Chapter 15: The Gate

Wuhen walked to the Black Gate on his own legs.

It was three hundred paces from the east wing to the great hall, and he counted every one.

Nobody carried him.

Chenjue walked at his left shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back.

Every time Wuhen's step faltered, the hands stayed exactly where they were.

It took a visible effort.

Wuhen noticed it, and decided not to like it.

"Zhu Ao reports the envoys came at first light," Chenjue said.

"How many?"

"One," Chenjue said.

"Which one?"

"The one who counts," Chenjue replied.

Wuhen nodded.

He wore a plain white robe that Chenjue had had made in the night.

It was edged at the collar in thread the grey of Azure Peak cloud.

He had refused the black.

The ruined sect robes were gone, and nothing on his body belonged to the lake anymore.

His hair hung loose to the waist, white at the temples, with the one black thread still bright at the left.

The doors of the great hall stood open.

Inside, the whole court of the Ashen Lands stood along both walls in black armor and red silk.

A hush went through them.

They were looking at him.

At the far end of the hall, on the dais, stood a chair of black jade.

Chenjue went up the steps, turned, and sat.

He did not tell Wuhen where to stand.

Wuhen went up one step, and then two.

He stopped at the right arm of the throne, one pace in front of it, facing the open gate.

At the foot of the dais, five elders in pale blue stood in a tight huddle.

In front of them, with his sleeves folded and his grey beard neat, stood Jiang Wenshan.

He had come to collect a corpse.

Wuhen watched him understand that he had not.

It was a small thing, only a pause in the breath and a flicker of the eyes down to the place under the ribs.

Then the Sect Master's face went grave and kind again.

"Sword Saint," he said. "You are well."

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