“To the North! Bottoms up!”
Quietly sitting to one side, Song stifled a sigh as Master Rain drained his bowl of wine dry in a single gulp. Beside him, martial brother Fung and young patriarch BoShui did the same as they celebrated Master Rain’s needlessly barbaric victory over his underwhelming opponents. Waiting for their food to arrive, she shifted closer to the restaurant's window to pet the laughing bird perched on the windowsill. Though Master Rain set them free many days ago, all twenty of the boisterous birds followed him here like flying, feathered puppies, often bringing stolen buttons or bits of metal to exchange for food and attention.
Master Rain certainly had a way with animals, as evidenced by the poor turtle sitting in the streets, peering into the restaurant’s second floor like a nosy housewife spying on her husband. Meanwhile, a steady stream of pious peasants and curious commoners marched by, ignored by the object of their attention and kept back by a contingent of Royal Guards. Some of the onlookers stopped to kneel while others cried with joy, farmers, merchants, shopkeepers, and labourers all grateful for the Divine Turtle’s presence. How would they react if they knew the Mother’s Servant was named ‘Ping-Ping’? Would they be more reverent, less reverent, or would nothing change?
Not that it mattered. By now, every living soul in Nan Ping had heard the Legate’s decree. The Divine Turtle’s presence was a sign of the Mother’s Blessing and Falling Rain responsible for her safety. The young Legate was a clever man, using Ping-Ping to inspire devotion, raise morale, and indirectly imply that the Mother approved of the Emperor’s decision to abandon the West. All nonsense and hogwash, but judging by the unending line of people waiting to see Ping-Ping, it would appear his plan succeeded.
So, as the person who brought Ping-Ping here, Master Rain now enjoyed the Imperial Legate’s favour and protection. Along with the many rules in place meant to keep the First Imperial Grand Conference from devolving into anarchy and bloodshed, this ensured the nobles of Central would think twice before acting against Master Rain, especially the families of the eight defeated youngsters. In truth, those eight families might even dispatch experts to protect Master Rain since they’d make perfect scapegoats for other factions seeking to harm him.
Pleased by Song’s gentle ministrations, the sweet laughing bird hopped off the windowsill and glided into her lap for a cuddle. The flutter of wings caught Master Rain’s attention, who leaned over and smiled. “Hello Yipi,” he said, hands straying dangerously close to Song’s body as he stroked the bird’s head. “Nice to see you two are getting along.”
Shrinking back from his attentions, Song nodded and kept silent, praying Master Rain wouldn’t overstep his bounds. It was always nerve-wracking when someone besides Mama, sister, or Lady Lin held Song’s chain, and doubly so when Rain held it. Had she known they were stopping for dinner, she would have taken a risk and asked Mama to hand her chain to Warrior Ghurda instead, a complete stranger. Eager to resume his training, Warrant Officer Huushal didn’t wait around for the Royal Guards to clear a path. Instead, he, Warrior Ghurda, and the curious little elderly half-wolf left using the side streets too small for the Divine Turtle. If Song had gone with them, she’d likely be back in camp with her chain clasped firmly around Lady Lin’s neck instead of sitting in a restaurant with three young, half-drunk, lecherous men.
Sounding off with a raucous peal of laughter, Roc swooped in for his fair share of attention. Distracted, Master Rain left Song alone to appease the rotund Roc bobbing on his shoulder. Silently counting her blessings, Song closed her eyes and waited for the fear to subside. Normally, being around these three wouldn’t worry her too much, but returning to the Central Province brought back memories best left forgotten. At least they weren’t in an enclosed, private room, instead sitting at a table on the open second floor in full view of the multitude of other guests. A drab, utilitarian establishment, the restaurant couldn’t be considered high class but the influx of visitors to Nan Ping had driven prices to premium rates, which meant the customers were mostly well-paid warriors or wealthy merchants, none of whom seem pleased to be sharing the room with Roc and Yipi. Though all the other birds remained outside, it was only by the barest margins as they perched on the windowsills, laughing and squawking for scraps. Master Rain shouldered most of the blame, drawing dark stares every time a bird issued its distinctive cry and ruined the otherwise peaceful ambiance.
“How unfortunate.” From the table beside them, Major General Han BoHai shook his head and said, “Young hero Rain, I would drink a toast in your honour but it seems my bowl is empty.”
Grabbing his wine jug, Master Rain hurried over to fill the man’s bowl. “Forgive my oversight, please let me pour you a bowl. No need to honour me, today’s events were nothing of note, merely crushing dry weeds and smashing rotten wood.” Though Rain spoke loudly enough for all to hear, the other patrons were too afraid to act with the Captain of the Royal Guards also sitting there, whose bowl Rain also filled. “And you, esteemed Captain, thank you for your hard work clearing the way back to our camp.”
An earnest, tidy man perhaps a decade Song's senior, the Captain graciously accepted the drink with a smile. “Keep your thanks young hero, the Legate commands and this one obeys.” Master Rain also poured bowls for BoShui’s escorts, the only other people at the table. Outside, the shabbily dressed Guan Suo sat with his own jug of wine, smoking his pipe and keeping Ping-Ping, the quins, and other Royal Guards company, while the fearsome Guard Leader was nowhere to be found.
Which meant Song was the only woman left in the entire delegation, the others having stayed behind or already returned to camp.
After drinking a toast with the older warriors, Master Rain returned to his table for yet another drink with his friends. Sharing a silent toast, they exchanged knowing looks and half-hidden smiles before quaffing their foul-tasting liquor. Finished with their secret exchange, Master Rain shattered his bowl against the floor and shouted, “More wine.”
Mother in Heaven. Crimson-cheeks and slurred words, Master Rain was already drunk. Worried he hadn't learned from past mistakes, Song looked to the Major General for help and found him smiling at the younger men’s obnoxious behaviour. Did he know nothing? Another bowl or two and Master Rain would turn into a belligerent, conceited brat, one who possessed the gall to demand a Brigadier kowtow before him. No, that was years ago, when he held no rank. Now, as a Second Grade Warrant Officer, who wouldn’t Master Rain insult?
Worried he might ignite yet another feud, Song almost didn’t notice Master Rain shifting his chair towards her. With her greatest fear come to pass, she quickly slid away while pretending not to notice his intentions. Choking back her tears, she cursed him beneath her breath and lamented sister’s poor choice in men. Three bowls of liquor were all it took to reveal his true self, a lecherous, unfaithful brute who thought to take advantage of a poor slave. Clearing his throat, he placed his hand on the table and wiggled his fingers for her attention, hinting for her to take his hand and play her part, but Song continued feigning ignorance and stared out the window. If he wanted to take advantage, then he’d have to force her with the Oaths and the moment her chain landed in someone else’s hands, she’d make his crimes known.
After a long silence, Master Rain sighed and slid away, a minor victory for Song. Steeling herself for his next attempt, she refused to look back as he chatted up his two cronies. Caught up in good cheer and drink, their conversation turned to mocking Rain’s defeated foes loudly enough for the other tables to hear. “When those painted Central fops took the stage,” Fung said, choking back his laughs, “I expected a slaughter and you certainly did not disappoint. The look on that first idiot’s face when you sent him flying had me in tears.”
Annoyed by his lack of discretion, Song surveyed the room and noted many closed fists and clenched jaws. Heedless of the dangers, BoShui chimed in. “Pei. They got what they deserved. You’re Falling Rain, the number one talent in the North, and they sent a group of inexperienced incompetents against you. I’m surprised no one pissed their pants.”
His words elicited a number of muttered curses even as Fung cackled in delight. “Rain didn’t give them enough time to! Laid them out cold with one strike each! Eight versus one and it could barely be considered a warm-up, disgraceful.”
“Calm down you two. You go too far.” Just as Song feared the other diners would explode with rage, Master Rain’s words unknowingly placated the crowd. Then he continued speaking, making Song wish she’d never left the Northern Province. “It wasn’t difficult, hardly worth mentioning. The three of you could have done the same, and so could Huu, Mila, Dastan, Zian, and probably a dozen more. I mean, the hardest part was not accidentally killing one of those pampered, over-coddled milksops.” Sighing as he poured another bowl, he added, “Should have expected as much. A tiger father will not beget a dog son, nor will a sparrow beget a hawk.”
Amidst their howls of laughter, a neighbouring diner slammed a fist against his table, sending wooden chopsticks and porcelain cups crashing. “Audacious savage, you go too far!” The other diners echoed his sentiments, and the crowd joined them to sling irate mutters and impassioned slander.
“A hawkless land of sparrows are we? A runty rustic peacock beats a couple spoon-fed silk-pants and thinks he’s the Mother’s gift to the Empire.”
“Unrivalled under Heaven, my ass. In thickness of skin, perhaps.”
“Hear hear! I’d like to see him cross blades with one of the Hwarang. They’d cut him up without breaking a sweat.
Ignorant of all the anger directed towards them, BoShui could hardly contain his laughter. Pounding the table and stomping his feet, his face turned red from exertion as he asked, “The Hwarang?! Flowering Knights? How fearsome.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Faced with his sarcasm, the room quieted just enough to hear Fung’s response. “Bearing the insignia of the chrysanthemum no doubt.”
The three idiots burst into renewed laughter as the crowd came to their feet, enraged by the slander of their provincial heroes. Shrinking back, Song placed Yipi back on the windowsill and readied to fight. Elite warrior youths from across the province dreamed of joining the Hwarang, the title given to the five strongest warriors under the age of twenty five. The only way to become one was by winning a public duel and seizing their place, making it a cutthroat competition for fame and fortune.
Daunted by the crowd’s anger, Master Rain stifled his laughs and coughed, waving for the others to do the same. “No need to belittle our allies,” he admonished, before turning to the crowd. “I’m sure these uhh... fragrant knights are formidable opponents. I look forward to meeting them.”
“Choose your words carefully,” Fung snickered, “You wouldn’t want to give off the wrong impression. They might think you’re interested in joining their ranks.”
Snorting beneath his breath, Master Rain shushed him and continued to address the crowd, whose fury had reached new heights. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. I was merely spouting meaningless idioms, with no insult intended.”
“Indeed,” BoShui said, flashing a well-practised sneer. “When did you claim your words were meant for Central? You might as well have said the sky is blue or water is wet. Do any of you mean to dispute the veracity of our words?”
“Aye,” said Fung, drawing himself up to full height as he glared about. “If you ignorant cretins think those idioms describe Central’s situation, then you’ve only yourselves to blame.”
“Well said.” BoShui oozed disdain as he turned his back on the crowd. “Typical Central arrogance, thinking everything is about them and jumping to hasty conclusions.”
“Enough of your sophistry. What is said cannot be unsaid.” The crowd parted to reveal two veiled young nobles still sitting at their table, sipping wine as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Sighing, the young noble dressed in red robes emptied his cup and shook his head. “Such a fine wine, ruined by the croaking of frogs stuck in a well.”
“Agreed,” said the young noble in blue, removing his veil to audible gasps. “But as retired members, how can we sit idly by while the Hwarang is so viciously slandered?”
“True, but it’s still troublesome.” The noble in red also removed his veil and Song stiffened in surprised as she recognized the painted face beneath it. Tam Taewoong, the Benevolent Asura, wearing more eyeliner and face powder than a man had any right to. This meant the man in blue was probably Ryo Geom-Chi, the Radiant Sword. Best friends and greatest rivals, for five years, they fought for the title of undisputed number one talent in Central, but no more. At the beginning of the year, they both turned twenty-five and thus no longer qualified as ‘young talent’. Not that it mattered, both were still listed on the Empire’s Roll of Experts, so from the looks of things, Master Rain and his friends had kicked an iron board.
Truly a matter of not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Moving tables and chairs aside, the crowd cleared a wide space as the two experts approached. Arms crossed and head held high, Ryo Geom-Chi pointed at BoShui. “Step forward. I can turn a cheek to the barbaric child’s words, but you are old enough to know better. Come. I, your father, Ryo Geom-Chi, shall teach you a lesson.”
“Impudent whelp!” This time, it was the Major General’s turn to strike his table, his Chi-augmented voice startling everyone present. “Since when did I have such a boorish brother?”
As Ryo Geom-Chi blanched in fear, the drunk Guard Captain brushed all of Song’s optimism aside with a wave of his hand. “Come now, Major General,” he said, chuckling as he wiped his chin. “No need to take his words to heart. Let the younger generation resolve their own conflicts.” Pulling out his token for all to see, the red-faced Captain waved it about. “So long as you all remember the Legate’s guidelines. Keep your weapons sheathed and exhibit restraint. I’d hate for this relaxing evening to turn into real work, understood?”
After bowing to the Guard Captain, Ryo Geom-Chi smiled at the panicking young patriarch, who looked around for help. “Fear not,” Geom-Chi mocked, “Out of respect for the Legate, I’ll leave you with your dog life.”
Seeing BoShui’s obvious reluctance to reap what he’d sown, the crowd jeered and laughed, ready to see him eat crow. With a heavy sigh, Tam Taewoong shook his head and gestured for Fung to step forward. “Let’s not waste time. Our food will arrive soon. Take care of both at once.” Glancing at Master Rain and Song with contempt, he sniffed and added, “I’ll not have it said Tam Taewoong bullies slaves or children. Remain seated and learn your lesson well, brat.”
Trading glances, Fung and BoShui shrugged and stood to meet their opponents. Contrary to his timid demeanour, BoShui took the initiative to approach Tam Taewoong, a mistake in Song’s eyes. While he might have had a chance against the swordless Radiant Sword, the Benevolent Asura was a master of unarmed combat, much like BoShui himself. Eyes narrowed, Tam Taewoong took BoShui’s decision as an insult, having been deemed the weaker of the two. “You choose poorly,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth as he clasped his hands. “I intended to let Geom-Chi handle both of you because he’s not as heavy-handed, but now you’ve raised my ire. Take care and try not to die, fool. I find it difficult to contain my strength when -”
Ignoring Taewoong’s warning, BoShui opened with a left jab which almost slipped through his opponent’s defence. Snarling in anger, the Benevolent Asura rushed BoShui with a flurry of kicks and punches, all which were parried or dodged with the audible smack of flesh against flesh. The crowd cheered and yelled for blood, their voices growing strained as the bout continued. Watching the chaos unfold, Song tilted her head in confusion as BoShui traded blow for blow with a former Hwarang. How curious. BoShui wasn’t any stronger or faster than usual, but Taewoong’s performance left her disappointed. When old Master Kai had her accompanying his son Jin-Tok day and night, she’d been fortunate enough to witness Taewoong’s rise to glory, the duel in which he defeated his opponent and joined the ranks of the Hwarang for the first and only time. Back then, she thought him a dragon among men, far and above her in strength and skill, yet now, little over five years later, he seemed lacking despite his officially undefeated record.
Had he grown lazy or was he holding back? Not to belittle BoShui’s hard work these past six months, but how could he be a match for the Benevolent Asura?
No, not a match. Their cheers dying on their lips, the crowd’s fell silent as it became obvious which fighter held the upper hand. While Taewoong’s attacks were unable to pierce his opponent’s defences, the reverse was not true as BoShui landed blow after blow, all aimed at the Benevolent Asura’s painted face. The match continued until Taewoong took a staggering left-right combination which rocked him back on his heels. Supported by the crowd, they kept their local hero from falling to his ass while he wheezed and panted. Cosmetics smeared by sweat and blood, Taewoong looked a sorry sight compared to the huffing BoShui, the clear winner in everyone’s eyes. “Your name?” Taewoong asked, his voice slurred from swollen lips.
Clasping his hands in a salute, BoShui answered, “Han BoShui, Disciple of Han BoHai and Expert of the Empire.”
The crowd exchanged questioning looks and helpless shrugs until one hesitant voice asked, “... The Paper Tiger of the Han Clan?”
Grimacing, Taewoong glared at the speaker. “If he’s a paper tiger,” he said, voice dripping with fury, “Then what am I?”
While Taewoong stepped back to nurse his wounds, Ryo Geom-Chi remained in place, unperturbed by his friend’s loss. Looking Fung up and down, he said, “So you must be Tong Da Fung, champion of the Contest.”
“Disciple of Akanai and Expert of the Empire,” Fung replied, flashing his smug, self-satisfied smile, standing tall with hands clasped behind his back. “Not to mention young magistrate of Shen Huo and most handsome, eligible bachelor in the North." Adressing the crowd, he added, "Don't forget to tell your sisters.”
Ignoring Fung’s frivolous words, Geom-Chi smiled. “I hear you’re a swordsman yourself. It would be a shame to face you without weapon in hand.”
Feigning a shudder, Fung recoiled in mock disgust. “It’s unnerving to admit, but I was thinking the same. Practice weapons?”
After checking with the Guard Captain who magnanimously gave his consent, both men exchanged dulled weapons for inspection. With his sword back in hand, Fung swung it about in a slow circuit, warming up for the match ahead. “It’s been a while since I fought with a sword, but I could use the practice.”
“Hmph. No need for excuses.” Taking his stance, Geom-Chi bared his teeth. “It is your honour to be defeated by the Radiant Sword. Begin!”
The crowd did no cheer or taunt, nor was there the ring of steel of clash of blades as the two warriors faced off on the second floor of the restaurant-turned-duel grounds. The only sounds to be heard were the thumping of footsteps and the rustle of wind as they went back and forth, striking and counter striking without ever touching blades. Having never seen Fung use his sword, Song was amazed by his high level of skill. Each time Geom-Chi moved to strike, Fung countered with a killing blow of his own. Realizing this and unwilling to settle for a draw, Geom-Chi would switch to an active parry in an attempt to knock Fung’s blade aside and win a decisive victory, but Fung would retract his sword and avoid contact. When their roles reversed, the same sequence of events would play out, leading to a unique sort of stalemate she’d only ever read about.
Lacking in spectacle, both combatants danced from stance to stance without ever attacking, but in Song’s eyes, this was a true match of blades and wits. Neither warrior would commit to a blow because doing so meant mutual destruction. Instead, they tested their opponent’s defences time and time again in search of an opening and found none as both were equally matched. Darting Fang countered by Fluttering Raindrops, Reverse Bite foiled by Hidden Ambush, Parting the Underbrush warding off Pierce the Horizon, this was a true dance of swords, a test of pure technique. Speed, strength, stamina, all stood second to skill, and it was skill alone which would determine the winner.
Then, as quickly as it began, the match ended with a single chime of their swords, humming as both combatants stepped back. “Well fought,” Fung said, clasping his hands.
Returning the gesture, Geom-Chi nodded and exhaled. “You let me win.”
“It’s true.” Fung shrugged. “I heard the Ryo family’s third daughter is a vision to behold, so you can introduce me to her as thanks.”
“I’ll consider it.” Geom-Chi smiled and added, “If you can defeat me. It would be my honour to face you again.”
“Great, now everyone get out of the way.” Interrupting their exchange, Master Rain shooed the crowd aside. “Food’s been ready for awhile but the waiter can’t get through.”
Dispersing like obedient little soldiers, the spectators put their tables and chairs back in place as all four duellists took their seats and prepared to eat, pretending like nothing happened. Extending his hand once again, Master Rain rested his fist on the table and nodded towards it. Finally understanding his intentions, Song’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He didn’t want her to hold his hand, he wanted her to make physical contact so he could Send. Why didn’t he just reach out and grab her wrist?
Perhaps because he didn’t want to scare her?
“Heya,” Rain Sent the moment her fingers touched his wrist. “Sorry for worrying you. The Major General noticed those two pretty boy’s and told us to start a fight. BoShui needs to raise his reputation before his dear old daddy arrives and this was too good an opportunity to pass up. With the Guard Captain here, we don’t have to worry about our opponents going too far or complaining to the Legate, though those two seemed like okay fellows.”
Nodding, Song withdrew her hand and waited for permission to eat. Tam Taewoong and Ryo Geom-Chi, two prominent young experts who perfectly matched against BoShui and Fung. Seeing the jealous respect and grudging admiration won by the young patriarch and her martial brother, Song felt a twinge of envy. She was stronger than both men but no one would ever respect or admire her, not even if she defeated all four warriors at once. No, she was merely a slave, a weapon, a tool, someone who could never bring glory to Mama or the Bekhai.
“Ah, sorry. Feel free to eat, Martial Aunt.” Piling choice cuts of meat into her bowl, Master Rain smiled and added, “No need to wait, you’re among friends here.”
Eyes widening at the feast before her, Song tossed aside her sorrows and indulged herself in food. It was silly how happy this made her, having someone place food in her bowl. Not just any food either, but all the Central delicacies previously denied her like Nan Ping Duck, Phoenix Tail Shrimp, steamed jade-eyed fish, and bird's nest soup. Biting into a juicy, succulent drumstick, Song closed her eyes and savoured the taste, content with her happy little life.
Best to enjoy it while she could. Who could say how long these good times would last?
Chapter Meme