They advanced through dim passages, each corridor echoing with the muffled pulse of voices and footsteps somewhere above. The architecture felt grand even in disrepair—polished stone floors, intricate columns rising into shadows. Gao Tianrong led with cautious steps, arrow nocked but lowered. Lan Zhuoran and Feiyan followed, their hearts thrumming with anticipation and dread.
Now and then, they passed rooms that looked like dusty archives or abandoned store-chambers. Broken shelves lined the walls, scattered scrolls rotting in damp corners. Feiyan's breath caught at the thought of once-flourishing knowledge now decaying in the dark. So much reflected the empire's decline.
Eventually, they approached a wide stairwell curving upward. Warm torchlight glowed from the top, and distant voices drifted closer. Lan Zhuoran motioned for them to halt. "We need a plan. We can't just burst into some council chamber."
Feiyan nodded, carefully placing the relic-laden cloak aside to straighten her bandages. "If we find a sympathetic minister, we can reveal ourselves. Otherwise, we remain hidden."
Gao Tianrong exhaled, tension coiling in his posture. "At least let's see who's above. Maybe they're minor staff or guards. We can slip by or persuade them quietly."
They climbed, footsteps light on the smooth marble steps. Each landing brought them nearer to muffled debate—a swirl of voices discussing troop deployments, supply lines, rumored alliances. Feiyan's heart pounded: these were indeed state affairs, echoing the city's turmoil.
At the stair's apex, a heavy wooden door stood ajar, allowing a slice of lamplight into the corridor. Gao Tianrong crouched to peer through the gap. Beyond, an antechamber of sorts bustled with robed figures carrying scrolls, conversing in hushed tones. Soldiers in official liveries guarded a set of ornate double doors.
Lan Zhuoran's pulse raced. If this was the Jade Hall's lower administrative wing, then beyond those doors might stand the Emperor's advisors—or at least a portion of the council. But how to reach them without raising alarms?
Feiyan's arm throbbed at the tension. She forced steady breaths, reminding herself of her mentor's conviction that an honest approach to the right minister could work. But the guards seemed numerous, and suspicious of any new face. Brute force or stealth might end in a bloodbath, she thought.
Gao Tianrong signaled for them to retreat a few steps down the corridor, out of earshot. In a low whisper, he said, "We could pose as low-level scribes or messengers with urgent documents. If we appear confident, maybe they'll let us pass."
Lan Zhuoran recalled the forger's mention: a small bribe or forged pass might help, but they lacked time to fetch them. And forging a pass might fail if cross-checked. Another idea flickered in his mind. "What if we corner a lone official, show them the relic discreetly? If they're loyal, they might grant us an audience."
Feiyan bit her lip. "Dangerous. But maybe less than forcing our way into the hall. Let's see if we can catch an official alone in these corridors."
They descended one level, scanning the quieter hallway. Passing door after door—some locked, others dusty—they listened for voices. Most rooms seemed disused. Finally, a faint shuffle of steps approached from around a corner. Feiyan braced herself, staff in her good hand, heart hammering.
A lone scribe emerged, robes ink-stained, arms laden with scrolls. He halted upon seeing the trio, eyes widening. "Who—? You're not supposed to be—"
Gao Tianrong swiftly blocked his cry with a hand over the man's mouth. Lan Zhuoran raised a finger to his lips, a silent plea for calm. The scribe trembled, scrolls tumbling from his grip.
"Shh," Feiyan whispered, forcing a gentle tone despite the adrenaline surging through her. "We're not enemies. But we need help. Please, hear us."
Wide-eyed, the scribe nodded fearfully. Gao Tianrong released him, arrow still notched but pointed aside. Lan Zhuoran placed a quieting hand on the scribe's shoulder. "We have urgent news for the council. The relic we carry… it's crucial for the empire's survival."
The scribe's gaze darted between them, confusion and terror warring in his eyes. "Relic? You're intruders. Guards will—"
Feiyan lowered her hood, revealing her splint and battered appearance. "We've traveled far to protect this artifact from mercenaries and warlords. If we don't speak to someone trustworthy, the empire could face doom."
The scribe swallowed hard, voice quavering. "I'm just a junior archivist. The ministers are locked in heated debate upstairs. They'll never let random strangers in."
Lan Zhuoran exchanged a look with Gao Tianrong—was this man too frightened to help? Feiyan pressed on, voice trembling with sincerity. "Please, is there one minister or advisor known for fairness? Compassion? We'll show him or her the relic discreetly. That's all we ask."
Uncertain, the scribe glanced at the scrolls scattered on the marble floor. "I—I've heard Councilor Hui rumored to be more open-minded, but even he's guarded. If you're caught, it's treason or worse."
Gao Tianrong's jaw tightened. "Better treason than letting warlords or the Syndicate claim this artifact."
After a moment's trembling silence, the scribe exhaled, shoulders slumping. "All right, I'll help. But only because I'm afraid of what else might happen if you wander unchecked. Councilor Hui's office is on the next floor, the eastern wing. He's in a meeting soon, but you might catch him alone briefly if you time it right."
Relief washed over Feiyan. Lan Zhuoran offered a grateful nod. "Thank you. We won't forget this."
The scribe gathered his scrolls, eyes darting. "I'll create a small distraction if needed. Hurry, though. Guards patrol that corridor often."
He turned to leave, footsteps echoing down the hallway. Gao Tianrong and Lan Zhuoran exchanged incredulous looks. Had they truly found a potential ally? Feiyan pressed a hand to her chest, adrenaline mingling with hope.
"We have one shot at this," she murmured, adjusting the relic's weight under her cloak. "Let's do it. Carefully."
Thus, they ascended again, hearts pounding. Each step drew them closer to the seat of power—and a confrontation that could alter the empire's fate. The corridors pulsed with distant arguments, echoes of an empire on the brink. Feiyan steeled herself. The moment of truth loomed ahead, the relic ready to be unveiled to a man who might safeguard it—or condemn them as traitors.