Despite planes having existed for over two centuries, I’d never had the pleasure of taking one. Back home, sedentary living was pretty much my motto, with me only travelling to major cities like Shanghai or Beijing to complete the occasional mission or to pay heed to martial societies. And even in those rare instances, few and far between, trains were the common method of transportation since high-speed rails take you to just about anywhere these days.
So, as a martial hero of the Wulin, I think it’s quite understandable how even one of my calibre might be scared or, even worse, possibly shed a tear over a plane taking off. After all, the sudden escalation of speed and height could very well unsettle the bravest of warriors, let alone this young disciple…
“Ooh, Lady Guanyin… Punish the wicked Wright brothers who invented this steel demon…”
Hugging my rilakkuma bear, I hold the stuffed toy close to my chest—eyes shut in fervent denial.
“Aw, don’t cry, Yunluo. Here, you can hold your aunt’s hand if you so wish.”
Sitting a metre across, my dear martial Aunt Samsere extends a hand in pity—a gesture which I politely refuse, holding an open palm in reaction.
“Nonsense. My tears are not of fear but in sorrow of all those who suffer at the behest of these monstrous contraptions.”
Samsere starts chuckling for a reason beyond me. “With your outfit and mannerisms, you could very well pass as a maiden of virtue.”
“Gibberish.”
“Then how do you justify needing so little makeup to look so cute? Or better yet, how do you justify cuddling a stuffed animal?”
“Have you Tianjin pan-fried stuffed pork buns for brains?” I smirk. “Only a man of unparalleled strength and virility may tame such a wild beast and subjugate it for comfort. As always, you foreigners lack the sensibilities to see the whole picture.”
Alas, I can hardly fault my dear aunt. While she has trained in the Snowcave Sect for five years longer than I, her sensibilities are still distinctly foreign, unable to match the sensitivities of a true han. Thankfully, no one is here to bear witness to her cultural slips. In this luxurious ‘first class’ cabin, only she and I take hold, having three maids to tend to our every need.
Owing to our sponsor in France, we’ve been granted the privilege of a private jet—a veritable machine capable of going over 2,500 kilometres per hour and reaching Saint-Ys in just short of three. With the low-pitched hum of take-off over, I turn my gaze outdoors, watching the looming clouds below.
“...Just who sponsored us, anyway?”
“A beautiful lady with ample bosom and character.”
“Yeah, right.”
Not that this Honoured Disciple would care, but chances are it’s probably some old geezer with too much power for his own good. Getting clearance for a high-speed jet, much less after The War, is no small feat, after all…
“Curses…”
Wrapped in the fear of a dreadful premonition, I muster whatever courage I have left.
“If my fate is to be molested by a geriatric pervert, then so be it. Let it be known that the Twin Ardent Thunder would give it all for the sake of his sect…”
“As I said, it’s a beautiful French lady with ample bosom and character!” Her arm extends into view. With the swiftness of a bird in flight, she then pinches my cheek, stretching it like rice cake. “Do you think I’d let my dear Yunluo be molested by some grandpa with a penchant for pretty young boys, huh?! Do you think so lowly of your aunt?!”
“Well, from what I’d heard from the others, you are the sexual deviant that posited me wearing this in the first place. If nothing else, I did also catch you reading… manga.”
“Hey, don’t pin this on manga! It’s peak entertainment, ya know!”
“How can I not?! Just the other day, I saw a supposed ‘manga’ of yours describing the sexual frivolities between Lü Bu and Guan Yu…”
Sadness takes my heart. I attempt to mull over something else but find my mind transplanted to that vile day, images flashing in full vividity. To see two beloved figures of my country’s history, much less mortal enemies, engage in such despicable acts is nothing short of slanderous…
“I’ll never forgive anime…”
Shedding a tear for the warriors of past, I shut my eyes, readying for troubles to come. Allowing serenity to take hold, I thus pass the next two minutes in meditation before promptly watching high-definition French cinema the rest of the way. With a variety of subtitled films for entertainment, I attempt to spend my trip as productively as possible, studying the intricacies and dialects of this foreign language by means of note-taking and repetition.
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“So, the French call it a ‘royale with cheese’... Très, très, intéressant…”
I’d already learned the language as part of the Snowcave Sect’s curriculum, but there’s nothing lost in some last-second revision, right?
Engrossed in study, the next three hours pass in no time. It’s only when Samsere calls out, jostling me and pointing outside, that I come to terms with my arrival—turning to face the cabin window.
“Yunluo, Yunluo, we’re in Saint-Ys!”
Outside, snow layers the ground like a warm blanket, and the sun, filtered through sheets of clouds, diffuses with a soft, mellow quality. Soon after, the plane readies to land, bouncing up and about along the runway before ceasing like a carriage in the dry earth.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I grab my bag and make for the exit. Samsere follows, locking arms with me and smiling. When ten minutes lapse, the plane’s door opens and the cold sweeps in, ushering in some long-needed fresh air.
“Merci beaucoup!” I say in a thankful tone, bowing to the maids at the door.
Samsere does the same and, with me in tow, hastens to descend the plane’s stairs. Making sure not to trip, we eventually reach the ground and, in turn, stand face-to-face with an elderly gentleman. Like a stock standard template of ‘old French butler’, the man wears a white business suit and has short grey hair. Moreover, a pair of golden spectacles sit atop his nose, from which two blue eyes peer through like a set of sapphire gems.
If my guesses are correct, this man should be a master of serving cheese, torturing geese for liver, and seducing women as a pastime.
“Bonjour!” I bow. “I am Xie Yunluo. Like your people, I enjoy eating foie gras, snails, and frog legs!”
The man replies in silence and spears me with a foreboding glare.
What a formidable opponent… It appears the so-called ‘French Audacity’ is a real phenomenon after all.
Steeling my resolve, I return his glare in full force, puffing out my chest and pride.
He would, too, redouble his efforts, staring back with an even colder edge than before.
“Hey, now, let us try to get along, yes? The name’s Samsere, and here’s Yunluo. We came on behalf of the Snowcave Sect to meet with your master.”
“Very well.”
The elderly man coughs under his breath, reaching between the folds of his suit jacket. Turning into an imperceptible blur, his hand flings forward, unleashing a torrent of projectiles.
“Old man.” I smile. “You should know, The Twice Ardent Thunder yields to no mere cutlery.”
Gripping three knives between the gaps of my right hand, I return them in full force. The man catches them, watching the glint of soft silver under the afternoon sun.
“Impressive,” he mumbles, belying his inherent indifference. “If nothing else, you Orient folk have good hand-eye coordination.”
Almost immediately, the butler breaks into a sprint, dashing across the grey runway. Samsere and I follow, trying to keep pace. I stare down, visibly frustrated at my dress, before lifting it by the hems for maximum efficiency.
“Hehe. Just like a maiden in full bloom!”
I bite my lip in frustration. “M-more like a man or—urgh!”
Unable to muster a clever retort, I concentrate my energy on running. Despite the limitations of my clothing, I’m still able to keep pace with the butler, running past a sliding glass door and into the airport with relative finesse.
“Hora!”
Leaping onto a nearby escalator, I make my way up, still in hot pursuit. Once atop, I find myself in a carpeted hallway, illuminated yellow under faux chandeliers.
“Psst!” Samsere nudges me in the side, sending a sharp ache through my nerves. “Let’s try not to get deported, shall we?”
Stifling my breath, it comes to me why. The walls around are interlaid with glass panels, from which a small customs checkpoint comes through. In addition, several armed men roam about the halls, donned in matte black body suits and carrying rifles in their arms.
“Security is tight…”
That’s not to mention the automated turrets on the ceilings, equipped with a high enough RPS and calibre to tear even the most armoured knight into shreds. While I’d seen those back home, coming across one overseas unnerves me more. It’s a stark reminder. A symbol of The War’s impact in every crevice of the world.
“Okay…” Manifesting the elegance drilled into my head, I steady my posture. Joining Samsere in a relatively packed crowd, I attempt to regulate my breathing, reminding myself that for all intents and purposes, I’m just an inconspicuous, unremarkable nobody with totally nothing of note.
Red-faced and unsteady, I feel Samsere’s hand grip mine, tugging me along.
“Uwah…”
It’s… It’s just so embarrassing! How can I, Twice Ardent Thunder, be spotted wearing something like this, much less in broad daylight?! What impression of China does it give these Westerners of my country’s people, let alone the younger generation?!
With unease overwhelming my conscience, I desperately try to assess the reactions of those around, catching sight of a multitude of knights in full plate. This observation prompts only further shame. To reveal one’s disgrace is one thing; to do so before warriors of such reverence is another!
The only consolation I have is that I’m overthinking things. A small silver lining upon which I cling with all my might and hope.
“Yunluo.” Samsere tugs at my hand, smiling and ever so calm; she whispers, “Yunluo… If you keep this up, people are going to think I’m selling you into human trafficking or something.”
“TRAFIC D’ÊTRES HUMAINS?”
Unable to contain myself any longer, I’d released all pent-up angst in one loud burst of emotion. Which, on the bright side, hey, at least I know the French term for human trafficking! And, on the worst, overwhelmingly more important end—so does everyone else!
Naturally, this lands just about everyone with their eyes on me, unmoving and compassionate, extending their sympathies to this hapless (in their view) maiden. And so, amidst great shame and even greater embarrassment, Xie Yunluo says only this.
“...Forgive me.”