Sage Khajeh's interrogation was a barrage of technical minutiae. He asked about the linguistic origins of the runes, the frequency modulation of the elemental flow, the specific alchemical binding agents used in the crystal lattice. Ren answered each one with precision, his voice calm, his explanations lucid. He knew Khajeh wasn't truly listening to learn; he was probing for weakness, for a gap in Ren's understanding.
When Khajeh finally fell silent, seemingly satisfied—or at least bored—that the boy knew his own invention, Grand Sage Azar leaned forward. The air in the room grew heavier.
"The technical specifications are… sufficient," Azar intoned, waving a hand dismissively at the hologram. "However, the Akademiya's mandate is not merely to understand mechanics, but to safeguard the wisdom and well-being of Sumeru."
He fixed Ren with a cold stare. "You speak of benefits. Of comfort. But let us not be naïve. This device puts the power of the elements into the hands of the untrained masses. You call it a tool. I call it a weapon."
A murmur rippled through the gallery.
"Imagine," Azar continued, his voice rising slightly, painting a grim picture. "A dispute in a market. A tavern brawl. Situations that once ended in bruises could now end in infernos or electrocutions. By democratizing this power, you are inviting chaos. You are arming the populace. How can the Akademiya, in good conscience, sanction the proliferation of such danger? How can we grant a patent for what is essentially a weapon of mass distribution?"
Ren listened, his expression unchanging. He had expected this. It was the same argument Keqing had made, the same fear that had gripped the Qixing.
He took a slow breath. "Grand Sage," he said respectfully. "A weapon is defined by intent, not by function."
He gestured to the heavy wooden table in front of the judges. "That table. It is a tool for writing, for debate. But a strong man could lift it and crush another. Does that make the carpenter who built it an arms dealer? Should we ban tables?"
He pointed to the stylus in Khajeh's hand. "That quill pen. It writes laws. But it could also stab an eye. Should we forbid writing?"
He looked around the room. "A knife cuts vegetables for a family meal. It also cuts throats in a dark alley. A hammer builds a house. It also breaks bones. We do not ban hammers or knives because they can be used for evil. We punish the evil act, not the tool."
He stepped forward, his voice firm. "Power is power. Fire burns, water drowns. That is the nature of the elements. It is the nature of the world. Yes, bad people will do bad things. That is a certainty. But good people… good people will use this power to protect themselves. To make their lives easier. The Millelith in Liyue use these gauntlets to defend the harbor from monsters. Farmers use them to clear fields. Doctors use them to cauterize wounds."
He met Azar's gaze. "You focus on the potential for harm. I focus on the capacity for good. And to mitigate the risk, we have the registration system. One device per person. Registered, tracked, and accountable. In Liyue, if a man uses his gauntlet for a crime, we know exactly who he is."
Azar's eyes narrowed. "A registration system controlled by the Liyue Qixing. A monopoly on information and regulation. If Sumeru adopts this technology, we would be beholden to a foreign power for the safety of our own citizens. There is no guarantee of transparency."
Ren smiled, a small, polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That, Grand Sage, is a matter of diplomacy. A contract."
He gestured to Ningguang, sitting silently in the front row. "Liyue respects the sovereignty of its neighbors. If Sumeru wishes to implement this technology, a new contract would need to be drafted. One that establishes data sharing, mutual regulation, and fair use. But that…" he paused, his tone shifting to one of deferential respect, "…is a discussion for the Tianquan. I am but an inventor. My role is to ensure the device works and is safe. The politics of its distribution are for my superiors to decide."
He had neatly sidestepped the trap. He hadn't claimed authority he didn't have; he had deferred to Ningguang, reinforcing her position while simultaneously shutting down Azar's attempt to corner him on policy.
"The safety of the device itself has been established," Ren concluded. "The mechanics are sound. The safeguards are in place. The rest… is a conversation for leaders, not engineers."
He rested his case.
Azar stared at him. The boy was slippery. Every attack was parried, every accusation deflected with a logic that was maddeningly sound. To push further now, to continue this aggressive line of questioning in front of the assembled scholars and the Tianquan, would look petty. It would look like fear.
And Azar had bigger plans. The Sabzeruz Festival was approaching. The Samsara was ready. The God Creation project was entering its critical phase. He didn't need to win this argument today. He just needed to keep them here.
And with the hover vehicle patents still in limbo, he had all the leverage he needed.
"Very well," Azar said, his voice flat. He picked up the stamp. "The… defense is noted. The technical review is concluded."
Thump.
The sound of the stamp hitting the parchment echoed in the silent hall.
"The committee will deliberate further on the patent application," Azar announced, standing up. "You will be notified of the final verdict in due course. For now… this session is adjourned."
He turned and swept out of the room, Khajeh trailing behind him. The crowd began to disperse, murmuring excitedly about the boy who had debated the Grand Sage and held his ground.
Ren let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked over at Ningguang and Lisa. Ningguang gave him a subtle, approving nod. Lisa beamed.
They had survived the lion's den. Now, they just had to survive the festival.