The cold wind caught the severed sleeve, tossed it over a few times in the air, then let it drift down before the palace gates, like a pool of blood spilled upon the snow.
Wei Zhilin stepped back, clasped his hands, and bowed deeply toward the towering Palace Complex.
He held that bow for a long time. Then he straightened, said nothing more, and turned to leave.
His retreating figure grew more distant in the dusk. Half a sleeve was missing from his red court robe, exposing the gray-white inner garment beneath, which billowed in the wind and fell still again.
He never looked back. His steps pressed into the snow, each firmer than the last. The trail of footprints stretched straight into the distance like a sword scar, cleaving the white earth and the bonds of the past in two.
Inside the palace gates, Zhao Delu withdrew his gaze from the crack between the doors, pressed his back against the cold wood, and let out a long breath.
His fingers trembled slightly. That sound of tearing silk had carried through the gates, inexplicably making him feel that this palace was tilting in utter silence.
He hurried through corridor after corridor, his boot soles slapping against the slippery snowmelt. Upon entering Funing Hall, he dared not raise his head. He merely knelt inside the threshold and reported everything he had seen and heard, leaving out not a single word.
There was a long silence behind the dragon desk.
Only when Zhao Delu's knees began to go numb did a sigh rise from the dragon throne, its pleasure or displeasure impossible to discern.
"Very well... To plead for Ding Feiyong, he would go so far as to sever his robe and his bond with me... Our Academy Head Wei has finally