Doubt, suspicion, uncertainty. A wedge had been driven into the army besieging Kucheon, and Gao Yuanjun wasn’t sure where he landed. On one hand, the elders were right to be suspicious of the Fox Princess—or perhaps it made more sense to call her Fox Empress. It was impossible to know if any prisoner returned was truly free of her influence.

But executing them? It rankled. Those were his brothers and sisters in arms. They had fought together, risking life and limb. To kill their own after the enemy had shown mercy was a betrayal unlike any other, and yet...

If Sun Quan was right, then they were already dead. Gao could accept that, as painful as it may be, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. The Kumiho—Sun Quan had called her the Deceiver. A temptress. And her words were indeed tempting. Gao wanted to believe her—to believe that there was still hope for his captured brethren. Yet Sun Quan had rejected it outright—refusing to accept any more returned prisoners and executing the rest as traitors.

Perhaps...perhaps there was wisdom in that. In giving no ground for the temptress to sow the seeds of her deception. It was surely a painful decision, and Gao did not envy that. Though again, he was reminded—if it was Yan De’s decision, then it was not Yan De’s loss.

It was hard to accept, however. Hundreds—even thousands of his friends and comrades, condemned for the mere possibility that they had been turned. It meant a war where no quarter could ever be given, or received. A horrifying, dangerous precedent that threatened to escalate the conflict into something beyond anything that Gao could call ‘war.’

It felt as though every emotion and ideal Gao had was at war with the rest, and he wasn’t the only one. Some had made their decisions immediately, out of loyalty or fear or something else. They argued fiercely, though even those most critical of Sun Quan’s decision stopped shy of outright condemnation. Others, like Gao, were paralyzed by doubt and indecision.

Then, there were the rare few who saw things differently. In a way both hopelessly simple and infinitely complex. Perhaps the most dangerous, in their way.

“He was there, Senior Gao. Right behind her. Did you see him?”

Gao looked up at one of those rare few. Wen You, the young man from a nameless branch of an unremarkable sect, best known for having ambitions greater than its deeds. They sat together, as they often did—friends, a bond forged in the fires of battle.

“Yes.”

That was all he could say. He knew what was coming next. Wen was young, passionate, and inexperienced. He’d never experienced the loss of a brother in arms, the painful destruction of that powerful bond, the darker side of camaraderie.

“He’s still alive. Well, even. I couldn’t look away from him. The Fox Empress was captivating, and that spirit she summoned...”

Gao nodded silently. Her presence had been heavy in a way that not even most elders could match. He’d personally met Grandmaster Qian Shi only once, and it hadn’t even come close. Perhaps it was because those masters restrained themselves, but Gao didn’t think so.

“The look on his face, Senior Brother. I fear it will haunt my dreams and meditations forever as an endless source of heart demons. The betrayal. Brother—Gao Yuanjun, are we fighting on the wrong—?”

“Stop!”

Looking surreptitiously over his shoulder, Gao began to sweat. The most dangerous few were those who, when facing a conflict between their morals and their own actions, would choose their morals without flinching. Those who could look within and say ‘I am wrong.’

It wasn’t a bad thing. Respectable. Honorable. Yet tragically rare, and often doomed to a very short life.

“Wen You, listen to me for a moment and do not speak. Can you do that?”

The junior nodded, and Gao let out a sigh of relief. Strictly speaking, they were equals in rank. It was only seniority and experience that gave Gao any authority at all over Wen, but that mattered, and he hoped that he had earned the young man’s respect. He worried that he was about to expend it.

“You may be right. I do not know if you are, but let us say for the sake of argument that you are. What then? What can be done? You must look ahead and ask yourself what it means. What actions can you take? What consequences will those actions have?”

“But—!”

Gao held up a hand. He hated himself for what he was about to say, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard.

“If the God-Emperor decreed that the sky is yellow, what would you say? Would you fight him for the truth, or accept his words as the new reality? There is the reality we see and feel, and there is the reality created by those with the authority to do so. If Sun Quan says that Shun is dead, then it is so.”

Wen You clenched his fists, staring out towards the distant city.

“If that is what Sun Quan says, brother, then perhaps you are right. But if that is true, then it is Sun Quan who killed him.”

Gao winced, sucking in air through his teeth. He prayed that nobody had heard their conversation as he rested a hand on his friend's shoulder.

“Perhaps it is so, but save your words and your actions for when they will matter.”

“And when is that, brother?”

He looked around at the chaotic army camp, as soldiers argued furiously and lines were drawn. Was this what Sun Quan—or Yan De—wanted? Those who took his words at face value were incensed and outraged at Empress Yoshika’s treachery, demanding blood. But there were those who doubted, and it seemed as if the first blood spilled over that conflict would not be Jiaguo’s.

“I suspect it will be sooner than I’d like, brother.”

----------------------------------------

Qin’s camps were in disarray. They’d broken their own morale, but it wasn’t easy for Jiaguo to capitalize on that. For one thing, if they attacked then Yoshika would become the target of the army’s anger and confusion. Another issue was that while the rank and file were losing cohesion, the xiantian experts were still as sharp as ever. Yoshika was used to helping fend them off, but their threat was exacerbated by the last issue facing her.

Conflict. War wasn’t Yoshika’s strong point, but she was good at bringing her own people together to face a common foe, and it was in her nature to try winning her foes over to create new allies. That was how she’d met some of her closest friends—including her best friend. But when it came down to true, intractable conflicts—the kind that could only be settled by blood or separation—she was weak.

The demon Yu Meiren had exploited that weakness once, sowing division among her forces by replacing Yoshika’s blessing with her own vicious curses and driving Yang Qiu’s demons into a frenzy.

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If not for the help of her friends and allies—not the least of which was Elder Qin Zhao, one of her mentors from the old academy—Yoshika would have lost that fight.

Yan De and his allies were not as old as Yu Meiren had been, but they were no less powerful or cunning. Part of her also wondered whether Shen Yu still aided them indirectly, advising them on how to undermine her strength even if he refrained from taking direct action, in accordance with their truce. But his agreement also included advocating for non-interference, so maybe that was just being paranoid.

Either way, it meant that ironically the conflict among Qin’s ranks actually weakened her far more than if they’d all been perfectly aligned against her. Stepping into that conflict would put her at risk, and while that was likely to provoke Qin’s elders into action, it was too dangerous.

The conflict wasn’t confined to just the forces besieging her, either. The prisoners under her aegis were just as split—which hurt her even more.

In many ways Yoshika’s domain still felt new to her, and the ways that it strengthened or weakened her were hard to put into words. It was a feeling with no mortal analogue, but the infighting pained her in a way that went beyond mere emotion—no less real than a physical wound. That even such infighting among her enemies could cause it was unexpected and unwelcome.

“If only I’d had more time to meditate on things instead of learning this the hard way...”

Jia’s idle comment drew Shun Song’s attention. To her surprise he’d actually been the one to ask for an audience after the incident, and she’d happily granted it. They met in their usual place in the mess area of the prison camp, but neither had known what to say.

“What was that, Miss Lee?”

“Talking to myself, sorry. That was rude of me.”

“It’s quite alright, I’m sure we both need a moment to collect our thoughts.”

She gave him a tired smile and nodded. Even as they spoke, Yoshika was meeting with her advisors and trying to explain why they weren’t jumping on the opportunity to take advantage of Qin’s confusion. Only Yue fully understood, but that just made her cruelest of all.

“Did you know this would happen, Miss Lee?”

Shun’s tone was neutral, but the question cut deep. Jia grimaced and sighed.

“I knew it was a possibility, but believe me when I say that it wasn’t an outcome I desired. I didn’t think even Yan De could be so depraved, but his daughter wasn’t nearly as charitable.”

“Lady Yan Yue? I’d heard a rumor that Grandmaster Yan De was leading because you’d kidnapped or subverted her somehow. It’s true, then?”

Jia rolled her eyes. Of course they spun it that way.

“She’s my closest friend, and the right hand of my empire. If anyone subverted her it was Yan De, by being the worst father in existence, and I’m counting both a man who groomed his son to be a vessel for his own soul and one who made a sincere attempt to use his child as an implement to murder all of creation.”

“That is...a remarkably high bar. I suspect there may be a level of personal bias there.”

“Yeah, probably, but you get my point.”

He nodded slowly.

“So then Lady Yan Yue predicted that her father would not accept returned prisoners, but you attempted to return them anyway. I know you claim otherwise, but it’s hard to see how this was not a desirable outcome for you.”

Jia scrubbed at her hair, even knowing that Eui would get on her case for it later.

“I didn’t want any of this. Not this war, not your people fighting each other, not this empire—none of it! Do you want to know how all of this started? My journey from a nameless orphan living on the streets, to a fivefold empress ruling over half a continent?”

“Five? I thought there were only—”

“Forget I said that part. It was this aspect that started it—me. Lee Jia. Do you want to know how?”

She was just venting now, and she knew it, but Shun Song was a surprisingly good listener, and the only confidant she had who didn’t put her on a pedestal.

“How?”

“Yan Zhihao. The late scion of the Great Awakening Dragon sect. By sheer providence, I ended up stealing my way into the Grand Academy—the old one, not the one that I rebuilt—and he took it personally. I was a foreigner—a ‘beastkin’—a woman, and most insulting of all? I succeeded where he had failed. He couldn’t accept it—insisted that there must be some secret or conspiracy to embarrass him, and challenged me for that secret. Can you believe the arrogance?”

Shun Song winced. He had told her that he didn’t come from the sect towns or Qin nobility.

“Unfortunately I can absolutely see that happening. Especially from northern nobility. I’m surprised he condescended to join the academy at all.”

“He was Qin Zhao’s personal disciple at the time, otherwise I don’t think he would have. Anyway, I made the biggest mistake of my entire life then. Cemented my fate into one that would never know peace for as long as I lived, unless I could somehow become strong enough to rival even your God-Emperor. Would you care to guess what that mistake was?”

He swallowed nervously. Surely he knew some of the rumors, and his eyes swam as he tried to find the most diplomatic way to answer her—as if she would be offended if he got it wrong.

“You...you killed him?”

Jia snorted.

“No, that was later and I had nothing to do with it. My mistake was just fighting back. I was weak and he was strong. He was important and I was not. In his world, that meant that I had no right to contest him. The very attempt was an unforgivable insult, and the fact that I won was a slap in the face to him, to his clan, and to your entire empire.

“Isn’t it stupid? We were just children. It was a petty squabble over wounded pride between kids that didn’t know any better. I used to wonder if things would have been different if he hadn’t died. If maybe our differences could have been resolved. But I look around myself now and I realize...this was inevitable. As long as I keep fighting back, petty tyrants like Yan De will keep escalating. I’m tired of it. I don’t want to fight anymore, but I don’t have a choice.”

Shun Song stared at her in stunned silence for a long moment before gently clearing his throat.

“Why, uh, are you telling me all of this?”

She sighed.

“I don’t know. I needed to tell somebody, and you happened to be here. I know you’re worried. You and the others don’t even know if you can trust your own minds, which must be terrifying. If it means anything, if I was going to compel you to do anything it would be to stop the fighting, not to turn you against your friends.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Jia furrowed her brows and gave Shun a curious look.

“Because it would be wrong? You have the right to choose, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I took that away.”

“I believe you, strangely. I wasn’t sure if I could trust that, but I think I do. But think of it this way—you took us prisoner, to spare us from unnecessary bloodshed. If you could do the same with your power, why wouldn’t you?”

“That’s different. I can free prisoners, I can’t—”

She paused. Eunae’s Soulfire caused nearly irreparable damage to the soul. Small changes could be smoothed over or patched such that the soul could recover on its own, but it was dangerous, and deeper changes took extremely delicate procedures to repair.

But that was before it had changed. Yoshika’s Foxfire did not consume the soul. Changes she inflicted with it were no less permanent, but they were entirely reversible. It was...possible.

“Okay, maybe I can, but it still feels wrong.”

Shun shrugged.

“My people don’t seem inclined to give you any credit for not using your power, and if you can use it to prevent more senseless bloodshed, then I don’t think I am either.”

“Do you realize what you’re telling me to do?”

“I am asking you to save my people. Sun Quan is...probably a good man, but he sees an old foe in you and he cannot defy Yan De. I believe that Yan Yue has the right of it—her father doesn’t care about us southerners. He’ll sacrifice as many of us as it takes to win his feud—perhaps his fellow northerners too, once they start arriving.

“I have friends in the army. Gao, Wen, and more. I do not wish to see them die over a child’s squabble.”

Jia chuckled. Shun Song was more of a Xin Wei than she realized. She might have failed trying to find the most average man of Qin, but she hadn’t made a mistake with Shun.

“Thank you for trusting me, Song. I’ll think about what you—”

She cut herself off as elsewhere a scout barged into a meeting to deliver urgent news.

Rebellion had broken out in Qin’s army.