I knew nothing when I wrote the first laws under the Sun.

All I had were questions:

How can mere rules — agreements of conduct — be enforceable, derive power, and have lasting impact?

How should laws take into account those who have yet to be born?

What gives anyone the right or privilege to make laws?

In the end, my first laws were my most flawed. I based them on the rules my companions and I had agreed to when we fought the demons. But those were merely a set of loose agreements to reduce infighting, not meant to be enforced onto a general populace. None of these laws retained their original forms for longer than four centuries.

The one law that remains unchanged is, ironically, written by my friend [redacted], who was possibly the most stubborn of our group of companions.

"It is essential to regularly assess and reassess the effectiveness and relevance of all existing rules. A rule must justify its continued existence."

This is the most valuable law of them all.

— Excerpt from Meditations, by the Red Emperor

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ZhiXia City Center

"They're with me," Khalim waved at the two Sharks standing outside the door after they had struggled once more through the crowd. The duo, a younger man and a middle-aged woman, nodded to Khalim and opened the door for the three of them. Khalim walked through, followed by Molam and Primrose.

Molam didn't expect to be back so soon, but Primrose seemed to take it in stride. Both Sharks cast surreptitious glances at Primrose as they passed, once again paying little attention to Molam. It reminded him how most people tended to find his companions more memorable, a situation Molam preferred. Kalle and Shurra had always drawn eyes with their strong Northern builds, and Primrose was just… captivating, no matter the beholder.

The door to Khalim's office opened, smooth and silent. The utilitarian and orderly space within did not betray Molam's expectations of the man's preferences.

"Have a seat," Khalim gestured at the chairs in the room as he made towards a small table holding supplies for tea.

"I don't know if we have time for tea." Molam pulled over two chairs, noting how Primrose inspected their surroundings. Her gaze lingered on Khalim as he shifted his aim away from the tea table and towards the bookshelf, pulling down a leather-bound tome with faded ink characters on the cover.

"That makes it simple, then." Khalim set the thick book down on his desk, then nodded towards Primrose, who had not yet sat down. "Relax, young lady. You can rest assured that the Sharks still abide by the old agreement with HuaLang Chamber."

Primrose seemed to think, but Molam knew her enough to know her subtle air of indifference could mislead the unwary. A moment later, she sat down. Her pose was relaxed, her face composed, but Molam could see the way her arm dangled behind her at the ready; the same posture she had used when they’d first met. She nodded towards Molam, and he took that as her confirmation that they were reasonably safe.

"I hope you understand that we are short on time," Molam began. He didn't know Khalim enough to know what approach would work best, so he could only feel the situation out as he went. The possibility of having the Vice Captain on his side was tempting indeed. "But it's convenient for this conversation to take place right after you heard me speak to Master Ji. Since the Sharks are responsible for his detainment and the summoning of a trial, I—"

"You have reasonable suspicions on whether my intentions are aligned with yours," Khalim finished for Molam. "My apologies for interrupting, but you did say you were constrained on time."

Molam paused to consider if he should act offended or challenge Khalim. In the end, he settled for a simple, "Yes."

"Then to make this quick," Khalim pointed at Primrose, "May I request you use your Sight for the duration of this conversation, young lady? You are trained in it, yes?"

Primrose and Molam exchanged a glance. To openly subject someone to the Sight during a conversation was disrespectful at best; if Khalim was requesting it in advance, he must have thought his words would be distrusted. Molam could appreciate that. He nodded at Primrose, who closed her eyes and reopened them with a purple glow.

"Thank you. Now, to put your reservations to rest, know that my personal feelings are supportive of the Whale of ZhiXia." Khalim sat down opposite Molam, who kept his eyes on the man's face. Primrose might be able to catch any overt lies, but the Sight was not infallible. "However, my position in the Sharks means that I must execute the law as it is written."

Molam glanced at Primrose for confirmation. She nodded. Molam turned his attention back to Khalim, meeting the older man's steady gaze. "And so," he thought aloud, "In order to do what you cannot, you sought us out. I take it you have something specific for me?"

"I like a man who is quick on the uptake," Khalim nodded, pushing the tome towards Molam. He flipped it open to a page near the back where a thin sheet of parchment acted as a bookmark, which Khalim tapped with a finger. "This is a copied segment from the journal of my grandfather Khasim, the original Shark of ZhiXia. I found the entry where he and the Whale of ZhiXia came to terms with the Whale's then-temporary stay in ZhiXia City and their agreement to give the residents some peace of mind. And this," Khalim pointed to the page itself, "is the specifics of the law where citizens vote. I imagine HuaLang Chamber can come up with something if they know the ins and outs of the rules we're working with." He gestured to the writing materials nearby. "You may not borrow it, but you may copy it for your own reference."

Molam glanced at Primrose again, who nodded. "You've given this quite some thought." He pulled over a fresh page and selected a brush, then paused. "Ink?"

Khalim produced an inkstone and inkstick. "I'll prepare it for you," he said, pouring some water into the inkstone. "You can read the text in the meantime."

"Thank you. Primrose? Come read this with me; you may have different insights."

Primrose pulled her chair over, pinching Molam on the arm as she sat down.

"We'll need to return to HuaLang Chamber soon," she reminded him, leaning in to look at the text. The pages — or parchment — were old, but the calligraphy was neither faded nor illegible. Khalim and the previous owners had kept it in pristine condition.

"Yes," Molam agreed, shifting the tome so that it was closer to her. He had already finished skimming the text; now he picked over it more carefully, occasionally glancing up to watch Khalim grind out the ink. "But Madam Scarlette can wait. Information is important."

The next few moments were silent, broken only by the soft sound of Khalim grinding the inkstick in a circular motion against the inkstone. "Shall I help with the latter half? Starting at the section about the way votes are counted."

Molam looked up, surprised by the gesture. "Please, and thank you."

"I'll do what I can for you so long as it's within the law," Khalim said, tapping the inkstick inside the inkstone's well, allowing several drops to run down the side before drying the inkstick and storing it away. Seeing the ink was ready, Molam pushed the heavy book between the two of them, rotating it so that Khalim could read and copy the latter half. In response, Khalim pushed the inkstone towards the space between them, ensuring it was far from the book. "Let us begin."

Molam pulled over a fresh page and inked his brush, starting the process of transcribing the relevant text. Khalim did the same across from him, but produced a quill.

"That's surprising," observed Molam. "I didn't take you to prefer a quill."

"I find it better suits my style," the man responded, dipping into the inkstone's well then tapping it against the side. "I also write faster with it, which will save you some time."

They looked down to their work, Molam starting with the section on who could call a vote and how.

Once there is enough support for a vote, the City Center will send notice for a general vote no less than three days in advance. The topic and subject matter should be included with the notice, though additional points of interest can be introduced before the vote. Those who do not arrive will not have their vote counted. The exact methods may also be determined when…

Four paragraphs of this. Molam frowned. This transcription would take some time. He looked ahead as he wrote out the first sentence, pondering the material as he dipped his brush again. Yes, it would be faster to cut the extraneous words; whoever had written the original text had opted to be delicately verbose. Starting with the second sentence, he began condensing where he could.

Across from him, Khalim's quill scratched against the page in orderly strokes following a steady rhythm. Impressively, each word of each sentence was written neatly without error. Molam could see he’d already transcribed a sizable section without making a single mistake. The flow only stopped when Khalim needed to reink his quill.

"Your writing is quite disciplined," Molam complimented. "Each of your letters seem to be a duplicate of previous iterations. I could never do that so consistently."

"You can have a similar level of mastery. There is no secret," Khalim responded, changing a sheet of paper. "Disciplined consistency."

"Consistency is the surest path to improvement," Molam agreed. "But isn't that ironic? The goal of consistency seems to be for measurable change."

"Only when it's an improvement." Khalim raised his eyes to look at Molam, then lingered on Molam's transcription. "Are you cutting out words?"

"It's faster."

"Far be it from me to tell you what you should bring back," Khalim pointed with his quill, "But you'll miss the finer details if you take shortcuts, young man. Copy everything correctly."

Molam frowned, then read aloud, "To ensure no voter casts multiple votes, ZhiXia City will use alchemy tools to collect votes. Each tool will leverage the runes specified in Section 6.9 of the Appendix or use updated versions from Techoria to ensure that voters cast their votes through aura deposits unique to the voter. The tools are to be subjected to public inspection before and after the voting sessions, and if there is a discrepancy —" he looked up at Khalim, "I don't believe I need all of that."

Khalim shrugged. "Words matter. They were written for a reason."

"They do, but words are just meaning given form," Molam countered, going back to his notes to add: Alchemy devices to make sure people only vote once, determined by aura signatures. Inspected before and after. He contemplated flipping to the appendix to look for the runes, but realized he couldn't do that without pausing Khalim's work. "Just like how you and I have different calligraphy, yet the meanings are the same. Isn't the meaning all that matters?"

"Yes, but we still write the same word, just with our own styles," Khalim responded. "It wouldn't do much for having a system of writing if you and I wrote different symbols down and claimed they were the same thing now, would it? Writing — language itself — only functions because society as a whole agrees to its form."

"Certainly. But even what's agreed upon changes." Molam dipped his brush again. He was beginning to get an idea of what kind of man Khalim was, and he didn't like it. Not the man, of course. Just that the man was exactly the type of person to be useful if you wanted certain results, and a big obstacle if you wanted to pursue the opposite. "We don't write in the Old Tongue anymore. Too many brushstrokes, yes? Even this book of law — old as it is — was written in Common. That would have been unthinkable just several centuries ago when it was expected to be written in the Old Tongue, but as society changes, so too must the rules."

"You present the idea as though you are the first to think about it. Rules change when society adopts change. In the end, people come together because of an agreed-upon set of rules, codified into law, making it agreeable to live and interact with each other. That is the basis of what makes a society."

"And should rules be applied uniformly?"

"There is a process —"

"That wasn't my question," Molam interrupted. He hadn't yet decided his angle, but wanted to poke to find out. "Take your lettering, for example. You chose a quill because it allows you to write swiftly and precisely, allowing each of your individual characters to look the same. But the brush," he nodded to his instrument, "allows me to have larger variations in the thickness of my strokes."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

He demonstrated by pressing down harder while finishing the rest of the sentence, the inkwork coming out with bolder lines. "I think that rules, like a brush, should be applied with varying degrees of weight. The word is the same, the rule is the same, but application matters too." Lessening the weight on his bristles, Molam tapered off the final word with a sharp point. "And perhaps sometimes, knowing when something does not apply can make all the difference."

Khalim reinked his quill, pulling over a new page. "How many Sorrows have you seen, young man?"

Not the response Molam wanted. "Does it matter for the topic at hand?"

"I used to bristle as well whenever my elders asked me about my Sorrows," the man blew lightly on the page to help the ink dry. "But as Flangel the Wise wrote: If only wisdom did not come from grief, strife, and pain. You ask why it matters? I recognize your line of thinking; I was a younger man when I entertained these thoughts myself."

"Oh? And what made you change your mind?"

Khalim's quill scratched away on the paper. "Selective application of the rules lends itself to corruption. Once the people know that the law can be bent — that there can always be a new 'precedent' — you no longer have a society unified by agreement. You end up with a collection of individuals examining how they can bend the rules to their advantage — just as you are hoping to do now — or even be exempt from the consequences." The Shark paused, then added, "When the rules are meaningless, society collapses."

"Society is not formed by rules," Molam protested lightly. Yes, Khalim was exactly this type. He would need to think of a new angle. "You can't have a society without people, and it is the people that apply the rules. They choose what rules to apply and what rules to ignore, and sometimes," Molam dipped his brush back into the inkwell, "Blind adherence to the law is what hurts society. Take a look at this brush; each bristle soaks up some ink, then they all come together to be part of the stroke. The ink, the bristles, the brush, the paper are all blind, Khalim. It is the hand that guides it, and it is the hand that decides what should be used. Giving any of that up means—"

The quill stabbed down into the inkwell, splitting the bristles of Molam's brush. He pulled back, startled, looking up to see Primrose's hand on Khalim's wrist, a knife at Khalim's throat. But Khalim paid the knife little heed, his hard gaze focused on Molam. "By whose hand, Molam? Yours? Do you rule here? Look how easily your brush splits. Single, ununified strands, held together by the barest modicum of bonding."

His eyes looked up to Primrose, "I believe the old agreement is still standing. Is a Flower of HuaLang Chamber going to break it?"

"No, but I think you're putting a bit too much faith in mere agreements." Primrose did not release her grip. "I would appreciate it if you avoid making any sudden movements that look even remotely threatening again." She withdrew the blade, a bead of blood forming along Khalim's neck. "None of your precious laws can prevent you from being hurt, can they?"

"I apologize for Primrose — we're in a jittery state given it's only been two days after the Empire's attack." Molam raised his eyebrow at Primrose. She let go of Khalim's wrist, sitting back down. The knife had disappeared, but her eyes remained focused. "We do appreciate you helping out, even going so far as to contribute to the transcription."

"Then I want to make this very clear. I am not helping you because I want to break the law, Molam. Don't act innocent; I know exactly what you're trying to get out of me with that line of talk. I did not volunteer to help you copy these words because I believe they are wrong. Dispel any notion of recruiting me to your side. I only want to see to it that you have the information you need to utilize the laws of ZhiXia in a way that may provide an alternative outcome. And here you are, pointing out the inadequacies of uniformity. But have you considered this?"

He lifted his quill, showing Molam the strands of his brush stuck on the tip, then began drawing a straight line across an empty sheet of paper. "When things aren't uniform, they begin to stray from the path like so." The quill drew a straight line across the paper, but the torn off bristles drew looping circles and dragged themselves along the side of the line, casting an inky smudge in their wake. "If it wasn't applied equally to everyone, then you are wasting your time copying all of this. The agreed-upon laws exist for everyone's benefit."

"Is that so?" Molam asked, seeing the flaw. "And how does holding this vote in two days benefit ZhiXia City?"

"Must I explain the purpose of voting to you?" Khalim picked the strands off his quill, then resumed transcribing. "If the citizens of ZhiXia City have decided the Whale of ZhiXia's service erases the pain of his failure, they can decide if —"

"You misunderstand," Molam interrupted. "I'm not asking about voting. My question was more about the timing: why hold it two days from now?"

Khalim's quill paused — briefly. Then he resumed writing without looking up. "Does it matter?"

"Timing always matters. Calling a vote at this time before the bodies are even done cremating or in the ground speaks to me of someone trying to use uniform application of the law in their favor. The same vote a month later might have different results."

"The people will decide. It is not up for us to —"

"Stop hiding behind that!" Molam almost shouted, such was his frustration. Why did people always avoid facing their decisions by saying it was the result of a consensus? He sighed, then lowered his voice. "People aren't exactly rational, Khalim. It seems that you don't care for any individual hand wielding the law with selective application, but now you're accepting selective timing? Does it not alarm you, then, that the timing of this vote seems to be deliberate?"

"You have such little faith in people to make the right choice, Molam."

"Individuals make choices," Molam responded. "Groups merely rally around the strongest emotion — hate, pride, fear, triumph, rage, awe, or loathing. The law won't be observed when emotions reign. You should be old enough to know that."

Khalim didn't respond, finishing up his sentence and blowing on the page. "Are you finished with your sections?"

Molam pointed to his completed summaries.

"Do you want the Appendix cited in the text?"

"Yes. But before that, may I check?" Molam motioned towards Khalim's pages. The man pushed his pages towards Molam, who swiftly compared the writing with what was on the page.

"I'm impressed," Molam admitted. "Copied exactly as written."

"The runes are in Section 6.9," Khalim reminded him.

Flipping to the relevant section revealed the four runes required for the voting, and the two of them brought over a new page to copy two each.

"Your insistence that groups cannot be trusted reminded me of your talk with the Whale," Khalim continued thoughtfully, as though there had never been a lull in their conversation. "I remember thinking at the time: this young man seems to speak from personal experience."

After a moment, Molam replied, "Perhaps I do."

Kalle didn't bat an eye. "I am listening."

Molam hesitated, looking at the two runes on his side of the page. One looked like a series of intricate circles with interlocking parallel lines, and the other seemed to be a complicated fractal. He had seen alchemists like Kalle carve runes that shaped aura many times, but had never dabbled in rune carving himself. Would a minor mistake change what was necessary? He could only do his best and hope that Nettie would know what rune he meant if he explained its purpose to her.

"Some villages have a tradition: if RainBringer does not show them favor, they… appeal." Molam began slowly, both with his words and with his brush. He decided to draw the circles first. "After a long drought, the village's grain storage encountered an infestation of rats. There wasn't enough food to go around. And so, they paid tribute."

Khalim looked up at the word, frowning deeply. "Tribute. The old way?"

"The old way," Molam confirmed.

"Food, or…?"

"Not food, no. Of course not food; they had none to spare. But they had a boy whose parents never returned after they had tried to go hunting in order to put meat on the table." The circles had been drawn in the right places, but Molam's inexperienced hand made them look more like ovals. Oh well. "A boy who, in the eyes of the rest, was just an extra mouth to feed. And so, when the village came together to decide what that tribute should be, none of the adults spoke up for the boy."

"An unfortunate story," Khalim blew on his two completed runes. "But if you didn't know, tributes done the old way burn elderwood from the World Tree. That boy would not have suffered; it's written that the flame of elderwood summons spirits to take the tribute to —"

"No," Molam interrupted. "He died."

"It seems you aren't listening. Tributes done the old way—"

"They didn't have any elderwood left." Molam's grip tightened around his brush; the line wobbled in place. "They traded it for food long before they thought drastic measures would become necessary. They knew it would require elderwood too. And yet…" he shrugged, "their children were hungry and fear ruled, so they voted accordingly for hope. The result was… unanimous," he smiled wanly. "When people feel a certain way, they vote a certain way. If I try to think better of them, I like to think it was despair that voted for what would not work."

He looked up to begin on the second rune, only for Khalim to push three completed rune copies to him. "I saw you were having difficulty. I suppose the work is now complete."

"Allow me to check again," Molam picked up the runes, inspecting them against what was in the book. Khalim's copies were near perfect. Molam glanced through the book's table of contents before he closed the book, pocketing the paper slip that had copied the promised journal entry. He looked at Primrose and nodded.

Primrose stood up with him. Molam held out his hand to Khalim, who was putting away the writing supplies. The man showed his ink-stained fingers, then offered Molam the other hand. Molam took it.

"Thank you for your help," he said as they shook hands. Then, "What do you think about that village's vote?"

"A silly question. A story like that would never be reality, because any law like that would make provisions for having no elderwood. People," the man's grip tightened, "Make the right decisions in the end."

"I was there," Molam asserted calmly.

Khalim's eyes darkened. He looked at Primrose, whose eyes still glowed. She saw his look, then slowly nodded. The man's brows furrowed.

"Would you have done it?" asked Molam.

"If there had been elderwood, there would be no need to hesitate. As I said earlier, it's been written that—"

"Because 'it's been written'? Is that it?" Molam strengthened his grip as soon as he felt Khalim's loosen, then quoted the Companions, "They said: So it was written. And we followed, for we never thought to read."

Khalim's eyes narrowed at the indirect accusation. Molam let go of their handshake. The man slowly pulled back, flexing his fingers, deep in thought.

"I hope you spend as much thought on how to save the Whale, Molam."

"I may need further cooperation from one who knows the law so well."

"Only if the rules permit it."

Molam pressed his lips together. It seemed this was a point on which Khalim refused to budge. He contemplated pressing further, then held up the copied pages in acknowledgment. "I'm certain you're a busy man. We can see ourselves out."

The man gestured his agreement, cleaning up the rest of the table.

Primrose kept her eyes trained on Khalim until they left the room, walking back out the way they came in. Her sharp look shifted to her customary pleasant smile the moment they came into view of the other Sharks. Molam walked along silently, deep in thought as he fidgeted with the loose sheafs of transcription paper, content with Primrose taking the lead on greeting several Sharks by name when they waved to her.

Once outside, they were again treated to the view of an angry crowd, shouting obscenities at the Sharks standing guard in front of the City Center. Molam heard things adults probably shouldn't be saying in front of children, then disregarded it when he saw the children joining in.

Perhaps they didn't truly understand the spectacle, only that their elders were participating and they did not want to be left out.

Or perhaps blind hate was an emotion that came naturally.

Molam tried to tune it out, wordlessly pushing through the side of the crowd with Primrose as they searched for a quiet spot to readjust themselves. Someone bumped into Molam, but Primrose's hand shot out and twisted the man's wrist, forcing the thief to drop Molam's coin pouch. A swift upward tap from the tip of her shoes sent the pouch soaring back upwards, where she caught it.

"Thanks," he muttered as he followed Primrose out of the crowd.

"You're distracted," she turned around and dropped the recovered goods back in his hand. "Still thinking about what Khalim said, or something else?"

"Two days before the vote," Molam tried to tame a mind full of an unfocused jumble of thoughts, trying to decide what was most important. There were so many courses of action possible, but he couldn't try all of them. "Not enough time to make an informed decision."

"And? We'll just come up with a plan of action. What exactly is the problem?"

"I'll list out the ones I can think of right now then. Khalim may be misdirecting us, for one."

"I'm not sure. He never lied to you the entire time."

Molam rubbed his temples. "Not lying isn't the same as being truthful. Or helpful." He held out the copied text. "This is useful for knowing the process of voting. Nothing in it allows for calling off the vote. Khalim could believe this is useful to us, but the only way for me to check is to look for a copy of that book. But to do that we would need to track one down."

"That seems simple enough. We could ask Sanctuary."

"That's just one problem. Of many. Don't even mention the time it would take me to read the rest of that lawbook; you saw the crowd just now — I want to know if the crowd can be swayed. If everyone voted right now, what would happen? If the City's sentiment is close enough to be influenced, who are the right ones to talk to? Does everyone understand the written law? Do they care?" He emphasized the word with a fist to the wall. "Do these people really understand what happens if they vote for Master Ji's death? Or is it because they bear no responsibility because it's a vote and none of them alone made the final decision?"

A gentle hand wrapped around his fist. Molam looked up to see Primrose softened gaze. "I understand you're thinking of that village you talked about, but that's in the past now. That boy may be dead, but the Whale of ZhiXia is still alive. Focus. We should concern ourselves with the one we can still save."

"I —" he bit back the rest of the sentence. Primrose was right. A deep breath and long exhale later, Molam straightened; the Sun was setting. "We've delayed long enough; I was only expecting to speak to Master Ji today. It's time to return to HuaLang Chamber."

Primrose nodded. "Yes. But if you walk in with a string of questions like that, she'll put a needle in you. Maybe three."

"I guess I'll just have to come up with a working plan before I step into HuaLang Chamber. At the very least, we should find out: Why now? And what does Aster want?"