(2) Wings to Shield the One He Loves

In the Lingxiao Hall, the Celestial Sovereign sat enthroned above, with Ziyuan, Mo Ying, Rong Yin, and the rest of the party standing to either side. Below, Rong Heng and Yinglan knelt side by side — Rong Heng with head bowed and eyes lowered, not daring to speak; Yinglan tense with fear that her father would deal harshly with Rong Heng.

　　"Father, do not blame Rong Heng. This is all Yinglan's fault. If Yinglan had not fled in secret, none of this would have touched him at all. It is all my doing! I am the one who started it."

　　Had Rong Heng not been implicated, would Yinglan, spoiled and headstrong as she was, ever have bowed her head to admit fault so readily?

　　Beside her, hearing Yinglan take the blame upon herself, Rong Heng grew anxious in turn.

　　"It was Rong Heng who shielded her at every turn, letting matters spiral beyond control and showing contempt for the Celestial Court's authority — this fault is Rong Heng's alone. The Princess is young, and curious about the world beyond; rather than counsel her against it or report it to the Court, Rong Heng instead helped her evade the Celestial Court's pursuit. The fault lies with Rong Heng, not with the Princess." He bent low, his forehead touching the floor.

　　"I beg the Celestial Sovereign's punishment."

　　Before the group had even entered the hall, Ziyuan had already reported the full course of events to his father, and the Celestial Sovereign had by now formed his own judgment of the matter. A young pair, thrown together day and night, sharing hardship and joy alike, had naturally grown attached to one another — and yet the laws of Heaven were strict, and could not simply be waved aside. He hardened his expression and spoke with severity: "Among mortals it is said, 'When the emperor breaks the law, he is judged the same as a commoner.' So it is in the Celestial Court as well. Whoever has erred, and in whatever manner, shall answer for it individually — this is not something to be shuffled about between the two of you with a word here and a word there. Since both of you show contrition, and neither shrinks from punishment, then let matters proceed as they must. The Princess, too, shall be punished the same as anyone else."

　　The Celestial Sovereign glanced toward Shenyu, who stood at the side of the hall, and continued, "Minister Shen is the law's keeper, ever fair and impartial. Come forward and tell us what punishment is fitting for the Princess and for Rong Heng."

　　This Shenyu was the elder brother of Shenya, the Crown Prince's consort, and the one who administered punishment throughout the Celestial Court. His face was set in a permanent coldness — whether he had simply been born with such a hard countenance, or whether long years of enforcing the law, showing favor to no one regardless of kinship, had worn his temperament into this cold shape, no one could say.

　　He stepped forward, and with no change of expression, said: "The Princess fled to the mortal realm without leave and refused to return, resisted arrest, and in doing so wounded some ten celestial soldiers — she is to receive two strokes of the God-Smiting Whip. Rong Heng, knowing the truth and concealing it, aided the Princess in evading the Celestial Court's pursuit throughout, and joined with her in wounding celestial soldiers — he too shall receive two strokes of the God-Smiting Whip."

　　"Two strokes of the God-Smiting Whip?" Rong Yin's face went black. The God-Smiting Whip was a punishment devised for members of the Celestial Clan; even a Celestial being of somewhat lesser cultivation could rarely withstand more than three strokes of it. Rong Heng was a demon, and the God-Smiting Whip was nothing like the Demon-Smiting Whip — three strokes of the Demon-Smiting Whip merely forced a demon back into its true form, but three strokes of the God-Smiting Whip would likely beat a demon's very soul to pieces while it still lived.

　　Even two strokes, perhaps, would be enough to kill him.

　　Rong Yin's heart lurched with panic; his mouth twitched as he begged Shenyu: "Is it not I, his father, who failed to raise my son properly? Might this lowly king take his punishment in his place?"

　　Shenyu's expression stayed iron-hard as he shot the Demon King a sharp look. "Do you, Demon King, of all people, not understand the principle that a man must answer for what he himself has done?"

　　Fearing that Rong Yin, with his formidable power, might try to intervene partway through, Shenyu, upon reaching the place of execution, took the whip in one hand and with the other flung out the demon-binding rope, binding Rong Yin fast where he stood.

　　"Forgive me, Demon King!"

　　Shenyu did not so much as glance again at the Demon King, and called out in a clear voice: "Bring the Princess to the platform."

　　Yinglan had lived a life of fine silks and rich fare since the day she was born, free and unbound in everything — when had she ever suffered anything like this? Though she had thrown caution aside and confessed her guilt for Rong Heng's sake, faced now with the reality of punishment, fear crept over her despite herself. Her hands and feet went weak, her whole body trembled, her face drained white. With a stumble, her feet left the ground entirely, and some powerful force swept her up and flung her against the iron cross that had abruptly risen from below.

　　"Chain her."

　　Once Yinglan was in place, Shenyu, without releasing the whip from his other hand, gave a wave, and two heavy black iron chains shot out from nowhere anyone could see, coiling tight and merciless around her wrists. The sight left Yinglan shuddering all over, tears streaming down her face.

　　"Father... Heng..."

　　The little princess called out, trembling, and in the next instant heard the whistle of the God-Smiting Whip cutting through the air, rushing toward her. Instinctively she shut her eyes, bowed her head, and clenched her teeth.

　　But the whip never landed on her as she had feared.

　　"Don't be afraid, Yinglan..." Suddenly, a broad embrace wrapped tightly around her — Rong Heng, seizing the moment when no one was watching him, free now of any binding rope, had leapt up and turned his own back to take that earth-shattering stroke meant for her. Before he could finish speaking, he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

　　"Heng! Heng!" Realizing that Rong Heng had thrown himself in the whip's path for her sake, Yinglan very nearly broke apart entirely — yet she could not move, and beyond terror and worry there was nothing at all she could do.

　　"No! Please, no! Heng!"

　　This sudden turn drew cries of shock from everyone present; the hall erupted in a clamor of voices. Ziyuan murmured something in Changxiu's ear that no one else noticed, and Changxiu slipped away at once to carry out the order, while Rong Yin, his chest tight with anguish, spat out a mouthful of old blood of his own.

　　"Rong Heng, get down from there!" Shenyu's face went black as he tried to cast a spell to pull him away, but found, to his surprise, that Rong Heng's own power was no small thing — he had bound his own arms fast around the post with his own strength, and for the moment Shenyu could not budge him. The standoff, neither side yielding, was awkward indeed.

　　"The Princess's... Princess's whipping... I... I will take... take all of... of it... for... for her..."

　　Rong Heng answered Shenyu weakly, showing not the slightest sign of retreat.

　　"I once heard... heard people say... say... one glimpse and you'd think... think her a being descended from Heaven... and that saying... at the feast... when you... you... danced... I... I... could not... could not... tear my eyes away..." Rong Heng struggled to speak the words to Yinglan, then coughed up another mouthful of blood.

　　"Forgive me, Demon King — this is Rong Heng's own wish, and I cannot overrule him. I have no choice but to continue." Shenyu gritted his teeth, and the God-Smiting Whip in his hand cracked through the air once more, swinging with fierce force toward Rong Heng.

　　"And so... it was only then... that I truly understood... how beautiful... a Celestial being... could be..." Rong Heng seemed determined to pour out his heart to Yinglan while he still drew breath — after four strokes he might well be beaten to nothing but scattered soul, and this, perhaps, was to be his final wish. If he did not speak now, there might never be another chance.

　　The God-Smiting Whip in Shenyu's hand fell once more, mercilessly, across his back. This stroke drove Rong Heng bodily back into his true form, and a storm of feathers came tumbling down from the sky. Looking closely, all could see, bound to the iron cross, a golden-winged bird with vast wings spread wide, shielding Yinglan tight and fast beneath their cover. More than half the feathers had already fallen from his body; his half-bare back was a mass of torn flesh and scorched black. The blood Rong Heng had coughed up mingled with the blood now streaming from his wounds and the drifting feathers, all falling together to the ground below, and the crowd cried out in shock.

　　Amid the crowd's cries, Rong Heng's voice grew fainter and fainter, his words trailing into mumbled, indistinct murmurs that even Yinglan could no longer make out, until at last his head dropped, powerless, resting against her shoulder, and he sank into unconsciousness.