Amidst the grandeur of the Yu Tower library, Yutai and Tao took their places. They occupied a pair of opposing seats, their surroundings bathed in a cascade of ambient light from the grand windows. This public haven on the tower’s second floor hummed with a delightful blend of erudition and everyday bustle.
Around them, the buzz of activity ebbed and flowed — the comings and goings of Kingmakers in their formal attires, juxtaposed with the more relaxed garb of students from Yu Technical University. Arms full of books, fingers dancing on keyboards, voices hushed in serious discussions or light banter – the library resonated with the melody of human endeavour.
Despite the buzz, the two men carved out an island of their own inside a study room whose walls were made of glass panels, where their thoughts and words flowed freely, undeterred by the activity outside.
Tao cocked his head to the side, a bemused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘So let me wrap my head around this, Yutai…’ His tone was unhurried. ‘You’ve got a buddy in the Tien Tao who can sneak you into Fort Ho Man Ting, right? And under the whole pretence of this ‘friendly tour,’ you’re gonna install wiretaps?’
Yutai’s eyes glinted with determination, his lips curling into a confident grin as he nodded. ‘Exactly. We Kingmakers don’t belong on a bench, waiting to be tagged in. You and I? We’re mighty and capable Kings, but it’s easy for us to get overshadowed by our best friends. Shing’s one of the best sharpshooters in the prefect cohort, and Ushi could probably outlift everyone in the tower. It’s no coincidence they’re both on the field and we aren’t.’
‘It’s not all bad being benched, brother. You get to stretch your legs. Watch the game with a clearer head than those playing.’
‘You also watch your teammates get pummelled while you’re powerless. I hate being powerless,’ Yutai shot back, his voice sharpening. ‘Keung doesn’t believe for a second that the Tien Tao have gone rogue — that much was clear from his tone. That’s why we need to do this. We can bring him the proof he needs to move against Warlord Xianjian.’
Tao let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair, hands folded comfortably behind his head. ‘But we’d be going against orders. If we fail, we could mess up more than just our part in Keung’s plan,’ He paused for a moment, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. ‘Who’s this Tien Tao friend of yours?’
Yutai’s face lit up and he flicked his eyebrows. ‘His name’s Hung. We go way back to when we were just wide-eyed kids in Sung Wong. We both dreamed of being Kingmakers,’ His voice took on a mellow note. ‘His family fell on hard times and he had to leave the Central Kowloon and migrate south, where life is cheaper. But he never gave up his dream of protecting others, oh no. Instead of choosing an easy way out and giving up, he continued his dream and joined the Southern gangs. And he didn’t just join any gang, he joined the Tien fucking Tao!’ Yutai nodded with pride. ‘Only one of my boys would be capable of that.’
Tao, nodding with a downturned smile of approval, added a cautionary note. ‘Well, I’d hold my praise, we’re still looking at the chance of every Rioter being a traitor. This sounds like a boy you once knew. People change.’
Yutai nodded, taking in Tao’s words. ‘You’re not wrong, but I’ve loosely kept contact with him over the years. We’re not completely estranged. Trust me, Tao. As far as Hung goes, we’re good.’ A thoughtful silence hung between them, punctuated only by the ambient sounds around them. After thought, Tao nodded. ‘I hope I don’t regret not dissuading you from this.’
Yutai inhaled deeply, his thumb swiping on the cool surface of his holocommunicator. After two short tones, the heard someone answer.
‘Hello?’ An unmistakable voice sprung from the holographic speaker on his wrist.
‘Hey, Hung! It’s Yutai, how’ve you been?’
‘Yutai?’ Hung replied with hesitation. ‘Light Illumine, I’m alright, you?’
The response was touched with the characteristic lilt of a Southern Kowlooni accent, the words spilling over each other in a quick, rhythmic pattern. But the regional dialect, known to be almost unintelligible in its purest form, was devoid of any enthusiasm or warmth.
‘Light Illumine, brother. You know how it is. Danger’s our currency, and we’re all entrepreneurs. I’m calling about that tour we talked about a while back. I’ve got a friend here who’s obsessed with that historic fort — he’s a total history buff, knows every detail. I mentioned you, and now he’s jumping over groundscrapers with excitement. What do you think, can we make it happen?’ Yutai glanced at Tao, who was shaking his head at the cover story.
‘Today?’ The voice on the other side echoed, a note of surprise breaking through the otherwise neutral tone. ‘It’s a bit of a short notice, don’t you think? And is your friend a Kingmaker too?’ Tao quirked an eyebrow at Yutai, a silent question in his gaze. Yutai subtly nodded to him.
‘Uh, yes, he is. A bit of a history nut, but pretty likeable. You’ll get along. So, is today a no-go? Just thought it’d be nice for us to drop by the South on our free day,’ Yutai replied, his gaze steady on the device.
‘I don’t think so. Another time?’
‘Hung, come on buddy. Aren’t you a hot shot amongst the Rioters? Surely you can make time for us? We might not get another chance. Who knows when we’ll next be able to even chat as we are now…things are so dire nowadays, either one of us could die on any given day. Light knows we aren’t promised tomorrow.’
Tao rolled his eyes at Yutai’s dramatic monologue.
‘I can’t make any promises…but I’ll check. Things are heated here, you know, with the Yang and all. Can’t disclose much over the line. But I’ll get back to you in an hour. Sound good?’
‘Perfect. Don’t want to pass the opportunity up, you know? Not everyone can get a sneak peek into the headquarters of the Tien Tao Rioters!’
‘Okay. I’ll call you back.’
The holographic device flickered before going quiet, signalling the end of the call.
‘Well,’ Yutai murmured thoughtfully, his eyes taking on a distant focus. ‘I hope he can manage something for us. It would be a shame to let today slip away while we did nothing.’
‘He didn’t sound too keen for the tour,’ Tao pointed out, a veil of seriousness descending over his usual casual tone. ‘How close were you two again?’
‘Cut him some slack, Tao,’ Yutai replied with a patient smile. ‘He’s a Tien Tao dealing with the Yang tension in his homeland. Its likely he’s just under pressure.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tao conceded, pushing himself off the backrest of his seat and stretching out his arms. ‘What’s the plan now? Not much to do around the tower; all the Centurion classes are on right now. The central districts are all boring.’
‘Well, for someone as laid back as you, maybe,’ Yutai teased. ‘If you know where to look, the Core districts actually has some of the most thriving clubs in Kowloon. But I have a feeling the post-dimming life isn’t quite your scene. Have you ever visited Gweimin restaurant, though? In District Tsim Tsui.’
‘Can’t say I’ve heard of it; I haven’t been to Tsim Tsui in ages. I could eat, though. Isn’t Tsim Tsui at the centre of that Southern virus going around, though?’
‘The restaurant’s in a good area,’ Yutai replied. ‘It’s in the lavish Hong Yuen courts. It’s under martial law for the pleasure of Southern nobles, high-ranking Tsui gangsters, and celebrated veteran homes. We, being Kings, have easy access. Don’t worry, I’ve been there countless times. You know what? Let me double-check. Surprises aren’t on our menu today.’
Hunched over his holocommunicator, Yutai’s fingers danced nimbly, pulling up a network engine and querying the evolving statistics of the new Southern virus in Tsim Tsui. He scanned the data, squinting for the condition of the area surrounding Gweimin.
‘The impact is minor, thankfully. Just a smattering of cases, mostly concentrated in the eastern end of Tsim Tsui, nudging the borders of a more impacted district. Gweimin’s in a safe zone. We’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
Tao, taking in Yutai’s analysis, simply nodded, his face a mask of thoughtful silence.
‘Well, thank you, Yutai, for being concerned about my well-being,’ Yutai mock-whispered to himself. ‘No trouble at all, Tao,’ he bantered a response to himself, which Tao laughed at.
‘What makes Gweimin any good? I was never a huge fan of Southern cuisine, anyway.’
‘Oh, you’re gonna love this place especially,’ Yutai explained. ‘The whole joint is a living homage to the Southern rebels during the District Rebellions. From the benches and tables, waiters, to the food you eat, relates to the wars. Think of it like a history museum that spent way too much of its budget on the cafeteria. Clever marketing, right?’
‘That does sound intriguing. Lead the way then, Yutai,’ Tao said.
Yutai and Tao, adjusting the weight of their rifles that hung off their backs, exited the library and headed towards the lifts, intent on reaching the docking ports. On the 15th floor, the Yutai and Tao waited in a short queue of Kingmakers to get on their carriage.
As the Rail arrived, Tao, Yutai, and six other Kingmakers boarded. Soft, serene white lights bathed the carriage, creating a warm cocoon against the darkened world rushing past outside. They skimmed between immense groundscrapers, traversing the gulf of space some fifty or sixty levels above the ground. Dim orbs of light would periodically dash past the windows, the guiding lamps of the rail system.
The other Kingmakers were all headed to different areas of Kowloon, and after the third stop, the duo were alone in the carriage as they sped towards Tsim Tsui. Yutai looked up at Tao, who was silently scrolling through the Kowlooni Network on his holocommunicator. He looked around the empty white interior of the carriage and whistled. ‘I can’t imagine how we Kings got around before the rails.’
‘We had AT-bikes,’ Tao responded matter-of-factly, continuing his absent scrolling on his holocommunicator.
Yutai rolled his eyes. ‘I know that, Tao; I was being rhetorical. But seriously, when you think about it, it must’ve been a real hassle. If we were Kingmakers back then, this journey would’ve taken us seven work-cycles. Some say it’s why we struggled so much against the South.’
‘Are you still being rhetorical or are you asking for my opinion?’
‘I’m just asking, Tao. Lighten up a bit, will you?’ Yutai frowned lightly. He was not close to Tao, unlike Ushi, and knew it would take time to adjust to his character.
‘Hmm,’ Tao murmured, finally pulling his gaze from his holocommunicator to meet Yutai’s eyes. He paused before speaking. ‘Yeah, I’d agree with that. We couldn’t mobilise effectively with the front lines so far away. The Southern rebels knew their territory inside out — they were everywhere, hitting us hard with guerrilla tactics. By the time we sent in gangsters, new orders were already coming in to redeploy. The bikes we used to move around were unfit for Southern streets. It was a losing battle from the start.’
‘Do you think we could’ve turned the tide if we’d had we these rails sooner?’ Yutai asked.
Tao gave a thoughtful hum, his gaze distant. ‘Winning and losing isn’t simple in war. We didn’t exactly lose, as we succeeded in putting a stop to the conflict, and the Yaozhi dynasty still stands. However, we can’t claim victory either. We lost many southern districts to the Wildlands, we suffered heavy casualties, and the peace terms leaned heavily in favour of the rebels. But to directly answer your question,’ he paused before continuing. ‘No. A single, well-placed explosive could demolish the rail, severing the transportation lifeline to almost half of Kowloon.’
‘Why haven’t the Yangs already attempted this then?’ Yutai queried, his curiosity piqued.
‘They would if they could,’ Tao replied frankly. ‘However, the map of the King Rail tracks criss-crossing Kowloon is a carefully guarded secret. Consider where these tracks have been built; most have been strategically placed within the inaccessible crevices between groundscrapers. The sections exposed to the public have been purposely positioned in some of the most populous areas of Kowloon. Any attempt to destroy the rail would require a powerful explosive, which would inevitably result in countless civilian casualties. Fortunately for us, most of today’s Yangs still value human life, particularly since they operate within their home districts. But during a full-blown war? It’s a different story when you’re in a district that isn’t home. Perhaps these rails would be blown the moment the next war starts.’
‘Wait a minute, hold on,’ Yutai interjected, a frown creasing his face. ‘So the rail sections cutting through heavy civilian traffic — they were intentionally designed that way? The unfortunate few who can’t dodge an oncoming carriage in time, their fates were factored into calculation of its construction?’
He gave a grim nod. ‘It’s a harsh reality, but the other options were far worse. By using civilians as collateral, it’s assured us security for the most efficient transportation network we’ve ever constructed.’
Disbelief shadowed Yutai’s features as he shook his head. ‘So they’re just…human shields, then? I’d always thought it was an unavoidable consequence, but to now learn it’s intentional…’ His voice trailed off, a guilty expression seeping into his gaze. ‘It makes me feel like I’m partially to blame for the deaths.’
He recalled the ever-present specs of blood at the front of every King Rail carriage. The Kingmakers may have washed the exterior of the carriages regularly, but some marks never came off.
Yutai studied Tao , his earlier enthusiasm dampened by the unsettling revelation about the King Rail. Still, he couldn’t say he was surprised by his teammate’s acceptance of the rail system’s grim reality. It was just like Tao —aloof and dispassionate. Not because he was cruel or unfeeling, but because he didn’t invest himself in trivial emotional concerns.
In fact, Yutai found Tao to be a very unique Kingmaker; he was born to a noble family of Dongist sages. Despite breaking off tradition and becoming a Kingmaker, he remained loyal to his faith, and his faith motivated his fascination towards Southern culture. It was a fact known to Yutai, and how he knew Gweimin Restaurant would interest Tao.
You see, Dongism originated in the South, and Dong himself was a pure-blooded Southerner. Many of Dongism’s traditions, adhered by the Kowlooni majority, have roots in Southern culture. This connection made Tao particularly sensitive to the brutal reputation the Kingmakers earned after their atrocities in the South during the rebellions. Tao, and his best friend Ushi, one of the few Southern Kingmakers in the tower, were perhaps the only two Praefecti’s who fully acknowledged the atrocities committed by the Kingmakers in the South.
Yet, Tao was known for his characteristic nonchalance, which made no sense to Yutai given his other, more passionate opinions.
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A sudden jolt rocked the carriage, sending a bolt of alarm through Yutai. His eyes darted left and right, tensing his shoulders. Sensing the distress, Tao blinked open his eyes. ‘Relax, Yutai. That wasn’t a person. We’re still navigating through the cloistered spaces between buildings. The congested pedestrian zones start only once we exit the core districts.’
Silence claimed Yutai’s tongue. He tugged out his handheld computer and dived into the bustling world of the Kowlooni Network. Keying in the address for the Central Times News, he found himself wading through a sea of news articles, each headline competing for his attention.
“Coronation Catastrophe in Pik: Thousands Dead as Lord Mingchi Takes the Throne, Public Doubts His Leadership Over Late Lord Gaochi.”
“Southern Virus Spreads to Six More Districts: Over 4,000 Lives Lost, Warlord Fuaguo Urges Southern Lords to Convene in Emergency Pasciere Meeting.”
Suddenly, a dazzling rush of light flooded the carriage’s interior, abruptly tearing Yutai away from the digital tangle of news articles. They had exited the shadowy confines of the core districts and were now threading through the heart of the outer southern cities. A knot of dread coiled in the pit of Yutai’s stomach as he acknowledged the chilling reality: in the minutes that followed, lives might be snuffed out in their heedless pursuit of a meal.
‘There’s something about these carriages that seem to always kill conversations,’ Yutai mused, breaking the stretch of silence.
‘Huh?’ Tao queried.
‘Well, it’s almost like an unspoken rule that carriage rides are the perfect time for silence,’ Yutai elaborated, his gaze flitting across the compartment.
‘Whatever conversation-killing magic these carriages possess, it evidently hasn’t gotten to you yet,’ Tao retorted, his eyes remaining shut as his head stayed reclined.
‘Hah. Funny. What I’m saying is that I don’t know all that much about you.’
‘You wouldn’t be the first. But maybe if you spent less time with Shing and more with the rest of the detachment, that might change,’ Tao suggested, his words carrying mild reproach.
Yutai bristled at the unexpected criticism. ‘Well, that’s a bit rich coming from you. I’m easily the most sociable among us all. You’re the one never talking, too shy to even contribute to team meetings!’ His voice took on a harsh edge as he retorted, but then he felt a pang of guilt for his sharp words. Before he could voice an apology, Tao sat upright and met Yutai’s gaze.
‘No, you’re right,’ he conceded quietly. ‘I could do better too. My apologies. We’re brothers, we shouldn’t be arguing about something as banal as this.’
A flush of shame swept over Yutai as Tao beat him to the apology he was only starting to consider making.
I’m usually the bigger guy, not Tao.
The rest of the ride was quiet…
****
‘‘Rebel’s Spleen?’’ Tao burst out, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. ‘I can’t tell if this place is mocking the victims of the district wars or trying to honour them,’ he added as they sat in the cosy, dimly lit restaurant.
Across the small table, Yutai didn’t rise to Tao’s bait and shrugged. ‘The Rebel’s spleen is alright but overrated. I recommend the ‘Wildland’s Mystery’.’
Tao leaned in, his curiosity piqued. ‘What’s the mystery?’ He squinted at the fine print of the menu under the dim, steady lamplight.
‘Creamed sewer fungi with a side of Northern-farmed Niechi rodents. It’s an altered version of a real Huang delicacy. Here, read the fun fact about the dish,’ Yutai replied, mischief in his eyes. His finger tapped a few lines below, drawing Tao’s gaze to a chunk of text.
Tao dutifully lifted the menu, the soft rustling of the paper barely audible over the muffled conversations and clinking cutlery. His eyes scanned the small characters as he read aloud,
‘The Wildland’s Mystery, the centre of a fascinating phenomenon during the war. This relatively unknown peasant dish cooked commonly in the deep trenches of the Wildlands became popular among rebels on the front lines of battle. The dish, which was previously unheard of in Kowloon, started popping up as lunches and dinners for the gangsters of Kowloon fighting against the rebels. To this day, it is unknown how the recipe made its way into the hands of the enemy combatants of the South rebels, but it serves as a reminder that good food knows nothing of borders or conflict.’
‘Huh. Interesting. I’ll get that with a can of Shyou-Shuya. You?’ Tao asked Yutai, pushing the menu aside, his choice made.
Yutai looked up from the menu. ‘Me? I’m getting the gourmet MRE. I’ve been meaning to try it out for a while now.’
The restaurant, steeped in the poignant history of rebellion and strife, was a living monument to a brutal, bloody past. It was also a memorial of sorts, commemorating the fallen, the rebels who had fought with relentless valour against a tyrant Emperor, Yaozhi Guangxu.
They were sitting in a cosy booth on the right side of the restaurant. Its crimson upholstery had an intricate pattern that made it look like dripping blood. Along the walls, the physical reminders of the rebellions were a haunting sight. Battle-worn rifles, laser spitters, mines, each was a puzzle piece of the civil war.
In the middle of the dining area, standing tall and cold, was the pièce de resistance — a mothballed, twin-barrelled anti-ATB cannon. It was an anachronism, a relic from a time of lawlessness and brutality. Its once fearsome and imposing presence was muted now, only adding to the eerie charm of the restaurant.
The eyes of other patrons slid over to Kingmakers’ booth. The air around them seemed to thicken, resentment and wariness radiating from the restaurant’s occupants. They, the Kingmakers, were viewed as the remnants of the faction that had opposed the rebels, and the memory, it seemed, had not yet faded, here in the deep south. Despite this, visiting Kingmakers seldom cared, knowing the worst they’d receive was a dirty look.
Even the staff, weaving their way between tables and patrons, seemed to speed past their booth. It was as if the ghosts of the past still lingered, rousing old grudges and disputes, and colouring the present with shades of a time best forgotten.
Tao signalled to a passing waitress, who was dressed in the attire of a Southern rebel. She briefly narrowed her eyes before heading his way. Her outfit, complete with a sweatband, dark leather armour, and a short cape, gave her a striking presence as she approached.
‘Good evening, Kingmakers,’ she greeted them in an unmistakable Southern accent. There was a cold undertone to her politeness, a tangible echo of old resentments. With a holopad in hand, she prepared to take their orders, her gaze steely, seemingly unfazed by their Kingmaker uniform.
‘I’ll have the gourmet MRE,’ Yutai said. ‘With a can of Shyou and some sliced fuju, if you please.’
Next to him, Tao chimed in. ‘I’ll try the Wildland’s Mystery. With a can of Shyou as well.’
The waitress’s fingers danced across the holopad, punching in their orders with a brisk efficiency. When she finished, her gaze returned to them, a silent inquiry in her cold stare.
The Kingmakers returned the look blankly.
‘Is that all?’
‘That’s all for now,’ Yutai said, handing her their menus. As she walked away, there was a frostiness lingering in the air.
‘Yikes, I don’t remember customer service being this bad,’ Yutai exclaimed. It was clear to him that divisions still ran deep within their society.
The hushed atmosphere of the restaurant felt heavy, each murmur and clink of utensils amplified in the quiet expanse. Only a handful of patrons were present, their conversations no more than whispered exchanges in the spacious eatery.
Yutai wondered what topics he could discuss here. Business discussing the Yang or the surface was off the table. In this part of Tsim Tsui, nestled deep in the southern heartland where the influence of the Yangs ran like a subterranean river, discussing their work was akin to playing with fire. And here they were, seated in a restaurant that stood as a monument to the rebellions, the birthplace of the very Yangs they pursued. The irony wasn’t lost on Yutai.
As the silence stretched taut between them, Tao was the first to crack it.
‘Did you notice the mural on the opposite wall? It’s a tribute to the 1459 A.T. 433 shooting. Ever heard of it?’
Yutai turned in his seat to examine the mural Tao had pointed out. A vivid panorama of history painted in brilliant hand-oiled dyes covered the wall — young students, their innocence lost in the crimson stains of blood on their uniforms, raising their rifles to the sky in defiance. From the barrels of their guns waved the flag of the East, its green fabric stamped with a solitary red star.
Yutai turned back to Tao, knowing he was a living encyclopedia of the rebellion’s history. ‘What’s the history behind it?’
‘Well,’ began Tao, his voice dropping to a sombre whisper. ‘The Pa Long University massacre of 1459 was what propelled the East into the District Rebellions. But the mural isn’t showing that massacre. It’s about the students that protested in reaction to the massacre.’
‘It’s strange I haven’t more about it. Seems important to rebellion history,’ Yutai said as his gaze was locked on the mural.
‘The reason it’s not broadly talked about isn’t surprising, to be honest,’ Tao began, letting his words hang in the air as he traced the patterns on the table with a finger. ‘The massacre has fallen victim to cover ups and political denials. Recall 28 annui-cycles ago; Emperor Guangxu had just regicided the Warlord of Borek Ata, and the South fell into unrest.’
Yutai nodded as he recalled the history he learned from the academy. Tao continued. ‘In the early stages of the conflict, the Emperor imposed sanctions on the South, cutting their trade links from the rest of Kowloon. This massive blockade wasn’t hard to enforce; Kowloon’s design had always subtly facilitated segregation between its communities. The Emperor merely blocked off a few strategic entry points along the central-southern border, and we started slowly suffocating them.
Yutai nodded, recalling this particular fact.
Tao delved further into the past. ‘But the South kept receiving weapons and food. The Emperor suspected the Eastern districts were secretly aiding the South, using their own trade routes to circumvent the embargo. These suspicions sparked Emperor Guangxu’s fury…’
Yutai interjected. ‘Oh yes, Guangxu and his infamous short fuse. Stories of his volatile temper are still making the rounds.’
Tao nodded. ‘That same short fuse led to a horrifying reaction. In a bid to assert dominance, Guangxu sponsored Western Kowlooni gangsters to infiltrate the East and deliver a harsh message. They targeted Pa Long University, the largest and most esteemed institution in the East. Armed with deadly intentions, they decimated almost every faculty. Brilliant minds, the intellectual crème de la crème from all corners of the East converged at Pa Long University, only to have their light cruelly extinguished. It was a brutal demonstration, a reminder that the Kingmakers reigned supreme. Easterners often rue the fact that their current post-war stagnation stems back to that single day when their intellectual future ended in cold blood.’
‘That’s tragic. How has the truth not come out since?’ Yutai asked, his gaze now locked on to the mural. The grim historical context turned it into a story etched in colour and pain.
Tao shrugged. ‘The truth often doesn’t make for comfortable history. We officially deny it. We’ve even spread false conspiracy theories, claiming the East orchestrated the entire massacre as a pretext to enter the conflict. It’s worked a bit too well.’
‘Well, that’s not too far-fetched, right?’ Yutai pondered aloud. ‘I mean, this level of villainy from the Kings borders on cartoonish. Is there any proof the massacre happened as it’s told? Even if it did, what’s to say the Emperor had a hand in it? It could’ve been a plot cooked up by the Western districts themselves.’
Tao’s tone took a sharper edge, his normally quiet voice picking up tempo in a rare show of emotion. ‘Just think about it logically. Why would the Western Districts venture far beyond their comfort zones and into the East, simply to shoot up a bunch of defenceless scholars and then wash their hands of situation? The western districts don’t stick their necks out unless the Kings give the order, especially when it risks sparking off a war. The Western Reaches of Kowloon are all lackeys to the Emperor.’
Yutai couldn’t help but concede that Tao had a point, even as he saw the uncharacteristic intensity in his friend’s eyes. It was clear this was a topic close to his heart.
‘I get it now. There would be no reason for such violence unless it came from the top.’ Yutai watched as Tao visibly relaxed, his point finally made and understood.
Yutai continued. ‘I won’t question the legitimacy of the events any further. It’s clear we’ve left deep scars. I don’t need to be a historian to feel the hate that follows me whenever I’m in the East…’ He glanced briefly at the other patrons in the restaurant. ‘Or even here in the South.’
Yutai’s gaze moved back to the mural, the students in bloodied school uniforms waving their makeshift weapons now appeared as the embodiment of desperation and defiance. ‘How did these young students get involved in protest?’
‘As soon as the news about the Pa Long University massacre spread within Eastern districts, countless students abandoned their classes, took to the streets in solidarity, armed with anything they could find. Their mission: to hunt down any Central or Western gangster they thought responsible. But they were just kids, angry and untrained in combat, the ordeal turned into a bloodbath of its own, the young students finding out the hard way that they were no match for the Kingmakers they encountered at the border. The East lost even more of its future that day. That’s when the East officially declared war against the Yaozhi’s.’
With each new detail about the mural, Yutai felt it come alive. These weren’t just students on strike; they were martyrs, casualties of a conflict under wraps. Yutai felt a knot form in his stomach, a mix of cringe and guilt for the legacy of his profession.
Tao gestured toward the top of the mural, to a phrase etched in elegant, curling Southern Kowlooni script. ‘Read that.’
‘I…uh, can’t really read Southern script,’ Yutai said, a blush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
‘Oh right,’ Tao nodded. ‘It says: On my body, blood is painted, on the day Dong looked away. How can we ever forget?’
‘Light…’ Yutai murmured, the words settling like a weight in his chest. He turned to Tao, his gaze serious. ‘I’m surprised you ever agreed to become a Kingmaker. Your opinion of us seems fairly low.’
‘It is. I didn’t want to. This trench coat… it’s heavy on my shoulders. I hate how its transformed me into the enemy of a people I harbour no ill-will towards,’ Tao said, glancing over his shoulder and noticing cold eyes meeting his own.
Yutai frowned. ‘But you could’ve still refused. It wasn’t like the Kingmakers conscripted you.’
‘You’re right, it was my choice alone. This role, being a King, it’s just a means to an end for me. It isn’t lost on me that we’re still extremely powerful. ’ Tao’s voice held a certain resignation, revealing the conflict that had etched itself deep within his heart.
‘That can’t be all,’ Yutai queried, not quite satisfied with the response.
‘Well, why do you think I joined?’ Tao asked.
Yutai considered this, scratching his chin thoughtfully. ‘Honestly, after your enthusiastic tirade about the Kingmakers, I would’ve pegged you for a reformist type. Maybe you joined because you hoped to change the system from the inside.’
Tao chuckled. ‘That’s a fanciful and quite an impossible dream, brother. I do wish to create change from within, but that’s not why I joined. I’m on a quest for truth, and only the Kingmakers have the necessary resources.’
‘And what’s this quest for truth?’ Yutai asked, his curiosity piqued.
Tao took a moment before answering. ‘It may sound grander than it really is, but essentially — I want to uncover the deepest secrets of Dongism. Think of it as my lifelong research project. I believe the religious scriptures we have today are different from the original manuscripts that Dong wrote during his pilgrimage to the surface. If I am to live life as a Dongist, I want to practice the faith Dong preached, not evolutions of it.’
‘That sounds like a very controversial ambition. Is that why your family…’
‘Cast me out from the clergy?’ Tao finished Yutai’s sentence, ‘Yes, partly. Don’t get me wrong, I consider myself a child of the Light first and foremost. Before joining the Kings, I was completely devoted to succeeding my father as the district sage. But I always wanted to know more about Dongism. The more I studied, the more fabrications I found in our practices, and my beliefs evolved.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Yutai.
‘There was a personal discovery I made that first put me on this quest. Did you know there’s no writing that says we have to sit on a prayer plush during prayer?’
Yutai arched a brow. ‘That can’t be right. There are teachings on its spiritual symbolism; the plush is supposed to symbolise our backbone’s connection to the ground that birthed us, Kowloon. My old Dongist tutor used to hit me and my brother if we ever forgot to bring ours to our scripture lessons. I’ve never seen anyone not use it.’
‘It was a practice created by a group of southern Dongists competing with the Christian church seven hundred annui-cycles ago. You see, Dong and his disciples stood while praying. Everyone did back then. Sitting was seen as lazy, sinful. Fast forward to when parts of Kowloon were still converting from Christianity to Dongism, some time after Dong passed to the Light. Something similar between Christian and Dongist practice was that both had long weekly congregational prayers. A couple hours, at least, but it was a familiar practice for converts.’
However, while Christians sat down on their benches to pray to their God, Dongists had to stand without falter. It sounds silly, but it was a major deterrent. Fresh converts would come back with sore knees and feet, and that would be enough for them to disregard Dongism. So, a group of southern Dongists decided to reinterpret some Dongist expressions in a wildly different way, and some nonsense was created to maximise comfort during prayer: The prayer plush,’ Tao saw the stunned expression on Yutai’s face. ‘Kinda changes how you look at it all, huh?’
‘It does. Always thought it was mentioned by Dong somewhere, or perhaps a footnote in the scripture. But I’m starting to see what you mean now. Truth be told, my reasons for joining the Kings were much less lofty. I wanted to be cool, cooler than anyone else,’ Yutai confessed with a grin. ‘Not that I saw myself as uncool before, but the Kings… they’re on a whole different level. The fame, the respect, the chance to learn from the best…I won’t lie, when the offer to join came, it felt like the best thing that could ever happen to me.’
‘So, you joined for the fame?’ There was a teasing undertone to Tao’s question.
‘It’s not just that,’ Yutai defended, ‘It’s like… Like getting an acceptance letter from the most prestigious university you can think of. It in itself is an accomplishment, let alone the achievements you may make within the institution afterwards.’
Their contemplation was interrupted by the waiter placing their food in front of the — Tao’s Wildland’s Mystery and Yutai’s Gourmet Meal-Ready-to-Eat. As they reached for their chopsticks, Yutai’s wrist holocommunicator flashed. Hung was calling. Yutai glanced at Tao, who started eating his meal, and picked up the call.
‘Hey, Hung, what’s happening? Any news?’ Yutai asked.
‘Yes, my officer gave the green light for the tour. It has to be after dimming hours though; hope that’s okay.’
‘Oh yes, it is. We’re in Tsim Tsui right now, so how about we meet at Ho Man Ting station in an hour?’
‘That works. I’m looking forward to it, dear friend,’ Hung’s voice sounded sterile. It chilled Yutai, almost making him have second thoughts about his plan.
‘Same here. See you soon,’ Yutai responded before tapping his wrist to disconnect.
‘Your buddy pulled through, I see. But it makes sense why, Southern hospitality is legendary. Unfortunately for them,’ Tao murmured, his mouth full of food.
‘What did I tell you? Hung and I are tight. Your earlier scepticism about our childhood bond had me worried, I won’t lie. But him calling me his ‘dear friend’ was just the reassurance I needed,’ Yutai replied with a playful grin.
‘I have no idea how you plan to carry this out, but good luck to us, I suppose…the food is good, thank you. I’ve got this one, by the way, so you better not dare touch your wallet.’