven't asked for forgiveness."

She looked to the smoke rising from the candle — the same direction the shrine ashes had once drifted.

And wondered what watched from the other side.

Court Garden – Following Morning

The Lord Protector stood alone beneath the cedar trees.

A winter blossom fell from a branch, bruising against the stone.

He didn't move.

He thought of Lady Xian. Not her ambition, not her silence — but her laugh. The one he hadn't heard in years.

He had not given her a state funeral.

But he had given her posthumous titles.

He wondered if that was enough.

When the steward approached, he finally spoke.

"Send word to the Silk Guard. No more deaths in the court — not unless I command it."

The steward bowed.

"And keep Wu An alive."

A pause.

"He's disgraced," the steward said carefully.

"He's still my son," the Lord Protector said.

Then, quieter:

"And this war… is not yet won."