The Palace of the Ledgers was not what Gu Yao had expected. He had expected more of the same—more gold, more marble, more of the endless, grinding order that characterized the City of Eternal Prosperity. But the palace was different. It was older, darker, its walls stained with centuries of smoke and sweat, its floors worn smooth by generations of feet. The air was heavy with the smell of old paper and dust and something else, something that might have been blood.
The refugees followed behind him in a loose, ragged column. They had been walking for hours, their feet tired and their bodies aching, but they had not stopped. They had learned that stopping was not an option, that the only way to survive was to keep moving.
Gu Yao walked at the front, his hammer scraping against the stones, his stone leg dragging behind him. The corridors of the palace were narrow and winding, lined with doors that led to rooms he could not see. He could hear the whispers of the clerks and the accountants, the soft rustle of paper, the low murmur of voices.
But there was something else too. A presence, a weight that pressed down on his shoulders like the hand of a ghost. He could feel it in his bones, in the hollow spaces where the nails had been. He could feel it in the hammer, in the way the iron seemed to hum against his palm.
"Brother Gu." Xiao Liu was at his side, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the shadows that danced at the edges of the corridor. "There's something wrong with this place."
Gu Yao did not slow down. "I know."
"What is it?"
"I don't know yet. But I will."
They walked on, through the narrow corridors and the winding passages, until they reached a door. It was a heavy door, made of dark wood and bound with iron, its surface covered with carvings that depicted the history of the Kingdom of Li. The carvings showed the Sects descending from the heavens, bringing order to the chaos, building the system that had sustained the kingdom for three thousand years.
Gu Yao pushed open the door and walked through.
The room beyond was vast, a cavernous hall that stretched so far that he could not see the far end. The walls were lined with shelves, thousands of them, each one packed with ledgers and scrolls and the other records of the kingdom's history. The air was thick with the smell of paper and ink, and the only light came from a row of high windows that cast pale, cold shadows across the floor.
In the center of the hall, a man was sitting at a desk.
He was old, his face lined and weathered, his hands gnarled with age. He wore a robe of deep purple silk, and the golden abacus around his neck was larger and more ornate than any Gu Yao had seen. His eyes were sharp, his posture straight, and he was watching Gu Yao with an expression that might have been amusement.
"Welcome," the old man said. His voice was low and smooth. "I have been expecting you."
Gu Yao stopped in front of the desk. His hammer was in his hand, its iron head dark and cold. "You know who I am."
"I know who you are," the old man said. "I know who you were. And I know who you are going to become." He smiled, and it was not a kind smile. "I am the Keeper of the Ledgers. I am the one who records the debts and the credits, the gains and the losses. I am the one who decides who rises and who falls."
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"Then you are the one I need to talk to," Gu Yao said.
The Keeper's smile widened. "I suspected as much. You have come a long way, Gu Yao. You have walked through the Blood Road and the Forgotten Lands. You have seen the dead rise and the living fall. And now you have come here, to the heart of the machine, to demand answers."
"I demand nothing," Gu Yao said. "I ask."
"Ask, then."
Gu Yao placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. "The people of this city. They wear golden abaci around their necks. They count their debts and their credits. They have been told that if they work hard enough, they can earn their freedom. But I have seen the ones who stand in the river, and I know that freedom is a lie."
The Keeper's smile did not waver. "Is it? The Living Pillars chose their fate. They signed their contracts. They knew what they were agreeing to."
"Did they?" Gu Yao asked. "Did they really know? Or were they just told that this was the only way?"
"The law is the law," the Keeper said. "The Sects have decreed it. The system is just. Those who work hard are rewarded. Those who do not are punished. It is the natural order of things."
Gu Yao shook his head slowly. He had heard these words before, in Qingzhou, in the Blood Road, in a hundred different places with a hundred different names. It was always the same. The Sects were always just. The system was always fair. And the people who suffered were always the ones who had brought it upon themselves.
"The natural order of things," Gu Yao repeated. "That's what you call it. That's what you call a system that takes people's children and grinds them into fuel."
"Fuel," the Keeper repeated. "That is a harsh word."
"It is the truth," Gu Yao said. "The Sects feed on the lives of mortals. They have always fed on them. And they will continue to feed on them until someone stops them."
The Keeper was silent for a long moment. His eyes were fixed on Gu Yao, searching for something—a crack in the armor, a weakness that could be exploited.
"You are angry," the Keeper said at last. "You are angry because you have seen the truth of the world, and you cannot change it. You are angry because you have fought for so long, and you have achieved so little."
"I am angry," Gu Yao said. "But I am not angry because I cannot change the world. I am angry because I have spent fifty years fighting, and I have only just begun to understand what I am fighting against."
The Keeper leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And what is it that you think you are fighting against?"
Gu Yao looked around the hall, at the shelves of ledgers and the rows of scrolls, at the clerks who were watching him with wide, fearful eyes.
"I am fighting against this," he said. "Against the idea that a life can be measured in clicks. Against the idea that a person is nothing more than a number in a ledger. Against the idea that the Sects have the right to decide who lives and who dies."
The Keeper's smile flickered. For just a moment, something else appeared in his eyes—something that might have been fear.
"You are a dangerous man, Gu Yao," the Keeper said. "You are dangerous because you believe in something that does not exist. You believe in a world where there is no debt, no credit, no balance. You believe in a world where everyone is equal."
"I believe in a world where no one is a number," Gu Yao said. "That is not the same thing."
He turned away from the desk and walked toward the door. His hammer scraped against the stones, the sound harsh and grinding. Behind him, the Keeper sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the white-haired figure that was disappearing into the shadows.
"Gu Yao," the Keeper called out. "You cannot save them. You cannot save anyone. The system is too large. It is too powerful. It has been in place for three thousand years, and it will be in place for three thousand more."
Gu Yao stopped. He did not turn around.
"Maybe," he said. "But I can try."
He walked through the door and into the corridor beyond. The refugees followed, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Behind them, the Keeper sat in the darkness, his fingers tracing the beads of his golden abacus.
And in the distance, the bells of the palace began to toll.