.
Jin Mu had known this was inevitable.
By dawn, the word had spread through every corridor, courtyard, and whispering alcove: the lowborn disciple had obstructed Lady Xue Yiran herself.
He half expected to be dragged to the Hall of Correction in chains. But when the summons arrived, it was delivered by a single steward in blue, his face composed in that polite blankness that always struck Jin as more menacing than any open hostility.
"You will present yourself before the Inner Council," the steward intoned.
"Now?"
"Immediately."
So be it.
He followed without protest, though every step felt as if it carried him deeper into a trap whose outline he could only guess.
The Inner Council convened in the Hall of Accord—a name that had always struck him as darkly ironic, considering no one within ever agreed on anything.
Seven elders were seated on the crescent dais, their faces a study in feigned detachment. Elder Su presided from the central throne, long fingers folded over the hilt of the ceremonial rod.
Flanking him were Elder Hu—whose family maintained the sect's accounts—and Elder Lian, matriarch of a minor but vicious branch clan. Both had reason to resent Jin's very existence.
And at the far right, her silver hair coiled in an immaculate braid, sat Lady Xue Yiran herself.
She had changed into fresh robes, but her expression was unchanged: poised, cold, contemptuous.
Jin stood alone on the polished basalt floor. He did not bow.
Elder Su's gaze flicked over him as though assessing a blemish on an otherwise flawless surface.
"Jin Mu," he began, voice smooth as lacquer, "you stand accused of obstruction and insubordination toward a ranking disciple of noble blood. What say you in your defense?"
He met the elder's gaze unflinchingly. "That I did what necessity demanded."
A rustle of surprise passed through the council.
Lady Xue's eyes narrowed to slits. "Necessity? You dare claim that detaining me was in the sect's interest?"
"It was."
"You presume much."
Elder Hu cleared his throat delicately. "Presumption is the privilege of certain lineages. Not yours."
Polite laughter rippled along the dais.
Jin felt no shame. Only a weary certainty that these rituals of power would never change.
Elder Lian leaned forward. "Explain yourself. If you hope for leniency, be thorough."
So he did.
He described—without mention of regression or forbidden knowledge—the attack he had foreseen. The motives he believed had driven the killer. The likely consequences if Lady Xue had perished.
He chose every word with care, threading a needle between truth and treason.
When he finished, silence reigned.
Elder Su drummed his fingers on the rod. "You claim clairvoyance?"
"No."
"Then by what method did you divine this threat?"
Jin inclined his head. "By study, observation…and intuition."
Elder Hu's mouth twisted in disdain. "A convenient explanation."
Lady Xue's gaze was unreadable.
"You expect us to believe that you acted from selfless motive?" Elder Lian asked.
"No," Jin said softly. "I expect you to believe nothing. You will think whatever suits your purposes."
More silence.
And in that stillness, he realized he had struck closer to truth than any of them would admit.
At length, Elder Su spoke again, his tone glacial.
"You are correct that your conduct cannot be measured by ordinary standards."
He paused, letting that appear to be a concession.
"But nor can it be permitted to stand unexamined. This sect survives on hierarchy. If any disciple—especially one of humble extraction—were permitted to obstruct their betters on 'intuition,' order would collapse."
He inclined his head toward Lady Xue. "Do you demand formal censure?"
Jin watched her. He wondered what she saw in him at that moment: a threat, a curiosity…or simply an insect she had no wish to crush herself.
After a long moment, she spoke.
"No."
Even the elders shifted at that.
"I have no interest in lending this farce more weight than it merits," she said coolly. "If the stray dog believes he has done me a service, so be it."
Her eyes met Jin's, gray as hoarfrost. "But I will not forget."
Elder Hu smiled thinly. "Nor will we."
Elder Su lifted a hand. "Very well. In light of Lady Xue's…generosity, we will refrain from formal punishment."
Jin did not thank them.
"You are dismissed," Elder Su said. "Attend to your studies—and remember your station."
He turned and left without another word.
The path back to the outer quarters took him past the Hall of Asterisms, where initiates gathered to refine their foundational techniques.
He paused at the threshold, watching them struggle to balance in the Star-Thread Stance, hands trembling under the strain of gathering ambient aether.
He remembered when that had seemed an impossible feat—before the regression, before he had learned the deeper patterns hidden beneath the surface.
They called it aether cultivation, but the term was inadequate.
Power here was not simply harvested from the world. It was bartered, stolen, persuaded into submission by a mind willing to outwit it.
The nine Concordant Pathways—so many called them by rote without understanding their heretical origins. Each was less a ladder than a labyrinth, requiring not just willpower but cunning.
He had chosen the Black Emperor Path because it was the only one that made sense to him. A system built on seeing the flaws in every other. A discipline that rewarded not brute force but the capacity to subvert.
Others found that repellent. Dangerous. A threat to the carefully cultivated myth of noble supremacy.
He had no illusions that their bias would ever vanish.
When he reached his quarters, he sank onto the cot and let out a slow breath.
He was so tired of these games.
Yet in the exhaustion, a grim clarity remained: if he could be hated for doing nothing, he might as well be hated for shaping the future.
Better contempt than insignificance.
He closed his eyes, feeling the first tendrils of fatigue pull at him. But before he could rest, there came a knock at the door.
Soft. Measured.
He rose, already knowing who it would be.
Lady Xue stood in the corridor, alone.
She studied him in silence. The lamplight gleamed on her hair, making her look almost ethereal.
"I came," she said at last, "because I do not understand you."
"That makes two of us," he replied.
Her mouth tightened. "You acted as if my life were your concern. Yet you despise me."
He inclined his head. "Correct."
"Then why?"
He looked past her, into the night.
"Because some tragedies can be prevented. And because if I am to carry guilt, I prefer it be my own."
A long silence passed between them.
Finally, she stepped back. "I owe you nothing."
"I expect nothing."
Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the darkness.