Chapter 33 — The Meeting
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 4
Amber and Sir Byron certainly had no qualification to take part in this, so Gao Yang had simply left them at the residence on Crown Street No. 4. He had never once intended to bring Amber to Silverhold—given that thief lady's professional dedication, she would surely have scraped off every last bit of silver foil from the castle's exterior.
Apart from the First Minister and that advisory council present merely to make up the numbers, every person here was a descendant of those pioneers who had founded Ansul (including Gao Yang, the pioneer himself). This meeting had been imbued with extraordinary significance from the very start.
As a founding ancestor, Gao Yang had no need to bow or pay respects to anyone present, so he simply plopped himself down in his seat with careless ease. Beside him, Rebecca was visibly nervous—the girl clenched her fists and drew several deep breaths before she finally settled into her chair, and in the process forgot that she had, in fact, been obliged to bow to the King.
In such circumstances, though, no one was about to hold it against her. Such was the domineering privilege of bringing one's elder to a meeting.
From the instant Gao Yang strode into the room—clad in ducal attire, the Pioneer's Sword at his hip—every gaze turned toward him, and even after this living fossil had taken his seat, those gazes did not withdraw much. This was, to be sure, somewhat contrary to noble etiquette, yet it was hard to restrain: a figure from seven hundred years ago had just popped out of his coffin and walked up before them—who wouldn't need a second look?
And even as they looked, many among them were still pondering the authenticity of Gao Yang himself—or rather, the attitude of Francis II.
At that moment, the old King rose from across the table. His hair was grizzled, and he looked well advanced in years, yet set off by his splendid raiment he still possessed no small measure of presence and vigor. He led the three Grand Dukes to their feet, and the other attendees rose with them.
Gao Yang watched him, and heard him speak with solemn gravity: "May the gods protect Ansul. Seven hundred years on, we are honored beyond measure to lay eyes upon a hero of the Founding Years. We thank you, and your generation, for the sacrifice and devotion rendered to the continuation of humankind. This land—and every soul upon it—shall never forget the great pioneers. Here, I humbly do reverence to our ancient hero, as a scion of the Moen family, and together with the scions of the pioneers."
The King bowed low, and every descendant of the pioneers (the three Grand Dukes included) made the same gesture.
Now the King had made his stance clear: the resurrection of Gao Yang Cecil could be true.
As to whether it was improper for a king to bow to a duke—in truth, there was no impropriety whatsoever. After all, Gao Yang, dead these seven hundred years, was no mere duke in this moment; he was a symbol. Every year, when these people visited the graves, they bowed several times before the portraits of Gao Yang Cecil and a whole host of pioneering ancestors. Now here stood a one-to-one living likeness—was bowing to him a problem?
But Gao Yang felt something was off. A second later it struck him, and his expression turned strange: "The last time this many people bowed to me all at once, I was lying in a coffin..."
Everyone: "..."
For a moment, the atmosphere in the room turned exceedingly awkward.
Fortunately, everyone present had weathered great storms (though a storm of this particular vintage was indeed a first). They swiftly recovered, straightened up with composure, and the King smiled: "It is only proper for ordinary juniors to bow when they come before their elders."