Outside the Palace, the snow had yet to stop.
Wang Cheng cradled his fly whisk as he escorted Kou Yuan out of the hall.
The Palace corridor stretched deep and secluded. Snowlight reflected off its two rows of vermilion pillars, turning them a dark crimson, like congealed old blood.
Kou Yuan walked beneath the covered corridor, his footsteps knocking against the stone, dread still lingering in his heart.
Wind swept between the pillars, carrying snow against his robes and chilling him to the bone.
Vermilion was the color of blood; snow bore the pall of mourning.
As Kou Yuan left the hall, the vermilion pillars he passed might not truly have been blood, but when blood filled the beholder's heart, every pillar became blood.
Behind him, Wang Cheng offered neither a parting word nor a word of comfort. He merely held his fly whisk steady and followed Kou Yuan, step by step, out through that long, deep Palace corridor.
Beyond the corridor, the snow fell thick; within it, people were scarce.
Kou Yuan walked ahead, neither hurried nor slow, his voice drifting back with a sneer. "Eunuch Wang, what fine methods you have.
"'A thousand voices of assent, one scholar's outspoken remonstrance.' You passed those eight characters along most faithfully."
Kou Yuan gave a cold laugh, then continued, "You pinched off the head, cut away the tail, and left this old man half a sentence.
"Your skill at passing messages far surpasses this old man's skill at keeping accounts."
Wang Cheng followed half a step behind, his smile unchanged. "You flatter me, Grand Secretary."
"This servant has always passed along only half a sentence.
"The other half is for people to ponder themselves.
"If their pondering leads them to understanding, that is their fortune. If it leads them astray..."