Chương 124: Chapter 122

My father rises over the rubble with a serenity that turns out to be almost obscene considering that he has just made someone pass through a wall, and for an instant the whole salon stops breathing all at once.

"You are weak", he tells the Elder Feng, and his voice does not need to be raised to fill the room to its last corner.

"Just like my father, you have basked for so long in the benefits of your office that you have neglected your own cultivation." The Elder Feng sits up halfway, leaning on an arm that trembles beneath its own weight, and spits a bit of blood before replying with a thread of voice that still preserves, against all odds, its venom.

"The Sect will not let this affront pass", he gasps. My father contemplates him from his height without a single muscle of his face moving, and then he does something that obliges me to lean forward a bit in the chair so as not to miss a single word, since he poses him a question.

"And what do you think is more probable, old man?" he replies to him.

"That the Sect should back an old man who, due to his indulgent way of life, has stagnated in the stage of the Harmonization of the Elemental Cores and who, when someone like the envoy of the Tower of the Five Dragons appears, runs to hide like a dog? Or that it should back a future Elder who has already finished Harmonizing a Core and who, due to his age, still has the capacity to reach much further?"

The Elder Feng does not respond, he limits himself to looking at my father with a hatred so pure and silent that it can almost be touched. But my father has already discarded him from his attention, because he lifts his gaze toward the rest of the room and announces, with an astonishing naturalness, that despite the small interruption the banquet will be held just as it was planned.

Then he directs his gaze toward the Shangshu, and the poor man, pale as paper but with just enough composure not to collapse, swallows and proclaims with all the solemnity he is capable of gathering that the Emperor has ordered the banquet to continue and that the imperial guard should lead those present to the salon where it will be held. And it is precisely at that moment, while the guard begins to deploy to channel the multitude, when I notice my father's gaze stop upon me.

Barely an instant, just enough for no one else to notice it, but there it is, settling on my chair and on me with a weight I don't quite know how to decipher. I hold his gaze because it is the only thing I can do, and then, without a further gesture, he turns about and disappears again through the hole he himself has opened in the wall, wrapped in that imperial dignity he wears like others wear a cape.

I remain looking at the gap through which he has gone for a second, trying to reconcile the man I have just seen with the idea I had of my father, and I arrive at the uncomfortable conclusion that I have spent all this time underestimating him in a rather dangerous way. I have no more time to philosophize because the Nei Wei of our escort, who had already burst into the salon earlier, finally manage to reach us and surround us, forming around us a ring of silent and armed bodies that replaces the imperial guard.

One of them makes a brief gesture to my mother, she nods, and suddenly it is they who open a path for us through the multitude, leading us toward the banquet salon with an efficiency that admits no discussion. I remain quiet during the whole trip because I have too many thoughts in my head. While the wheels of my chair rattle softly over the polished stone, the only thing I think about is what I have just witnessed, and about the unpleasant presentiment that I have probably had more to do with it than I would like.

Because however much my father and the Elder Feng perhaps disliked each other from before, it costs me nothing to tie up the loose ends. The old man plants himself in the middle of the party to announce, without consulting anyone, that I am going to be transferred to the Sect sooner or later, and barely a few minutes later my father sends him flying through half the palace.

And one has to remember that all that setup of the exile to Xi'An, those nearly two years away from the Palace under the excuse of a punishment, had precisely that objective, to get me off the radar of the Sect due to having finished the Skin Tempering too quickly.

And if my father took the trouble to orchestrate something like that, it was because the possibility of my ending up in the hands of the Sect seemed grave enough to him that he preferred to take me away from the center of the empire for years rather than risk it. So today's act by the Elder Feng, which threw all that effort to the ground, would not surprise me at all to have exhausted my father's patience.

And the most curious thing of all, what I discover while I let myself be guided amid the murmur and the glances, is that I am not even in disagreement with him, because it is one thing for it to bother me, and a great deal, that a stranger should come to decide my life as if it were his property, and quite another for me to have the least interest in ending up in that place.

From everything I have been told, the Sect of the Celestial Sun resembles much more a mafia than any minimally respectable institution, and the idea of being dragged there to set me to inventing things under threat, to fulfill a sort of mystical KPI with the implicit promise that, if I don't perform enough, they will discard me in some very mortal manner, does not seem to me by a long shot an appetizing future.

If I am given the choice between that and continuing where I am, my father's unilateral decision to send the old man to smash himself against a wall seems to me, frankly, the more sensible of the two. I keep turning all of that over when, almost without realizing it, the doors of the banquet salon open before us and the Nei Wei lead us inside. The first thing I do, out of pure habit, is study the room, and I immediately realize that it has a rather peculiar layout.

It is enormous, like everything here, but it is not arranged as I expected. At one of the ends rises a small dais that appears covered by a semi-translucent curtain, and in front of that dais, perfectly aligned, there are arranged twelve individual tables. The rest of the salon is occupied by what are already, without a doubt, banquet tables, long and communal, alongside a second dais situated at the opposite end of the room, right across from the first.

I don't have time to draw more conclusions because, as soon as we cross the threshold, a small army of handmaidens materializes out of nowhere and relieves on the spot the imperial guards and the Nei Wei who have accompanied us. One of them bows before us and, without saying barely a word, guides us to one of the individual tables at the foot of the dais of the curtain.

My mother positions my chair at the table with care and then sits beside me, recomposing the folds of her dress afterward with a gesture as elegant as it is automatic. I take the opportunity to sweep the rest of the salon with my gaze, and it doesn't take me long to understand the logic of the layout. The individual tables are, clearly, for the consorts and their children, one for each of them, arranged in a fan in front of the Emperor's dais.

But a detail makes me furrow my brow slightly, since one of the twelve tables is empty, as if it were reserved for someone more. And then I realize that it must be the table of the absent consort. But I decide to ignore it, since I have better things to do than to start analyzing a peculiarity that is not written in the protocol books I have read.

The salon has been filling up, and with it that murmur of a thousand voices has returned that resounds against the ceilings and bounces off the columns until it becomes a constant background hum, so I lean a bit toward my mother and lower my voice to the minimum, certain that amid so much noise no one can hear us. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"Mother", I whisper to her.

"Do you think that what has happened is the fault of what the Elder told me at the party?" My mother looks at me for an instant, weighing the question, and when she replies she does so without altering the amiable and distant expression she wears.

"The Emperor and the Elder Feng have never gotten along too well, Wen", she tells me in a low voice.

"And the Elder's decision to take you to the Sect may have been, simply, the drop that overflowed the glass." I nod slowly, because it coincides with what I myself had deduced along the way, but there is another thing that worries me considerably more than the cause, which is the consequence.

"And what can happen now to my father for something like this?" I insist, still in whispers.

"Because I imagine one cannot give a beating to the Elder representative of the Sect and have it do nothing." My mother takes a moment to reply, and when she does, she chooses each word with care.

"I cannot be sure", she admits.

"But the words the Emperor said to the Elder Feng at the end are also true. The Sect, above any other thing, values talent. It values it more than the forms and, certainly, more than the wounded dignity of one of its less notable elders.

And to that one must add that the Emperor is about to finish his reign, the matter of the Celestial Fragment of the Sands and the next wave of fire Qi, so with so many important fronts at play the most probable thing is that the Elders of the Sect will decide to tacitly ignore what has happened. Not to forget it, Wen, but to act as if it had not happened."

I let out the air a bit more relieved, but my mother has not finished, and by the way her voice cools, I understand that the good part of the reply has already passed.

"Even so, that the Sect as an institution decides to do nothing does not mean that some of its elders think the same", she continues.

"Above all those closest to the Elder Feng. That the Sect does not act officially leaves them, precisely, the space to do something on their own, some small revenge, as long as they take care that it does not directly affect the Emperor or the Empire." I swallow, because I begin to see where this is going, and I don't like it at all.

"And what can they do, then?" I ask. My mother looks at me, and for an instant that amiable mask cracks just enough to let through something that resembles too much worry.

"To give an example, they can limit the Emperor's access to certain resources that only the Sect is in a position to provide", she says.

"Materials, techniques, knowledge that he could not otherwise obtain." She makes a pause, and then she looks at me fixedly, without blinking, in that manner she reserves for when she wants to make sure I am really listening to her.

"Or, in the worst case, the Elder Feng could press for you to be transferred to the Sect before your father finishes his reign and becomes himself a new Elder", she tells me finally.

"That way you would arrive there alone, without anyone to protect you or support you, completely at the mercy of the Elder Feng. Or of your grandfather." The bit about my grandfather she says almost in a sigh, but it falls upon me with the weight of a slab, because I have already heard enough about the man who has tried to assassinate me several times to form a very clear idea of how little appetizing it would be to be left at his mercy.

I swallow again and open my mouth, because I have quite a few more questions piling up in my throat, but my mother interrupts me before I manage to articulate even the first syllable by placing her hand on my arm softly.

"Later, Wen", she tells me in a very low voice.

"The Emperor is already here and, therefore, the banquet is going to begin." And, indeed, as soon as she pronounces those words I notice how the murmur that filled the room attenuates all at once until it is reduced to an expectant silence. I lift my gaze toward the dais of the semi-translucent curtain and distinguish, through the fabric, a figure that moves and that ends up sitting in what I guess is a throne arranged behind it.

His features cannot be seen, only the silhouette, but I have no doubt at all that it is my father. As soon as the figure settles, the lateral doors of the salon open and through them enters a new army of handmaidens laden with trays of food who begin to distribute it among the tables while, on the dais at the opposite end, a group of musicians I had not seen position themselves strikes up a melody soft as a background soundtrack.

When all the food is served, people begin to eat, and I, between bite and bite, observe the room again. And I immediately notice something odd, which is that the salon is in silence. Or, rather, it is much more silent than a banquet with this quantity of people ought to be, where the normal thing would be a din of conversations. Here, on the other hand, people eat in a low voice, as if they were afraid of making too much noise.

It takes me a bit to understand why, but when I truly fix my attention on the faces, I understand it all at once. Everyone is nervous. And I don't refer only to the lower-ranking functionaries, but to everyone, including my own brothers and the consorts. I see it in the rigidity of their shoulders and in the glances they cross too quickly.

And the conclusion is evident, which is that what has happened between my father and the Elder Feng has frightened them all, because none of them knows what repercussions it may have that the Emperor and an envoy of the Sect have come to blows before the whole court. I sigh internally at that conclusion, but since there is absolutely nothing I can do about it, I keep eating.

And from time to time, almost without wanting to, my eyes drift toward the silhouette of my father outlined behind the curtain, that motionless figure seated on his throne and of whom only his shadow can be seen. And I cannot help wondering whether it really is he who is sitting there or whether, taking advantage of the fact that the curtain only lets his silhouette be glimpsed, he has sent a double to cover the formality while he dedicates himself to more interesting things.

It would be, certainly, what I would do in his place, because I very much doubt I would find the least incentive in spending hours seated in silence behind a fabric watching half the court eat. I am still with that theory going around my head when the banquet begins to approach its end, and then, beside my table, a handmaiden appears. I recognize her instantly because she is the same one who pushed my chair during the presentation of gifts, she bows before me with a perfect reverence and speaks in a low voice.

"Zhāohuán", she tells me.

"It is the hour of your performance." I look at my mother as I smile at her.

"It is my turn", I tell her, even if it sounds a bit solemn. My mother returns my gaze and, for a moment, the courtesan mask disappears and she returns my smile.

"As long as you do it as well as you can it is enough, Wen", she tells me. I nod, because coming from her it is exactly what I needed to hear, and I turn toward the handmaiden.

"Take me to the dais, please", I ask her. The handmaiden obeys immediately, and shortly I find myself up on the dais at the end opposite my father's, where someone has taken the trouble to place my Guzheng and where, in addition, the same two musicians with their Xiǎotánggǔ who played with me on the day of my birthday are already waiting for me. I inhale deeply, let the air fill me entirely, and after making them a sign, the rhythm of Smooth Criminal fills the banquet salon.

While my fingers run over the strings and the drums mark that unmistakable pulse, I cannot help feeling a small regret, which is that of not having been able to have the dancers I truly wanted and that would have turned all of this into something memorable. But, almost instantly, I console myself thinking that, without Michael Jackson at the center, the effect would not have been the same either, so let the court make do with what I can give it, which is already more than any of them has ever heard.

When the last notes fade and I leave my hands still over the strings, a courteous applause spreads through the room. Courteous and contained, the applause of people who still do not dare to express enthusiasm after what has occurred today, but applause all the same. The same handmaiden as before takes me again to the table where my mother awaits me, who as soon as she sees me arrive leans toward me.

"You have done very well, Wen", she tells me.

"I thank you for your words, Mother", I reply, and I say it sincerely, because on a day like this, those words of hers are worth more than all the applause of the salon together. Not long after I have finished my little concert, the figure of my father rises behind the curtain and abandons the room with the same serene dignity with which he had sat down, which for anyone with two fingers' worth of forehead is the unmistakable sign that the banquet has come to its end.

And, indeed, barely does he disappear when the handmaidens come out again and begin to approach the guests to start guiding them toward the exit with that firm courtesy that leaves no room for reply. After a while it is my mother's and my turn, and we let ourselves be led to the door, where our escort of Nei Wei is already waiting for us, so we begin the way back to the Pavilion of the Scent of Clouds.

And as we advance, it does not escape me that the functionaries and courtiers we cross paths with cast sidelong glances at us, furtive glances that settle on me for an instant before hurrying away. And I realize that with all the time that has now passed since the event, one does not need to be too clever to begin tying up loose ends and suspecting that the confrontation between my father and the Elder Feng has something to do with whatever happened between the old man, my mother and me behind the privacy barrier.

So I let myself be carried back home amid whispers and sidelong glances, with my head already very far from the banquet and calculating exactly how much time I have left before the clock that has begun to run tonight runs out of winding for me and for Lianhua.