‘Approaching the hour, is it not?’ The deep timbre of Emperor Puyin’s voice echoed in the grand chamber, the question directed towards his advisor, Grand Chancellor Lin Zexu.
‘Indeed, my Lord,’ Zexu replied, his eyes not straying from the sheaf of files in his hands. ‘A mere five minutes remaining. From what I gathered, it’s early in their work cycle. Did you know their work cycle is only seven hours long?’
Puyin’s brows furrowed slightly, his fingers playing thoughtfully with his sleek, dark goatee. ‘I would’ve if that man allowed me to speak more,’ he remarked, a hint of reproach tingeing in his tone. ‘I hope this meeting offers a more balanced exchange. A discussion, rather than the feeling of standing trial under his barrage of questions.’
The anticipation of the impending meeting hung in the air, lending a charge to the atmosphere. The dynamics were set to change, and Emperor Puyin, resolute and ready, yearned for a dialogue that would truly benefit his people and realm.
‘It was only the second meeting,’ Zexu reassured. ‘Besides, most of it was spent trying to get the translation programmes to work. I find it interesting how far our Yue language has evolved independently from theirs. Don’t you? Completely unintelligible, yet we would’ve spoken the same language when Kowloon sunk, over a thousand annui-cycles ago,’ Zexu’s gaze lifted from the files, meeting the Emperor’s thoughtful stare.
‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ replied the Emperor. ‘Even here, fringe districts have developed dialects that others can barely understand. Some of the deep southern dialects are completely alien to me, and the eastern speech…’ He trailed off, a mild grimace forming at the thought. ‘Well, it still grinds my eardrums.’ Puyin stopped, his face softening. ‘My apologies, I forgot you are a native of Pik. I have always admired how well you have hidden your eastern accent.’
Zexu laughed off the faux pas, waving a dismissive hand. ‘Think nothing of it, my Emperor. I consider myself more of a central Kowlooni than an Easterner.’
‘And thank the Light for that. Your assistance and guidance are invaluable, Zexu,’ Puyin said sincerely. Then, hesitating, he continued. ‘I must ask, do you still believe that the surfacers will attempt to send covert informants down here?’
‘My Lord, if you stumbled upon an uncharted realm beneath your own, with millions upon millions of people, loaded with resources, armies, weapons, and cityscapes spanning hundreds upon hundreds of kilometres, would you not immediately see it for yourself? Curiosity alone would drive anyone to investigate. You wouldn’t ask for permission.’
Puyin mulled over Zexu’s words. It was a logical argument, one that struck an unpleasant chord within him. ‘I’ve had Cao take the Ditu and secure all access points into Kowloon.’ He avoided Zexu’s gaze, unwilling to divulge the creeping worry that was beginning to settle within him.
The Chancellor’s voice was steady, contrasting sharply with the Emperor’s simmering anxiety. ‘My Lord, their leader chose to make himself known to us on his own terms, when he was ready. It’s entirely plausible they could’ve infiltrated us before we ever knew they existed. They could be in our midst as we speak.’
Emperor Puyin grappled with the weight of Zexu’s assessment, clenching his fists against his armrest. ‘What could they possibly accomplish? What are some of the things he may attempt?’
Zexu tapped his fingers rhythmically against the file he held. ‘There are countless possibilities. They could choose to coexist with us peacefully as friendly neighbours. They might desire our resources, eyeing the wealth we’ve accumulated over the years. Or, worst of all, they could misinterpret our intentions and see us as a threat that needs to be neutralised. That would be called ‘pre-emptive defence’, a military strategy mentioned by Dong. He wrote about how the Romans used this tactic to carry themselves to great heights.’
Puyin nodded, well aware of Dong’s well-known admiration for ancient Rome’s surface civilisation. He shuddered at the thought of the mysterious surface leader possessing even half the guile and ambition of a Roman emperor.
‘Invading foreign lands to seize their resources…a strategy any astute leader would recognise. Have we Yaozhi’s been any less shrewd? Emperor Han initiated centuries of exploitation in the Huang Wildlands. Dong did much to try and dismantle the mines we operate there, yet our family never fully complied…perhaps this is Dong’s way of punishing us, Zexu.’
‘Don’t entertain such notions, my Emperor. Nothing is confirmed. If Dong ever intervenes, it would always be to benefit the kingdom he loved, not harm it. Dong is Kowloon’s champion, not theirs.’
Puyin nodded, but still looked sceptical.
The holotable blinked blue, and both Zexu and the Emperor froze, staring at it.
‘Well, pick it up!’ Emperor Puyin ordered, his voice edged with an anxious sharpness.
‘At once,’ Zexu replied softly, placing the folders onto the table’s corner. With a swift, practised motion, he swiped his hand over the table’s luminescent surface. The holographic display sparkled into action, casting a pulsating, aquamarine sheen across the room. A single line danced across the display.
Emperor Puyin watched in silence, his mind a tumult of anticipation and trepidation as he braced himself to communicate once more with the enigmatic leader from the surface. He felt a surge of nervous energy coursing through him, but he quickly pushed it aside. It was only their third encounter, he reminded himself, so it was natural to feel a bit jittery.
‘Hello?’ The voice, garbled and distorted, broke through the ambient static. ‘Am I addressing Emperor Yaozhi Puyin?’
‘Yes, this is Emperor Puyin speaking,’ he responded, hoping his voice sounded more assured than he felt.
‘Good. Sounds like the translation plug-ins have learned a lot more since our last meeting. Your speech is making a lot more sense in my Cantonese.’ The surfacer’s voice was steady and unyielding, a solid wall of resolve with no doubt or uncertainty. Even through the poor-quality transmission, Puyin could sense the man’s determination, making him uncomfortably aware of his own nervousness.
Can he tell how uneasy I’m feeling? What if he takes it for weakness? Puyin’s fingers tightened unconsciously around the edge of the table, his mind whirling with questions and fears.
‘Yes, Sir Hwa-Chee. I can understand you a lot better; it’s a very intuitive programme. Did it learn our speech just by listening to us passively?’
‘That’s correct, Emperor,’ Hwa-Chee replied, his confidence underscored by an undertone of pride. ‘It utilises a form of machine learning that can decipher and correlate meanings of words by identifying parallels between our versions of Cantonese and your Yue, as there are many vestiges in your language. Despite our initial lack of comprehension, the software has effectively bridged the linguistic gap by recognising commonalities and stitching them together for effective translation.’
‘It was originally designed to facilitate communication between two mutually unintelligible languages that share a common ancestral proto-language. It was straightforward for the software to adapt to the variations between our two Cantonese dialects.’ His voice held a tinge of satisfaction.
Puyin nodded, amazed at the advanced technology of the surface. He imagined it was only a sliver of their scientific wealth. ‘I’m very impressed, sir. I trust my Chancellor’s detailed report about Kowloon reached you, prepared with the utmost transparency. We understand and respect your cautious approach.’
‘Indeed, Emperor Puyin, your Chancellor’s efforts are appreciated. After examining the report, I have a few questions. I look forward to learning more about your realm and your people.’
Taking his chance, Puyin interjected, ‘Before we proceed, Sir Hwa-Chee, I would like to clarify something. May I reciprocate your inquiries with questions of my own? I felt somewhat short-changed during our last interaction.’
‘Of course, Emperor. Once I’ve had my inquiries addressed, you are more than welcome to present yours. I apologise for the imbalance in our previous meeting.’
Puyin responded with a grateful nod. ‘Thank you, sir. Please proceed with your questions.’ He glanced at Zexu, who was engrossed in the hypnotic dance of the audio waves on the holotable.
Without missing a beat, Sir Hwa-Chee asked his first question. ‘You estimate a population size of 868.5 million within your 66-district jurisdiction with a median age of just 20. I envy the youthful population of Kowloon, a bounty that many leaders take for granted. But I’ve noticed you were unable to give an accurate figure on the populations of the deep south of Kowloon. Why is this?’
Puyin exhaled slowly, the complexity of explaining the situation in the Huang Wildlands looming ahead. ‘The southern reaches of our world are…difficult. They’re wild and ungoverned, vast expanses unmapped by any of our official instruments. We can’t even estimate how far south these lands extend, as they continue to excavate into the walls and ground to accommodate their growing populations. The people living there are of barbaric practices, with no religion, law, or morality guiding them. We believe the population density of these Huang Wildlands may even surpass ours. Some 25 annui-cycles ago, we lost governance over several southern districts. They protested for their independence, and now are dissolved in the Wildlands.’
The surface leader’s voice seeped through the static once more. ‘Please tell me about how you lost these southern districts 25 annui-cycles ago.’
‘A rebellion took place, leading to the rise of a separatist movement. Consequently, we lost control of those territories. There isn’t much else to it,’ Puyin answered bluntly, recalling the embarrassing event in Kowloon’s recent memory.
However, Hwa-Chee was not so easily appeased. ‘It is rarely so simple, Emperor Puyin. I am no stranger to conflict; people do not seek independence without reason. Why did they want to break away after presumably thousands of years of unity?’ His tone held no judgment, only a quest for understanding.
Puyin sighed, realising he had no choice but to delve into a history he wished to forget. ‘It was a time of shifting sands and fickle allegiances. My father, Emperor Guangxu, saw the cultural divide between the South and the rest of Kowloon as something to close. He wanted to be the Emperor who ended the enmity between the South and the Kingmakers. By law, the Emperor holds absolute authority over every district, yet our meddling in external affairs has always been minimal. Emperor Guangxu changed that, becoming more involved. Southern warlords and politicians did not take kindly to this.’
Hwa-Chee absorbed this, his tone thoughtful. ‘But how did his involvement create conflict? Did he do something specific to anger them?’
Puyin’s words were carefully chosen. ‘My father did not break any laws, to my knowledge. In hindsight, perhaps he underestimated the temperament of the Southern districts, the nuances of their culture and tradition.’
His caution was evident as he continued. ‘Kowlooni Emperors have the power to make the Kings of Kowloon. That is why my people are called the Kingmakers. If these Kings must be changed, the Emperor calls forth a Royal Regicide — calculated political assassinations to replace troubled lords with more loyal ones,’ he paused, choosing his next words. ‘Circumstances transpired, conventions were overlooked, and misunderstandings arose with the Lady who ruled the southern district of Borek Ata. Emperor Guangxu decided changes were necessary, a decision he had the right to make. So came a Royal Regicide.’
Puyin brushed away the specifics like dust on his robe. ‘Regrettably, after the regicide’s success, the transition of power in Borek was less than seamless. Borek Ata’s people did not take kindly to their new Lord. A revolt began and soon spread across the South, where they demanded release from Emperor Guangxu’s grip, the Unification Pact, and Kowloon itself.’
His voice wavered as he drew on memories of that era. ‘Times were hard, harder still when it eventually resulted in my father’s natural death. My reign began amidst this turmoil of an exhausted war. My first task as a new Emperor was to deal with the consequences of my Father’s actions.’
The conversation reached a critical point when Hwa-Chee, not appeased with Puyin’s broad strokes of history, sought precision. ‘You are still being too vague, Emperor of Kowloon. I understand that your fathers regicide triggered the conflict, but what made him make such decision when his apparent intentions were to de-escalate tensions? It doesn’t add up.’
The stinging bite of the frustrated question hit Puyin, but he persevered. ‘There is too much history and context here to delve into! The seeds of conflict were sown long before they sprouted, sir, with aspects of culture, history and tradition underscoring a hostility they have held towards foreigners for hundreds of generations.’
Puyin continued. ‘The simplest way I can state it is that the South has always claimed to feel alienated from the rest of Kowloon. The regicide of the Lady of District Borek Ata became the tipping point for gathering frustrations, building up over many many generations. I have spent many cycles studying the shortcomings of my father so that I may not repeat them.’
A hush fell over the room. Puyin could feel Hwa-Chee’s gaze through the device, along with his unspoken questions and judgement. It was the quiet analysis of a strategist, of a man weighing and measuring the Emperor’s words, seeking to understand the depths of their implications and piece together the puzzle of Kowloon.
‘So, the war ended with the secession of Southern districts into the Wildlands. How many territories did you lose in total, Emperor?’
‘Eleven southern districts bordering the Wildlands,’ Puyin admitted, a ripple of regret passing through his voice. ‘More had tried to follow suit, but we managed to negotiate terms and prevent further losses, bringing the conflict to a close.’
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‘So, Kowloon shrunk. It’s hard to imagine such a grand empire contracting in such a way, those eleven districts must have had millions within them. And yet, even after these losses, you still have a staggering population. Feeding all 868.5 million Kowloonis must be an immense task. I imagine you have abundant food sources.’
‘We don’t feed all Kowloonis, Sir Hwa-Chee,’ Puyin replied, leaning back into his throne. ‘For the last few centuries, at any given time, at least five per cent of our population has lived without food security. However, currently, that number is closer to fifteen per cent. Much of East Kowloon has succumbed to famine. We’re working on addressing the situation.’
Hwa-Chee hesitated briefly before pressing on again. ‘The East? Your chancellor’s report made the East to be a very troubled region. Historic poverty, lowest literacy rates of all the regions. Dare I say it looks a bit…neglected?’
‘That is an insulting insinuation. The East has never been neglected. If they’re living in a sorry state, I can assure you it’s because of their own doing, not ours. Easterners have a strong disposition to creating problems. They sided with the separatists during the rebellions, despite no cause or motive. Purely for the reasons to sow chaos and disturb the natural order. But I have done much for those Easterners. Only time will tell what they will do with the aid I have given them.’
‘I suppose it’s your business how you govern, not mine. But what about energy? I can’t begin to fathom the power needed to maintain your empire.’
‘There are chambers of immense heat in certain regions we have drilled in, which we can convert into electrical energy. But over the centuries, the energy output from these chambers has been dwindling. With new scientific initiatives, we’re exploring a new frontier – quantum energy. By harnessing the potential of quantum reactions, we aim to generate the vast amounts of energy we need to power our society.’ His voice echoed with determination, a testament to Kowloon’s innovative spirit and enduring resilience.
‘Intriguing. What you said makes sense, it is true that the Earth d-d-dirt is cooling from within.’
Amidst Hwa-Chee’s speech, his words glitched. Puyin blinked, his brow furrowed. ‘Dirt is cooling?’
‘I didn’t say dirt, I said Earth d-d-dirt is cooling,’ Hwa-Chee corrected, his tone patient.
At this, Puyin raised his eyebrows in confusion. ‘Perhaps there’s a glitch in our translation software,’ he suggested, trying to understand with the strange term.
‘Yes, the word probably doesn’t exist in your vocabulary. No matter. Let’s return to the matter at hand. The progression of Kowlooni technology fascinates me. Dare I ask how these advancements have been made?’ The anticipation in his voice reverberated through the room, adding a new layer of intrigue to their exchange.
Puyin leaned back, his tone rich with pride. ‘It’s a product of effective leadership, sir. This is my Zhaisheng.’
‘Zhaisheng?’ Hwa-Chee echoed, almost tasting the word. ‘Ah, a renaissance. Your chancellor did mention a cultural revival taking place. I am intrigued, Emperor. Do tell me about this Zhaisheng of yours.’
Puyin’s eyes shone at the prospect of discussing this, his voice softening. ‘It is indeed a time of rebirth for many aspects of Kowloon’s rich past. We are blessed with a legion of brilliant minds, breathing new life into the realms of art, music, science, and mathematics, akin to another renowned Zhaisheng that graced Kowloon more than five hundred annui-cycles ago. The ripples of this cultural resurgence are being felt all over our districts. The Northern Districts, in particular, are witnessing a surge in prosperity, an echo of a similar wave that has begun stirring the Western Districts, coinciding with the onset of ambitious construction projects. This renaissance is not just enriching us economically but culturally too; literacy rates are soaring, and the pursuit of higher education is more prevalent than ever.’
‘Indeed, such prosperity!’ Hwa-Chee noted, his tone carrying a slight undercurrent of scepticism. ‘Yet, I couldn’t help but notice you avoided mentioning the South and East — regions you earlier confessed were struggling under the yoke of famine and alienation. Do your visions of Zhaisheng not include them?’
The question was blunt and without tact, the message between the lines insinuating negligence on Puyin’s behalf.
Puyin’s countenance stiffened, an edge creeping into his voice as he retorted, ‘I would kindly remind you, sir, that this discussion is meant to provide an insight into Kowloon, not serve as a platform to question my leadership abilities.’
‘Fair point,’ Hwa-Chee conceded, followed by some brief silence, possibly as he scanned his notes for the next topic of inquiry. ‘What piques my interest, though, is the sustained presence of Christianity within Kowloon’s cultural fabric. How did that transpire, I wonder? And yet, there is another dominant religion in Kowloon — Du, isn’t it? And there’s a revered figure called Dong, who’s worshipped, correct?’
Puyin quickly corrected him, ‘That’s not entirely accurate, Sir Hwa-Chee. We don’t ‘worship’ Dong, as such. He is regarded as an enlightened being, having ascended to a divine level of understanding. Dong’s transformative efforts are what propelled Kowloon’s progress. His teachings provide ethical guidance to Kowloon’s denizens, inspiring us to emulate him in hopes of achieving our own divine awareness. But worship him, we do not. There is little emphasis on a singular Creator— instead, we venerate the manifestation of the God; the Light. It fell only to Dong to acknowledge the Light, and it’s our responsibility to learn from Dong’s wisdom. As for Christianity, it was one of the main religions the gangs standardised during Kowloon’s formation, which is why Christianity has persevered as a major religion.’
‘Indeed, quite intriguing,’ Hwa-Chee conceded, a note of genuine curiosity in his voice. ‘I’m perusing my notes here, and I notice you’ve provided an estimated count of your military personnel. How critical is the role of your military forces? Are intra-district conflicts so rampant that such a substantial force is deemed necessary? The numbers are truly staggering. For instance, ‘District Kam Shan’ is listed as having over a million personnel!’
Puyin nodded, weighing his words carefully. ‘It’s a yes and no situation, Sir Hwa-Chee. We’ve just come out of a major global – I suppose, our equivalent of ‘global’ – conflict, the District Rebellions I mentioned earlier that took place about 25 annui-cycles ago. But most of the training is done under the pretence of district security and internal threats. Crime is all too common, and coexistence with neighbouring districts is valued above all.’
‘That makes sense,’ Hwa-Chee remarked. ‘I referred to your armed forces as ‘military personnel’, but your chancellor consistently used the terms ‘gangs’ and ‘gangsters’, which I found rather puzzling. I’m still attempting to grasp this particular linguistic nuance. Are you criminals? Or enforcers of law?’
Puyin chuckled softly at the query. ‘A good question. The word ‘gangster’ has lost its original meaning for us. Every district in Kowloon was once the territory of a gang. Before the Great Sinking, many hundred annui-cycles ago, the Yu gang unified all the major gangs that controlled the turfs around Kowloon. We established an honour code to preserve our origins as bandits. Back then, Kowloon was run by criminals, and we were doing a better job than the governments of that time. We succeeded where the law failed and continued calling ourselves as gangs. Now, the word means family rather than criminal.’ Puyin flicked his fingers subtly towards Zexu, indicating that he needed a glass of water. His mouth was as dry as a fungal sponge.
‘An ironic name to give yourselves when I assume there exist actual criminal gangs in Kowloon. It must get confusing sometimes, to find connection in the same type of people you are no doubt locking up now.’
Puyin managed a forced laugh, interpreting the comment as an attempt at levity. He gratefully accepted a cup of ice-cold water from Zexu, taking a refreshing sip.
‘I have one last question,’ Hwa-Chee said in an unexpectedly serious tone. ‘When was the last time you and your people attempted to reach the surface?’
Puyin blinked in surprise, taken aback by the inquiry. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Was the question too complicated?’ Hwa-Chee probed. ‘Then let me be more specific. How long ago was it when the last Kowlooni reached Hong Kong?’
‘I’m a little confused,’ Puyin replied, attempting to conceal his bewilderment. ‘It’s just that your assumption makes no sense to me. Why would you think we have tried to reach there at all?’
‘You believe Dong did it, no? The story of Dong is that he reached the surface without any maps. So it isn’t out of the question others can reach us, too.’ Hwa-Chee’s question, asked as if a parent were doubting a mischievous child, held a deeper note of suspicion now, making Puyin frown in perplexed concern.
‘Dong doing that is regarded as a miracle…it wouldn’t be possible for anyone else to.’
‘Are you telling me the truth, Emperor Puyin?’
Puyin frowned in confusion. What an absurd question? ‘Of course! Your existence was a total surprise to us,’ he responded sternly, earnestness in his booming voice.
‘Okay,’ came the distorted voice of Hwa-Chee, his tone moving away from its former severity in a jarring shift that Puyin found unsettling. ‘Those are all my questions for the time being. If you have any questions for me, now would be the appropriate time to ask.’
Puyin cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he noticed Zexu giving him a subtle nod. He took a breath, the enormity of his curiosity outweighing his apprehension.
‘What’s the surface like?’ Puyin asked, trying to mask his sense of wonder.
‘Strange question…how do I describe the only place I have ever known as home? I suppose there would be a few differences between here and down there. Today, it is quite warm. Our carbon dioxide releases have been acting a bit slow as of late and need maintenance. It is very sunny light, with not many clouds in the sky blue. Just this morning, I took a stroll with my daughter and our dog across a field near our house. Do fields or grass exist in Kowloon?’
Puyin let out a short, mirthless laugh. ‘If there were open space for a field, it would immediately be claimed by landlords to construct as many 80-storey groundscrapers as physically possible. And as for grass, I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar. What is it?’
‘Imagine it as a plant, cultivated for aesthetics rather than utility. It yields a soft carpet to tread or run on, kept trimmed to a few centimetres, boasting a lively green hue. When there are large swaths of it, punctuated by trees, it’s a beautiful sight to behold.’
‘No, there are separate nations spread across the world Kowloon. Hong Kong is, in fact, one of the smallest among them. It wasn’t always so small, rising oceans meant we had to scale our countries down. We have many nations stronger than us — Dravida Eelam, Zhongguo, Greater Muscovya, American-Judea, and the First Nations of Pan-Africa. Hong Kong is modest, and is considered to be one of the most beautiful countries on the planet Kowloon’
‘Kowloon? I think the translation software is glitching again.’
‘That’s quite alright,’ Hwa-Chee replied, the casual ease in his voice doing little to pacify Puyin’s disquiet. ‘I believe this is an appropriate place to conclude our conversation. We can reconnect within the next ten work-cycles of Kowloon, if that suits you, Emperor?’
‘Yes, it does, Sir Hwa-Chee,’ Puyin agreed reluctantly, a sting of disappointment colouring his words. There were still so many questions left unanswered, now relegated to the back of his mind until their next discussion. ‘Until our next conversation. Farewell for now.’
The holotable’s lights flickered momentarily before dimming completely. The call had concluded. From his silent vigil at the corner of the table, Zexu seemed frozen, held in the wake of the enlightening exchange. Puyin let out a deep, weary sigh.
‘Chancellor, please call my brother. I need to speak with Denzhen immediately.’
****
The Tower’s mess hall hummed with the usual clatter of plates and the rhythmic click of chopsticks, but Baoyan sat alone at a corner table, his thoughts distant from the idle chatter around him. The news from Pik had reached him an hour ago, and it weighed heavily on his mind. The much-anticipated coronation of Mingchi, which had been meant to mark a hopeful new chapter for the region, had descended into chaos. Baoyan couldn’t shake the image of the city’s streets littered with the bodies of those trampled in the desperate stampede for food. How many were lying there now, crushed or already dead? At least his immediate family lived in Yu now, thanks to him being a Kingmaker.
Lost in his thoughts, he caught the scent of burning mushrooms from the table grill in front of him. He quickly plucked the blackened fungi with his chopsticks, dropping them onto his plate with a sigh. From the table beside him, the loud laughter of a group of high-ranking Kingmakers — both Tribunary and Legate ranks — pulled him from his thoughts.
‘Who remembers the final scene from Chief Bobo 3?’
‘When the rodent army comes stampeding?’
‘Yeah, remind you of anything?’
Another round of laughter erupted from the table. The hell are they joking about, Baoyan thought, a sinking feeling in his chest. It better not be about…
‘Oh, hah! The coronation really did look like the ending of Chief Bobo 3. You can always count on an Easterner to live up to their name of dongfa! Can’t even share bread without fucking murdering one another!’ sneered one of the Kingmakers. The others grinned, stuffing their faces without a care, as if it was the funniest thing they’d heard all day. Baoyan’s grip tightened on his chopsticks, his jaw clenched. He knew Easterners were a common target in the Tower, but this was outright bigotry, brazen and cruel.
Shallowing his hesitation, Baoyan twisted around to face the table.
‘You all…’ His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the conversation. The entire length of the table fell silent as they turned to look at him, and the lean Centurion with short spiked hair stood up. Raised eyebrows greeted him, but Baoyan didn’t back down.
‘You all don’t get it…none of you understand,’ he said, his words heavier. ‘We’ve been starving since the Rebellions ended. While the rest of Kowloon has been celebrating the end of the war, it never really ended for us, did it? But you wouldn’t know, no one does. Because this godforsaken Tower would sooner let eleven districts secede from the fucking Unification Pact before allowing more Easterners in here.’
The mess hall went deathly quiet. Baoyan’s words reached every corner, and heads turned to see the confrontation. His heart pounded and his fists shivered uncontrollably, his anxiety creeping back up. But he kept his gaze steady, locking eyes with every Kingmaker at the table who had been mocking his people.
‘Looks like Chief Bobo found his voice,’ a voice jeered from the table. It was Tribune Jiuquan. Baoyan opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck in his throat as the Tribune leaned in, his smirk twisting into something more menacing.
‘We don’t let Easterners in easy because you dongfa make for shit Kingmakers. I mean, try regiciding a Lord with four rodents! All they have to do is pull up cheese and four spring traps,’ he chuckled, nudging the Kingmakers on either side, who snickered in response. ‘Your new peasant Lord, Chief Bobo…’ Jiuquan slowly rose from his seat. The Tribune’s rank — two above Baoyan — separated them by at least a decade of experience and training. His cold stare bore into Baoyan, forcing the Centurion to fearfully soften his gaze.
‘…is a lost cause. Your district, a lost cause. Your vermin people, a lost cause. And the whole East, a —’
Jiuquan’s words were like daggers, each one tearing at Baoyan’s fraying resolve. But as the Tribune continued, a sudden, heavy slam echoed across the hall, rattling plates and silencing the mess. Jiuquan flinched, his head snapping towards the source.
‘Enough.’
The room fell into a tense silence.
Ushi, towering and broad-shouldered, stood over the hall, his dark expression set in angry creases across his brown Southern skin.
‘Anyone who thinks it’s funny to mock one’s home while it rages with the flames, stand up now so I can look at your slimy faces, too.’
No one stood up. Tribune Jiuquan remained standing, but his shoulders stiffened. So, Ushi stared at just him.
Baoyan felt a spark of determination ignite inside him as he looked at this hulking King with admiration. I think that’s Prefect Ushi. A Southerner. Unlike us, their people hold their pride like a shield.
‘Sit back down, Prefect. You’re way out of line speaking to a superior this way,’ Jiuquan spoke firmly.
‘Fuck your superior ass, Jiuquan. Don’t think I don’t know why you and your lackeys get real quiet when you speak on the South’s name. You see, even though there are only fourteen Southern Kingmakers in this tower, the moment any of us hear a comment about our home, we’ll smack you so hard across the face that the bigotry will come leaking out your ears.’
Baoyan watched Ushi, awestruck by the Praefectis unwavering defiance against a superior ranking Kingmaker. Ushi continued, his voice even more commanding. ‘This Centurion is the only Easterner King here, and it’s no fucking coincidence that suddenly all of you have found the balls to be comedians! So let this be a warning to anyone who thinks they can insult my Eastern brothers and sisters without consequence,’ Ushi’s gaze swung around the room. ‘Just like they stood with the South 28-annui cycles ago, I will take any insult against the East as an affront to my own home. There isn’t one Easterner in the Tower anymore. There’s fifteen.
Anyone want to test if I’m bluffing?!’
The room remained silent. Some quietly turned back to their food, avoiding Ushi’s glare. A Tribune next to Jiuquan gently placed a hand on his wrist and pulled him down to sit. Ushi glanced at Baoyan, who smiled back at him. With a nod, Ushi sat back down beside Prefect Tao and resumed eating.
Baoyan followed soon after. As the hum of the mess hall slowly returned, the mocking voices had fallen silent, at least for now. The East had found an unexpected ally, and Baoyan felt a small ember of strength flicker to life.
The East doesn’t have to stand alone. It never did.