I’m gonna need a bigger yurt.

Sharing my sleeping quarters with sixteen rabbits, five quin pups, three fully-grown quins, three adolescent wildcats, two yearling bears, one baby hare, one octopus, and one fat, flightless bird leaves little room to maneuver. Most of my animals aren’t even fully grown yet either, so eventually, we’re not all going to fit. Nothing needs to be said about the quins, and while my snuggle bears and silly cats still have a ways to go, it’s only a matter of time before they reach full-pony status, if not bigger. Then there’s the fifteen baby bunnies who are plumping up nicely into roundish balls of long-haired floofs, but still only half the size of their Mama Bun. Snoring peacefully on my chest, the big girl measures around seventy-five centimetres from tip to tail and weighs close to twenty-five tender, delicious kilos.

No Rain. Bunnies are friends, not food, no matter how delicious they might be.

On a separate note, you are never to make friends with cows, chickens, goats, or pigs, no matter how cute or cuddly they might be. Stay away from horse friends too, because they’re not bad eating either.

Post Script: Again, stop talking to yourself like this. It’s weird and unhealthy.

Luckily, not all of my pets are behemoth monstrosities compared to the ones in my past life. I don’t know how big Cloud Chaser Hares are supposed to be, but Blackjack hasn’t really grown since joining my little pet family, still comfortably nestled under Mama Bun’s chin and easily fitting in the palm of my hand. Roc is a little smaller than the baby bunnies and takes up almost no room roosting his fat bird butt atop Mafu’s fatter head. Sir Inky is only the size of a basketball, though his long tentacles make him look a lot bigger, and unfortunately, his tub-turned-octopus-tank requires more real estate than Zabu, Mafu, and Shana combined. Even then I think it’s too small for Sir Inky to spend all his time in. If he’s gonna stick around, then I have no choice but to build him a massive glass-walled aquarium, which will be difficult considering I haven’t figured out glass yet. It might have something to do with the sand we’re using, but we won’t know until we test samples from all over the Empire...

Whatever. Glass aside, the only solution is to build a bigger yurt so I can better fit all my present and future floofs. A circus tent would be nice, though keeping it warm and lit will be a pain in the ass. Plus, setting it up would require a literal army of workers, and I don’t even want to think about travelling with it in tow. Or maybe I should set a rotating schedule and not insist on snuggling with all my pets at once, but in my defence, it seemed like an awesome idea last night when I was drunk and sleepy. No wonder they gave me such a tiny cup, whatever was into those teapots packed a real kick. I should ask Feathered Big Bro what was in them, but not before I figure out what his name is...

Awakened by my sleeping musings and futile attempts to stretch, the ever-alert Zabu opens his eyes to scan the surroundings before checking if his pups are all still breathing. He’s a good quin-daddy, and I swear he checks the bun buns too. It might be because they’re all snuggled together in the most adorable cuddle-pile ever, but I’m hoping his instincts have taken over and he thinks the bun buns are his babies, much like Mama Bun adopted the quin pups. Rabbits and quins, BFF’s forever, or at least I hope so. I’d be heartbroken if my floofs started eating each other, but I should probably hope for the best and expect the worst. Sarankho and Jimjam are already showing signs of their emerging hunting instincts, and I’ve had to repeatedly warn the twins not to randomly turn their backs on the wildcats. Then there’s Banjo and Baloo, who are delightfully docile now, but who’s to say they’ll stay this way forever? I mean, they’re bears, solitary apex predators who, barring any magical shenanigans, can out-muscle most land mammals in their biome.

Plus, eventually, my fur babies are gonna grow up and feel the need to procreate, which is an entirely different sort of mess I’m woefully unprepared for. I only pray they don’t learn from Sir Inky and fixate on me as a target...

Ugh. My pessimism is reaching critical mass. Here I am laying in the warm, if somewhat smelly embrace of all my fur babies, but all I can think about is how things will eventually go to hell in a hand basket. Those problems are for future me to worry about, so I should just lay here and enjoy the moment, but sadly, it’s too late to turn back. The dam has broken and my brain’s been flooded with anxiety and apprehension, denying me of all joy and contentment. Plus, I have to pee. Giving Mama Bun and Blackjack one last nuzzle, I sit up and giggle as the big bunny grunts in discontent, clinging to my shirt with her little rabbit paws while refusing to open her eyes. All around, the yurt comes to life as my fur babies stir in their sleep, yawning and stretching with little care for their neighbours proximity or comfort. Even Sir Inky pops his bulbous head out for a peek, scanning his surroundings before skirting as far away from the quins as his tub will allow.

Oddly enough, it makes me feel better knowing I’m not the only one worried about pet on pet violence, even if said validation comes from a wannabe face-rapist octopus.

After tending to my pets, a cold breakfast of dried meat and water, and a truncated run through the Forms with Mama Bun still clinging to my chest, I turn to greet my most problematic of pets. “Ready for another swim Sir Inky? Maybe today, you can show us where you found the Spiritual Algae.” Despite our earlier setbacks, Taduk refuses to give up, and since I don’t have any better ideas, I can’t give up either. Buying food for Ping Ping would drain my dwindling finances dry in a week and I still don’t know where Blobby ran off to, so it’s off to the bay we go.

At least we haven’t been attacked by sharks again, so there’s that. Positive Mental Attitude. I can do this.

It’s difficult reading emotions on an octopus, but his skin lightens at the sound of my voice, the colours shifting to his natural reddish-brown hue for a brief moment before donning his wood-grain camouflage once more. It’s an interesting sight, but not enough to warrant keeping Sir Inky around forever. Transportation and water temperature will be a real problem, not to mention how I have no idea how to care for an octopus. The best case scenario would be for Sir Inky to swim off and forget I ever existed, so to this end, I harden my heart and decided to stop feeding Sir Inky.

What have I become?

It isn’t easy being cruel to be kind, especially since he’s smart enough to rummage through my pockets while I finagle him into his pot. Luckily, Sir Inky is a discerning gourmet and decides against eating the dried tubers and wheatgrass concealed upon my body, and instead stares in pleading accusation as he slowly starves from inside his tiny travel domicile. I’m sorry little buddy, but the gravy train stops here. You’re going to have to go raid your own pantry from now own, and maybe expose the wayward drop of Heavenly Water hiding within, assuming that’s where Blobby swam off too.

With help from the four ever-present Death Corps soldiers standing guard outside my door, I head out to Taduk’s hidden beach-side yurt, thankful my new guards have no restrictions on how close they must remain. It makes sense considering Luo-Luo, a lowly Imperial Servant, warrants a guard of three-hundred and sixty Death Corps soldiers. If that’s the case, how many soldiers would someone of actual importance have? A thousand? Two? While physically possible, I can’t imagine it’d be pleasant having that many people within one kilometre’s distance at all time, and it becomes a logistical nightmare if you factor in any form of social gatherings. ‘Find me a venue which fits five thousand people so I can have lunch with my one friend and all our guards’. No thank you.

The newest additions to my retinue are an inarticulate bunch of faceless grunts, but I doubt I’d be any different if I spent my life getting all the personality and individuality beaten out of me. They don’t even have names, which is mildly depressing and leaves me wondering how they schedule their shifts. Their featureless helmets, which they wear at all times, even while sleeping, hides what little remains of their humanity, and despite my best efforts these past few days, they’ve shown no signs of relaxing. Left to their own devices, they train day in and day out, pushing themselves hard without need for Ravil’s creative verbal abuse. Already, my people are taking hints from the Death Corps training exercises and are learning how to fight as a coherent unit instead of hundreds of individual fighters clustered close together.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Woo, progress. Better yet, progress without my personal effort!

Useful as they are, the Death Corps soldiers present a prickly moral dilemma. Do I bring them to war and let them serve the purpose they were trained for, or should I aim for rehabilitation and try to give them a happier, more meaningful existence? Five years ago, this wouldn’t even be a question, but with a Defiled horde on the horizon, I’ll need every soldier I can count on. Even including the Death Corps soldiers, I still have room for another hundred or so bodies in my retinue, three hundred if I don’t count Guan Suo’s Protectorate and the former slaves from Yo Ling’s island. I don’t know how I’m supposed to find that many trustworthy soldiers, much less feed and shelter them all. Luckily, the Death Corps came fully armed and armoured, but my camp followers have been working day and night to build more shelters so everyone isn’t sleeping eight to a yurt.

Ugh. I wish Rustram was around to deal with all this, but Mom’s so happy having a disciple to boss and bully... erm, train and nurture, I can’t bring myself to ruin her fun. This is the liveliest she’s been since waking from her coma, and as miserable as I am without my second in command, it’s a small price to pay to see Mom’s spirited smile and devilish sneer. She always harps on about how old she is, but for a woman in her seventies, she still looks remarkably youthful, the magic of Chi at work.

Of course, her good cheer comes at the cost of Rustram’s sanity and well-being, but such is the price of strength. Truth be told, I’m a little envious of all the attention he’s getting. Gone are the days of one-on-one training with Baatar and Akanai in the village, with Baatar’s discerning eye and Akanai’s caustic questions cutting straight to the heart of my issues. They’re too busy to hold my hand anymore, but even if they weren’t, I’d still be shit out of luck. I’ve more or less mastered the Forms, condensed my Aura, and even formed my Natal Palace, which means my foundation has been laid and set. Tactics aside, there’s little they can do to guide my next steps. I’m an Expert of the Empire, and using the tools and knowledge at my disposal, I must forge my own path along the Martial Dao and reach the pinnacle of strength.

Or some other quasi-mystical nonsense like that.

Then again, it’s not like they can help me master my Beyblade Aura or make me better at Amplification by watching me practice, and even my new weapon is something completely foreign to them. Scary as it sounds, I need to figure out my personal style all on my own. Do I fight with reckless fury or calculated cunning? Should I overwhelm my opponents with unbridled savagery or chip away at their strength and rely on my unmatched resilience? No one can answer these questions for me, and I need to decide which Falling Rain I want to be. Brother or Baledagh, which style suits me?

If only things were so simple.

Still, it’s not all about the training and guidance. I miss the quiet days we used to spend together is all, when I could meet up with Baatar or Akanai and just practice, with no cares or troubles outside the moment. ‘Don’t cross your feet’ or ‘keep your shoulders squared’, instead of ‘what the fuck am I supposed to do with all these slaves?’ or ‘how can I best ensure the survival of my loved ones in a war against millions of Defiled?’. Then there’s the mother of all questions, one which has plagued my sleep for the last three days: how does one self-treat for multiple personality disorder?

Keep your head high and a stiff upper lip, I guess. What else can I do? Drink more maybe, but that comes with a whole host of other problems. I’m literally dying inside remembering all the stupid stuff I said last night, and I can only pray I haven’t royally fucked things up. At least I didn’t start any bitter blood feuds this time, though it might be too early to tell. Snivelling Young Fop definitely hates me, and Feathered Big Bro is probably just better at hiding it. All my rambling probably didn’t help. Victory or death, what a stupid catchphrase. You learn more from a single defeat than a hundred victories, for failure will point out where you’re lacking.

Maybe that’s the problem. Ever since clashing with the Society, I’ve been doing pretty well for myself career-wise. While it hasn’t all been smooth sailing, I went from nameless nobody to Imperial Manwhore of the Empire in two years, far more success than I rightly deserve. Now, the whole world, including my family and friends, think I’m way more competent than I really am, especially since I have no idea how I pulled any of it off.

How’s the saying go? People always rise to their level of incompetence. When judged by your successes, a person moves up in the world until they reach a level at which they are no longer competent, and are therefore no longer promoted. In contrast, I wouldn’t say I’ve reached my level of incompetence. I’ve surpassed it. It’s so far behind me, I can’t even see it anymore. Imperial Consort Falling Rain. What does that even mean? So what if I’m part of the Imperial Clan? Who cares? It’s not like I have any connections, the only Imperial Scion I know is the Legate, though I guess Luo-Luo counts too. Besides, I’m hardly the Legate’s best friend or anything. If the Defiled rip through our defences and he retreats to the Eastern Province, I doubt he’d care enough to bring me with him.

I wouldn’t go even if he did. Better to stay behind and defend my loved ones, no matter the cost. If my life is all it takes to ensure they get away safely, then I’d call that victory in death.

Taking a cue from Lin, I knock on Taduk’s door and barge right in, leaving a small pause in between to make sure I’m not interrupting anything important. Thankfully, my teacher is packed and ready to go, carrying his empty bowl in hopes of finding a new, Spiritual Algae-covered stone to fill it with. “Rain my boy,” he says with a hug and a smile. “I see you’ve brought the rabbit with you today.”

“The decision is out of my hands,” I reply, angling aside so he can see her grabby paws. “She’s dug in and refuses to let go, which is why I’m still wearing my nightclothes.” They don’t look so bad, as long as they’re tucked into my pants. “I think she’s tired from grooming her five adopted quin pups, a long and lengthy process considering they’re bigger than she is.” Belatedly, I add, “Blackjack is here too, buried somewhere around her chin.”

“Well, no harm.” Leading the way, he steps out of his yurt and greets Ping Ping with a pat on the beak, eliciting an adorable squeak from the overgrown turtle. Sometimes, I think Ping Ping only loves me for the water I feed her, because she’s much friendlier with the people around me like Taduk, Lin, and Mila. Consumed by jealousy, I follow Taduk to the beach where Guard Leader waits with our skiff, and Guan Suo materializes from out of thin air to take his seat in the centre, puffing away at his pipe without a word of greeting. With Guard Leader at the helm (or whatever it is you call the rowers seat. Boat language is confusing), we set off into the orange-red bay as the sun rises on the horizon over the verdant plains of Central, a sight which takes my breath away no matter how many times I see it.

If it weren’t for all the bloodthirsty spirits encouraging people to become homicidal cannibals, I think I’d fall in love with this beautiful world.

Twenty minutes and many kilometres later, Mama Bun stirs in my arms and releases her grip on my shirt, yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, a sight which never fails to put a smile on my face. After showering me with bunny kisses, she settles down in my lap with Blackjack for a hearty, hand-fed breakfast while Sir Inky peers over the lip of his pot and fumes in silence at this blatent discrimination, smacking the metal sides every now and then to remind me of his existence.

Mother in Heaven, it’s only been a few days and already he’s turned into an entitled prick. Go find your own food, you lazy slacker. This here is a floof and feathers only pet menagerie. Yea, I said it. Go back to the ocean where you belong, you damned tentacle miscreation.

Mid-way through her meal, Mama Bun raises her head and twitches her nose, scenting something off in the distance. Leaving the dry comfort of my lap, Mama Bun bounds to the deck and makes her way to the side of the skiff, standing on hind legs to peer westward outside the safety of Nan Ping’s bay. Noticing Mama Bun’s actions, Guard Leader immediately veers our ship towards the deep, dark waters, exactly where everyone said to avoid. Neither Taduk nor Guan Suo seem to mind, and my silly teacher even seems excited by our new heading, bouncing in his seat like a child going on a trip. Beside us, the quins squeak up a storm of warnings before turning to head back for shore, though Mafu pokes his head up in chittering concern. “Go back,” I tell him, pointing at the shore. “Home.”

Wishing with all my heart I could go with him, I watch him swim away to safety before voicing my concern. “Er, are you sure we should go so far from shore? In case you forgot, there are worse things than sharks out there. Out here,” I correct. Holy shit we’re moving fast. Is Guard Leader working harder or are we caught in a current?

“Nonsense, Rain my boy.” Carefree as always, Taduk leans over the side for an unobstructed view ahead. “We’re well equipped to deal with anything lurking in these waters. Look to the turtle, see how calm and carefree she is? You’ve nothing to worry about, promise.”

While Ping Ping is still in the mood to loop and whirl about, it’s Sir Inky’s reaction which concerns me more, the angry invertebrate seeking shelter inside his pot for the first time all morning. Gathering the tiny hare into my hands, I give it a kiss on the head and stroke its cheeks, more for my comfort than Blackjack's as I pray nothing goes wrong and expect everything will.

Whatever. It’s not like I’m missing anything important going on back in Nan Ping, just another day of gratuitous cheers and unfounded celebrations. Who knows, maybe this’ll work out for the best and all my problems will be solved in one fell swoop. Find the missing Blobby, figure out how Spiritual Algae reproduces, and have an epiphany which makes the whole world make sense once again.

And maybe the next time I squat down for a shit, rainbows and happiness will pour out of my ass and flood the world with cheer and joy.

It could happen.

Chapter Meme