‘You sure you two don’t want any food?’ Keung asked, slurping up a noodle as he eyed the two Tai Li operatives, Han and Jin. They sat across the table, watching him and Cheng eat.
The clatter and bustle of the café’s outdoor seating did little to ease their nerves as they waited for their Tien Tao contact to arrive.
‘I’m not a fan of Southern food,’ Jin waved off. ‘Not spicy enough. I prefer a little battle with every bite.’
Perched on the 50th floor of a Ho Man Ting groundscraper, their table was uncomfortably close to a railing that leaned precariously over the edge, worn down by years of weight.
‘Their dishes do have a mild palate,’ Cheng agreed. ‘Perhaps it’s because the South was locked out of the major spice routes during the Jingdi era. Even when they were finally allowed into the Central trade routes, it seems those flavours never fully integrated into their cuisine.’
Jin raised an eyebrow, momentarily caught off guard by Cheng’s knowledge. ‘Regardless,’ he said, ‘we’re accustomed to working on an empty stomach. Helps with focus, like taking an exam with a full bladder. We regulate our energy with a Jules Pill.’
At the mention of the pill, Han reached into his pocket and produced a small white capsule. He held it up for the Kingmakers to see before popping it into his mouth and washing it down with a sip of water.
‘Impressive,’ Keung remarked.
‘Not really. No offence,’ Cheng said, nodding towards the Tai Li. ‘They’re still eating — just all at once. But that convenience comes with a nasty trade-off: stomach cramps comparable to a migraine in your gut, forty-five minutes of ten-out-of-ten pain. Forty-five, right?’ Cheng looked at Han. ‘That’s how how long it lasts?’
‘We prefer to get over it just before the assignment starts,’ Han murmured with a nod, as Jin dropped the pill into his mouth and raised the cup for a sip.
‘I can see why we don’t do that,’ Keung observed.
Jin’s hand shot to his mouth as he almost spat his water out. With a final gulp, a wry grin formed across his wet lips. ‘Was pain really all that convinced you this pill wasn’t worth it?’
Keung looked taken aback. ‘What?’ he mouthed.
‘I’m just joking, King,’ Jin leaned on the armrest of his seat. ‘To be honest, it was almost a deal-breaker for me too. The pain fucking sucks—’ His words were sucked back into his gut as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. He raised a finger and breathed in.
‘It sucks,’ he finished with an exhale. Slowly, he eased back into his chair, stretching his stomach trying to alleviate the pain.
Keung noticed that Han remained impassive, despite having taken the pill earlier. ‘You seem to handle it well,’ he remarked.
‘I’ve been taking it longer than anyone in my unit,’ Han replied.
‘Show…off…’ Jin grunted.
Keung took in the vibrant cityscape of Ho Man Ting, alive with the bustling energy of its post-dimming nightlife. South Kowloon truly never slept. The dimmed lanterns were overwhelmed by illuminated walkways, groundscrapers adorned with flashing LEDs, and towering plazas of glass that casting their collective light onto the enclosed streets within the floors of the groundscrapers, creating a kaleidoscope of colour and movement as Ho Man Ting thrived through its perpetual night-shift.
Loud chants broadcasted from daoyinbo’s, temples of Dongism dedicated to the Light, continued to echo through the air. Unlike the rest of Kowloon, where these sacred sounds fell silent after dark, the South remained alive with their rhythmic invocations, a constant reminder of their strong faith that pulsed through its restless nights.
Han’s gaze flickered over Keung and Cheng’s Kingmaker uniform, a hint of disapproval in his eyes.
‘You keep staring at our coats, Han,’ Cheng observed.
‘I’m just surprised there’s no flexibility in the Kingmaker dress code,’ Han replied. ‘That flappy skirt might be a disservice here.’ He adjusted the collar of his plain office attire. Jin wore the same, his neatly trimmed moustache and long hair the only details setting him apart from his co-captain.
‘We aren’t trained to cater to unrealistic fears,’ Cheng responded calmly. ‘When you’re a King, you learn that the worst people can do to you is stare. But I understand that’s not true for all, I get why others might choose to blend in.’
Jin let out a low whistle. ‘You Kingmakers are somethin’ else, huh?’
Han placed his palms on the table. ‘Yezu Christ, these Tien Tao aren’t known for their tardiness, are they?’
The two Tai Li glanced around, prompting Keung to do the same. He isn’t wrong — it’s been ten minutes past when they were supposed to arrive.
Behind them, the café buzzed with energy, yet many eyes were openly fixed on their table. Han was right about one thing. The Tai Li blended into the crowd, but Keung and Cheng stood out in their dark Kingmaker trench coats, the golden accents and stripes gleaming even brighter in the South.
The cashier moved between customers, casting curious glances their way. Patrons paused when they realised who they were passing. For some, it was their first time seeing Kingmakers since the District Rebellions, and for those poor old souls, fear and paranoia struck deep. Kingmakers didn’t represent the brute militant; they embodied the cunning officer leading from behind, armed with a charming smile and a suspicious mastery of even the most obscure Southern Yue accents. Their intentions were always deadlier than what they presented themselves as, and that alone kept most at bay.
‘So, what ranks are our two Rioter contacts, sir?’ Han asked Keung.
‘Nwin Twan is Senior Staff,’ Keung replied.
‘Sheesh’ Jin said weakly from his reclined position on the chair, eyes closed. ‘Staff Rioters are fucking scary.’
‘Ng Chan is Cavalry Guard,’ Keung continued.
‘Holy shit,’ Jin slowly sat up, with a bit more energy. ‘They’re sending in the big dogs — for raiding an empty base?’
‘You’re right…Cavalry Guards aren’t deployed unless it’s wartime,’ Cheng noted as he pinched his chin. ‘They’re supposed to be in perpetual training until disaster strikes. Either Mr Enji is being extremely generous…’
‘Or there’s a message in there somewhere,’ Han finished.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Cheng began, but his words trailed off as the atmosphere in the café shifted. Conversations hushed, and all eyes turned towards the staircase leading up to the outdoor area. Keung followed their gaze and saw two Rioters ascending the steps. Clad in their infamous face visor helmets and black plate armour, topped with massive shields strapped to their backs, they walked past patrons and approached the table.
The two Kingmakers rose from their seats as the Rioters approached, their movements looking mechanical. Han and Jin, the Tai Li operatives, stood up more slowly, their eyes fixed on the newcomers. Without acknowledging them, the Rioters walked past the Tai Li captains and extended their hands to Keung and Cheng.
‘Light Illumine,’ the Rioters greeted.
‘Light Illumine,’ Keung replied with a slight nod. I must remember to keep up with the Southern customs. They interpret Dongism different to us.
‘These are the two Tai Li who will be joining us,’ Keung informed, gesturing towards Han and Jin. The Rioters’ faces remained expressionless beneath their face-shields as they eyed Han and Jin, their eyes, cold and assessing. They finally extended their hands. After a brief hesitation, the Tai Li greeted them, both their grips firm but their expressions guarded.
‘Light Illumine.’
‘Light Illumine.’
****
Tao took in the intricate defences. ‘Fascinating,’ he mused. ‘Your outer defences might seem excessive now, but during the District Rebellions, they would’ve been the fortress’s saving grace.’
He recalled the details he’d noticed when entered the fort with Yutai and Hung ten minutes ago. ‘A detachable drawbridge, its chasm threatening instant death to invaders. And those holes above the gates,’ he continued, ‘perfect for cracking skulls as your enemies scramble to enter the fort. The stairwells are narrow, and the steps slope down at a dangerous decline. I almost slipped on the way up. Pouring some lubricant could make it impossible for a battalion to secure the watch towers. The maze-like path to the courtyard, the potential for deadly southern traps…it’s a masterclass in defensive strategy.’
Hung tilted his head as he nodded slowly at Tao. He leaned left to Yutai. ‘Your companion has a keen eye for detail. Have you always been fascinated by the district rebellions, Tao?’
‘In my line of work, understanding the intricacies of war is essential. It’s no different with Yutai, right?’
Caught off guard, Yutai stammered. ‘Uh, yes. I, uh…well, obviously…saw all of that too.’
Hung’s silhouette was imposing, though not uncommon among the Rioters. Southerners had distinctive physical traits that set them apart from the average Kowlooni: their characteristic southern tan and notably tall stature. Ushi, Tao’s best friend and a Southerner, was among the tallest in the tower. Unlike other elite forces, where height varied, the Tien Tao were exceptional—they stood out in more ways than one.
And although Hung was not Southerner by blood and lacked their characteristic brown skin, he looked like them in every other way.
The Rioter uniform, consisting of layers of black plates, complemented by a helmet with a retractable face shield, gave them an intimidating presence. In the heat of riots, they brandished transparent, extendable shields and electric batons — tools that could be as lethal or as benign as the situation demanded.
Inside the fort, the Rioters just wore their black plate armour. Their flexibility ensured unhindered movement, but their weight demanded strength. As a result, Rioters like Hung had a distinct, muscular build, further emphasised by their signature, buzzed haircuts, a strict aspect of their disciplinary code. This wasn’t a requirement for the ordinary law-enforcing gangsters of Ho Man Ting, the Nanfang.
The three walked through an open doorway and stepped into the central outdoor courtyard, an oasis of serenity amidst the fort’s imposing structure. An immaculate bed of pebbles and cobblestone pathways framed a fountain, whose gentle swirling and rhythmic dripping were the only sounds breaking the stillness. Amidst the darkness of the dimmed lanterns, the twilight shrouding this beautiful bubble of an atmosphere only added to its tranquillity.
‘This courtyard was once a temple dedicated to Dong,’ Hung began, his voice echoing through the square. ‘Over time, the fort’s religious significance faded, but this courtyard remains a place of solace and prayer for us. Dong’s watchful presence is still felt by many Rioters here.’
Tao felt a sense of peace wash over him in the courtyard. Even before Hung mentioned its origins as a place of spirituality, Tao could feel his soul connect with the space. ‘Ho Man Ting is the birthplace Dongism,’ he said aloud. ‘Sites of worship here hold far more power than anywhere else in Kowloon.’
Hung continued talking about the courtyard as the three strolled through it. Tao felt Yutai tap on his shoulder. Glancing back, Yutai leaned in over his shoulder and whispered. ‘Did you forget we’re not actually here for the tour? You’ve been too focused on the fort! I haven’t even planted a single tap!’
‘I thought my job was to keep Hung distracted!’ Tao whispered back. ‘I’ve been doing just that!’
Hung flicked his gaze to the two whispering, and Yutai immediately cocked his head back and pulled a smile.
‘Sorry, I was just telling Tao how I want to see the famous Tien Tao dojos.’
Tao looked impassive, trying to hide any sign of deceit, and nodded.
‘The dojos are locked at this hour, so I’ll need to grab the keys from my dormitory. Follow me through here,’ Hung changed course and veered right, approaching an open door back into the fort.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Tao and Yutai walked side by side, with Hung leading the way. Every so often, Yutai would try to engage Hung in light banter, attempting to rekindle the camaraderie of their youth. But Hung’s responses were curt, his demeanour distant. It was painfully obvious to Tao that whatever childhood bond Yutai shared with Hung had frayed over the years. He just hoped Yutai realised that too.
****
An uneasy truce bound the three factions—the Kingmakers, the Tai Li, and the Tien Tao Rioters—as they navigated the bustling Southern Kowloon streets towards the supposed abandoned Yang base. Disdain and mistrust floated interchangeably between the groups, but all were hidden behind neutral, trained faces.
Cheng walked amidst the party, his gaze sharp, senses alert. When he’d first studied the mission brief, it struck him as odd that such high-ranking Rioters were assigned to a low-risk operation. The thought had lingered at the back of his mind, but now, after speaking with the Tai Li moments ago, his suspicions crystallised into realisation: The Rioter Cavalry were never found outside their fort unless at war.
So, what are they doing here?
‘I’m glad you guys chose the rendezvous so close to the mission site,’ Keung said to the two Rioters leading. ‘That café was nice.’
The Rioters did not say anything back. Keung exchanged a glance with Cheng. Real friendly, these guys, Cheng thought to himself.
‘How did you guys come to uncover this base?’ Cheng probed, his tone more assertive than Keung’s.
One of the Rioters finally responded, his voice flat and emotionless. ‘Shortly after Jian’s execution, we received word that tenants in a unit near Ho Man Ting City were hurriedly moving out, carrying loads of computers and tech. We investigated the unit but realised the place was booby-trapped to hell. That’s how we know it’s Yang. Mr Enji sought Kingmaker assistance to clear out the base for evidence, and so here we are.’
Cheng quietly nodded to himself. The explanation made sense to him.
Ho Man Ting City, the district’s capital, unfolded before them — a cityscape of foreign sights and sounds. With the title of ‘the city of a million lanterns,’ it was clear that they lived up to their name. They hung in an abundance over their heads in every street and walkway they found themselves in, albeit dimmed. Keung wished to see them in all their glory.
Huge, square, LED screens showcased advertisements for local South Kowlooni products rather than the big ten brands of North Kowloon that dominated elsewhere. Groundscrapers towered higher than anywhere else in Kowloon, many soaring beyond 120 floors.
Narrow passages forced the group into single file, ducking under low archways and dodging loose ductwork. Cheng narrowly avoided a sparking wire, its intermittent flashes reflecting off the damp walls. Makeshift walkways bridged collapsed sections of the floor, creaking under their weight. Despite the obstacles, Southern foot traffic flowed steadily in front and behind them, the locals navigating the urban landscape with familiarity.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of incense, sizzling street food, and machine lubricant. Wild Southern mutts wove through the crowds and lounged in packs in shadowy corners, their tails swishing to ward off fleas. For Keung, Cheng, and the Tai Li, these creatures were a novelty, familiar only from pet shops.
Above the ambient noise, the ever-present echoes of distant Daoyinbos — the temples of Dongism — broadcast chants from the Book of Lumen, a sound that never ceased in the South. The sacred hymns added an otherworldly aura to the foreign Southern lands. This effect was intensified by the prayers being chanted in Gouyue, or Old South Yue — an extinct dialect of Southern Yue that Dong was believed to have spoken, now becoming an inherently holy dialect.
While the verticality of Kowloon was generally a chaotic mess, here in Ho Man Ting, it somehow was worse. They traversed layers of groundscrapers, climbing steep staircases only to descend again moments later. The city’s architecture seemed designed to confuse outsiders, but the party pressed on.
****
The next room Tao and Yutai entered felt like stepping into a museum. It was a large, square space with a central wall dividing it into two sections. The white walls were lined with glass displays, each showcasing various artefacts illuminated by cool lights.
‘We call this room “Zhongguo”,’ Hung said as Tao glanced at each of the displays. ‘Care to guess why?’
Yutai scratched his head. But for Tao, it was a very familiar name.
‘I take it’s because this room is the closest we’ll ever get to the surface,’ Tao replied, leaning over one of the displays, his eyes gleaming with fascination. ‘I’m gonna go on a limb and say I’m staring at what Dong called a “mobile phone,” a communication device used by the surface civilisations.’
The object looked to be a sleek and black rectangular device with no buttons. It’s surface looked cracked and fractured, as if damaged from a fall.
‘So, what’s Zhongguo mean?’ Yutai asked. ‘It sounds familiar, as if I heard it somewhere recently.’
Tao nodded and looked at up Yutai. ‘Probably because The Ibilis mentioned the name during his speech. Zhongguo was the surface civilisation that was directly above Kowloon at some point. It was the first kingdom Dong stepped foot in. They say the Yu Tower is styled after what a typical building in Zhongguo looked like.’
Hung nodded his head in affirmation. He raised a finger as if remembering something. ‘Tao, I need to show you something you’ll want to see. Don’t move an inch, I’ll be back in a second.’
Hung hurried out of the exhibition room, leaving the two alone and waiting.
‘Should I leave now to plant a tap?’ Yutai asked Tao.
‘No, it’ll be too risky. He can come back any second. Best we just wait here.’
Yutai tapped his foot and whistled, looking at the various artefacts around the room as Tao continued studying the artefacts. ‘You think we could take this fort if we wanted to?’
Tao raised an eyebrow. Yutai and his wild hypotheticals. ‘No chance.’
He remembered how often Yutai and Shing bantered about fantasy battle situations.
Yutai feigned shock, his voice dripping with mock indignation. ‘Come on!’ he exclaimed while keeping his voice hushed. ‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because. If we could, we would’ve done it during the rebellions. Ho Man Ting is a strategic district in the heart of the South. It’s cultural significance alone would have made it a priority for us to capture, but could we do it? Light knows we tried, brother.’
‘Okay, I get that, but I recall from our classes that the Kingmakers focused their fighting in the East and in the Wildlands. The combat seen in Ho Man Ting was done by Western and Central gangsters. What I’m saying is this: a small battalion of experienced Kingmakers armed with the latest tech. Why the hell wouldn’t it work?’
‘Kingmakers aren’t trained for storming fortresses. During war, we’re strategists. We guide the charge, not lead it. We’ve rarely ever been on the front lines.’
Yutai’s eyes sparkled with a challenge. ‘Alright then, picture this: Five experienced Kingmakers lead a military campaign to take Fort Ho Man Ting. Surrounding the fort are thirty Ji Sias, fifty Pak militiamen and sixty Kam Sham Black Jackets. A frontal assault, 7-cycles worth of upkeep. The fort gets adequate prep time, too.’
Tao pretended to ponder, tapping his chin. ‘Depends on the Kingmakers leading. What rank are they ? If they’re legate-plus, I’ve got to hand it to you, it might be a challenge for the Rioters. But still, I wouldn’t be a fan of the odds. Even if we add a Dragon to your little fantasy team.’
‘Okay, final change to the conditions. Cheng, Shing, Ushi, you, and myself. With us, two-hundred gangsters ready to die at our command, reckon we could pull it off?’
‘You’ve just downgraded the legates to a bunch of prefects!’ Tao let out a laugh. ‘But, to our credit, if we weren’t the most promising prefects in the tower, General Denzhen would never have picked us for Keung’s detachment. Throw in General Cao and another 300 suicidal gangsters into our team, and we might just reach the courtyard before all five-hundred and six corpses are lying dead on the fort floors.’
Yutai chuckled once again, shaking his head with a grin spelling defeat in the trivial little thought experiment.
Tao and Yutai turned their attention to the sound of approaching footsteps as Hung was returning, holding a small card in his hand.
‘Apologies, I just needed to get clearance. There’s something special we have in the fort that not many people know about, and that’s what I’m going to show you.’
Tao raised an eyebrow, suspecting it was another surface artefact. Still, he couldn’t imagine what they had that required separate clearance.
Hung led the pair to the back of the room, passing glass displays on either side. They stopped in front of a plain white wall, positioned between two display cases that were spaced further apart than the others. The wall itself seemed unremarkable, but there was an odd sense of emptiness, as if something should have been adorning the wall, or a third display case should have filled the gap between the two.
Hung swiped the card against the blank, white wall, and as if out of some spy movie, a section of the wall began rumbling and slowly sliding down, revealing a small, square chamber beyond.
‘We had to keep this particular artefact hidden from view. The other Southern districts know we have it, but none know where we keep it. It would certainly cause headache for Warlord Xinjian if we reminded our neighbours we have this. We’ve stubbornly held onto too many of Dong’s holy artefacts, claiming it’s because Ho Man Ting was his home. That hasn’t stopped the other districts from petitioning to have some for their own museums. But this one…we’d never consider giving away.’
As the wall finally slid down, Hung stepped inside, leading the two men into the hidden chamber. In the centre of this small room stood one final display case, similar to the others outside but longer in length. Hung stepped aside to give the Kingmakers a clear view. Tao immediately recognised the object inside and felt as though his jaw might drop to the floor.
Resting sideways on two short stands was a gleaming spear. This wasn’t just some artefact from the surface like the others. ‘Anju’s Spear,’ Tao whispered to himself. Yutai stared at him in disbelief before snapping his gaze to the weapon. His jaw, too, fell.
‘That’s right,’ Hung said. ‘This is the legendary spear Anju used to defend Dong, right up until his death. Anju was the first to recognise Dong’s mission, the first to place his trust in his return from his divine pilgrimage.’
Tao slowly approached the weapon, feeling unworthy to be in its presence. His eyes were drawn to every tiny nick and scratch — imperfections from over 800 annui-cycles ago, and untouched by the ravages of time since. Kneeling to get a closer look, the sword lay resplendent in its case, its blade gleaming with an ethereal light. The blade at its tip curved gently, while it’s body, thick and ornate, bore inscriptions from a forgotten era of Kowloon, too intricate to decipher from the distance they stood.
‘While Dong was up on the surface,’ Hung lectured, ‘Anju rallied believers of the Light to await his return. Despite harsh persecution, Anju’s faith in his friend never wavered. And when Dong returned after four annui-cycles, against all odds, a sea of followers greeted him, all thanks to Anju’s tireless devotion.’
Hung’s voice softened, more intimate, as if sharing a secret. The two Kingmakers stared at the spear and listened intently. ‘Anju wasn’t just a disciple; he was Dong’s shield, his protector. This very spear was wielded in defence of the faith against countless adversaries. During Dong’s four annui-cycle travels, Anju mastered the highest forms of swordsmanship just for him. The spear’s most poignant tale, however, is from Dong’s final hours.’
Yutai turned to look at Hung while Tao hung on every word. The mystery of Dong’s death was one of Kowloon’s greatest unsolved riddles. The South had its own version of events, often clashing with the accepted history, and Yutai looked eager to hear what the Rioters truly believed.
‘Dong was in his fifties,’ Hung continued. ‘He had fallen from grace in the Yaozhi courts because of a second vision he received. This vision, whatever it was, didn’t sit well with Emperor Hongwu — unlike his first vision thirty annui-cycles ago that welcomed him into the Emperor’s council. Hongwu forbade Dong from canonising this new vision into scripture.’
Tao was familiar with this story, more akin to a religious conspiracy theory than accepted doctrine; the legend of the lost trilogy. Hung continued. ‘Dong believed this second vision was more important than the first, the one that sent him on his mission to the surface. He defied the Emperor and chose to publish the new trilogy. Dong’s family home was raided by Kingmakers soon after, enacting a Royal Regicide against our messenger. Anju was the final obstacle between them and Dong’s family in the estate that cold morning. In the end, both Anju and Dong fell, side by side, betrayed by the Emperor.’
Yutai raised a brow. ‘Regicided? By the Kingmakers? He wasn’t even a Lord, your syntax doesn’t even make sense,’ he barely held back a scoff in disbelief. ‘The academy taught us he passed onto the Light in both physical and spiritual forms— that’s why his body was never found.’
Hung’s gaze remained fixed on the spear, his voice tinged with bitterness. ‘Outside the South, history is rinsed and sanitised, altering tales that paint a sweet picture. Dong’s relationship with Emperor Hongwu wasn’t as harmonious as the history books claim.’
‘I doubt that,’ Yutai countered. ‘Emperor Hongwu was a convert to Dongism himself. Why would he kill his own prophet?’
‘The South sees Hongwu and his golden age differently than the rest of Kowloon,’ Hung replied. ‘You see him as a great innovator, a prodigious Emperor. You think we Southerners must revere him for transforming Kowloon’s religious landscape in a single generation. But we have no illusions about why Hongwu did what he did. He didn’t love Dong or his message — he exploited him to secure his own legacy.’
Yutai’s expression darkened as Hung continued. ‘Hongwu’s status as the greatest Kowlooni Emperor was cemented when he brought Dong into his court. Dong was his secret weapon, the reason for the golden age that followed. It legitimised the Yaozhi reign under the eyes of God. It was a power play, not a sign of genuine faith. Hongwu famously fetishised every aspect of the surface that Dong documented and brought back. In the end, Emperor Hongwu admired the stories of the Roman Emperor Constantine more than anything Dong had to offer. Particularly, he wanted to replicate Emperor Constantine’s Christian legacy using Dongism; the inspiration for the successful golden age he ushered; Kowloon’s first Zhaisheng. That’s why he renamed the Kingmakers after Roman ranks and became a source of obsession. I doubt Hongwu even bothered with his obligatory prayers.’
‘I don’t buy it,’ Yutai said firmly. ‘If Emperor Hongwu really did all that, it would be more known by now. 800 annui-cycles has passed! Thousands of historians and theologians all over Kowloon have dedicated their lives studying Dong’s final moments. Are they all part of some conspiracy? Southerners don’t love Dong more than we do, Hung. We value justice as much as anyone else.’
Hung’s voice was barely audible, whispering to himself, a murmur lost in the vastness of the fort. ‘Justice is a rare commodity in this world…’
‘Don’t feel too bad, Hung,’ Tao’s interjected through the tense air hearing the bitter remark, a sharp shutdown to his self-pity. ‘Anju’s daughter spent the remainder of her years tracking down those who had a hand in the regicide of Dong and her father. I know history paints her as a violent vigilante, but from the Lords who plotted in secret, to the grunts who just followed orders, she made sure everyone she thought involved was drifting lifelessly down the Memorial Pipes. That, to me, is classic Kowlooni justice.’
Yutai shot Tao a disapproving look but remained silent. His understanding of Dongism and history was too limited to add anything meaningful to the conversation.
At the same time, Hung looked at Tao too, a hint of caution in his eyes. ‘I didn’t expect you to know the end of that tale. But then again, you’d know she missed one crucial conspirator in Dong’s murder; Emperor Hongwu himself. Now, his legacy stands as the greatest of any Kowlooni ruler.’
Tao’s voice dropped to a menacing purr, aiming for the throat of Hungs’ unspoken thoughts. ‘Do you believe the Yaozhi’s of now still owe their blood to justice? For what their ancestors may have done to our prophet?’
Hung locked eyes with Tao, a tumult of emotions swirling beneath the surface. Tao’s question pressed down on the room, leaving even Yutai momentarily stunned by its bluntness. But Tao didn’t let the question drift away, he stared, silently demanding an answer.
‘I fear I may break a few federal laws if I were to speak my mind on that,’ he paused, his gaze distant. ‘Whatever true justice looks like, I am confident Hongwu faced it after death. And I know that the remaining Yaozhi’s will face due justice once they stand before the Light.’Tao leaned in, his voice low and challenging. ‘Do you think the Yang is the Light’s answer to justice?’
Hung’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. ‘I…don’t know…’
He quickly shook off his hesitation and spoke with renewed conviction. ‘Anju was native to the area we now know as Ho Man Ting. It’s only fitting that his blade finds its resting place here, hidden from prying eyes. Normally, I would never allow a Kingmaker to lay eyes on Anju’s spear. I’m not even sure why I showed you. Come on, let’s quickly get to the dorms and get the keys to the dojo. It’s getting late.’
Tao’s gaze pierced through Hung as he turned to leave the room, sensing the depths and mysteries hidden beneath his facade of a generic Tien Tao Rioter. As the tour progressed, their guide, much like the fort, held secrets to be unveiled.