Situ Jia Zian, a mortal amongst men.

A fitting epithet for an unremarkable warrior like himself, for how could someone who grew up with every advantage, yet failed to distinguish himself, ever be considered a dragon? Despite being blessed with costly elixirs, lavish equipment, the finest teachers, and a multitude of sparring partners to call upon whenever he desired, Zian’s strength was middling at best; Capable enough not to embarrass himself, yet too inadequate to stand out from his peers and rivals. Once, his name featured prominently in every bar-room conversation regarding the prominent young talents of the Empire, but now, he would count himself lucky to be mentioned in a positive light. Gone were the days when he stood at the forefront of his peers, having been surpassed by the likes of Yong-Jin, Tam Taewoong, Quyen Dienne, and other respected young warriors, but one name needled Zian like no other.

Oddly enough, the name wasn’t ‘Falling Rain’, as Zian had long since made peace with the Bekhai warrior’s bizarre brilliance, meteoric progress, and strangely inconsistent strength. Being surpassed by the publicly acknowledged Number One Talent in the Empire was nothing to be ashamed of, especially since Zian could still hold his own against Rain, but to be surpassed by someone he’d never considered a rival, this was a blow to Zian’s pride which he had difficulty recovering from. Born only a few months apart in feuding clans, Zian and BoShui were no strangers to being compared, but for the first twenty five years of his life, Zian had been the superior one. Where he’d been the Rising Dragon of the Situ Clan, BoShui was the Paper Tiger of the Han Clan, but his improvement over the past two years was nothing short of astounding.

As they rode side by side through the earthen corridors of Fort Sinuji, Zian could hardly recognize his old adversary despite having seen him several times over the past few days. Gone was the willowy young idiot brimming with arrogance despite his lack of virtues, and in his place was a brawny young soldier with broad shoulders, robust chest, and legs powerful enough to squeeze the life out of the warhorse beneath him. A thick and meticulously groomed moustache sat on his upper lip, while a finger-length goatee graced his chin, facial hair which added years to his youthful demeanour and gave him the weighty presence of a seasoned veteran. Looking valiant in his red-plumed helm and dark-steel plate armour, bearing the likeness of tigers on his pauldrons in place of the customary ‘Han’ and ‘Heaven and Earth’ insignia, BoShui rode with Zian to their Society meeting in full battle-dress, equipped with all four Spiritual Weapons and accompanied by eight Experts to boot, twice the number Jing Fei’s reports claimed he had. Granted, BoShui’s Spiritual Weapons consisted of gauntlets and greaves which couldn’t be quickly drawn, and his relationship with the Han Clan was far more hostile than Zian’s, but ‘ready for battle’ was entirely the wrong message to send when attending a peaceful gathering among Society allies.

Then again, considering his clenched jaw and quarter smile, perhaps it was precisely the message BoShui meant to convey, exuding a cold fury and quiet confidence which reminded Zian of Falling Rain at his best.

In contrast, Zian wore his finest blue robes bearing both clan and society insignia, with only Jukai, Jing Fei, and her four handmaidens to escort him. Initially, he balked at bringing the handmaidens, but his beloved concubine insisted they come along to sell his image as a spoiled, silk-pants has-been, but now, he regretted not bringing his Experts too. Did BoShui know something Zian had missed? Impossible, Jing Fei’s spies constantly fed her information regarding Society actions and she heard whispers of this ‘impromptu’ meeting three days past, the day after the camp was attacked by Wraiths.

The meeting would best be described as a reaction to the Defiled escalation, for estranged or not, it would be a devastating loss of face for the Society if their Clan Heirs were murdered by Wraiths. Thus, today was presumably a negotiation to either bring errant talents back into the Society’s fold and present a united front, or remove the weakness once and for all. Though Zian had his misgivings, if Rang Min made a tolerable offer of peace before Society witnesses, then Zian would have no choice but to accept. Backroom deals were one thing, but today’s meeting was out in the open, witnessed by the other sects and clans. Rang Min would be bound to uphold the terms of an agreement while Zian could not afford to turn down an offer made in good faith. If the Situ Patriarch were to renege on a deal or if Zian were to refuse out of stubborn wilfulness, then the witnesses would turn on the offending party as one, for appearances of honour and face must be kept.

Though Zian was certain Rang Min would not directly move against him, his confidence was founded on the premise that the other Sects and Clans would restrict the Situ Patriarch. Even though everyone of importance knew Rang Min meant to ruin Zian and elevate Gulong in his place, if he were to act against a talented junior of his clan for his own son, then the other factions would make the Situ Patriarch’s nepotism known across the Empire. Or they would, unless they all agreed that Zian’s death would serve the Society better, which they might if he insisted on remaining antagonistic to his Clan in the face of an acceptable treaty. The same went for BoShui since their circumstances were eerily similar, but from the looks of things, he had already made his decision and was intent on clashing with his Clan Patriarch and father, Han BoDing.

Yes... very much like Rain indeed. Poorly thought out and bordering on suicidal, but still worthy of respect, if only for the sheer audacity required to pull it off.

The meeting was to take place inside the fort proper, and though limited to Society adherents, Zian felt safer knowing Colonel Hongji was nearby, no doubt keeping a close eye on the proceedings. Though woefully deficient in strength, reputation, and backing, the good Colonel had proven himself as a soldier first, a commander willing to stand up to dragons and tigers alike for the warriors beneath him. Regarding matters of better billets, cushier postings, or preferred treatment, Chen Hongji cared nothing for faction or reputation and put his soldiers to work wherever he saw fit. That said, he seemed to have a soft spot for Rain, though why he cared for Bekhai flattery but not any other variety, it was difficult to say. Perhaps Nian Zu or Baatar had offered him a position, or Rain beat the snot out of some brat Hongji had a grudge against, or maybe the Colonel was truly a fan of the Number One Talent in the Empire, but whatever the reason, Zian prayed the good Colonel’s goodwill extended to Rain’s allies as well.

Perhaps he should’ve spoken to Rain about this before heading out, but he seemed to always be busy soaking in his bathtub these days, and Zian would be damned if he visited Rain there again...

As he emerged from the earthen maze of Fort Sinuji’s walls, the first thing Zian saw was the Society’s pavilion tent, an ostentatious, silken affair sporting a multitude of clan and sect pennants in every colour of the rainbow, as if afraid onlookers would forget their individual affiliations. To be fair, considering how often factions were merged, split, added, or removed, even Zian would have trouble naming every clan and sect in the Society, so as silly as it all seemed, perhaps the pennants and insignia served a useful purpose. Riding shoulder to shoulder with BoShui, they entered the pavilion together as a show of solidarity, something they had discussed beforehand but Zian now had second doubts. If BoShui refused to negotiate in good faith, then he faced removal from Clan, Society, and soon after, life itself. Could Zian afford to join him? On the other hand, could he put aside his enmity and work alongside the men responsible for his father’s death?

He could, but he wouldn’t. With the decision before him, Zian knew this now. Perhaps today, he would finally have his wish and announce himself as Lu Jia Zian, son of Lu An Jing and last of his house.

After leaving their horses with an army stable-hand, they walked the rest of the way to the pavilion. Zian imagined they made for a striking sight, BoShui ready for battle and surrounded by scowling soldiers, while he strode along with Jing Fei on his arm and four more beauties at his side. In hindsight, it wasn’t a terrible decision to only bring Jukai to protect him, because if the Society meant to keep Zian here against his will, then they wouldn’t kill his Mentor, and if they intended to kill him, then it would make no difference even if he’d brought his entire retinue. Still, he’d be safer with a few more Experts by his side, even though he hated himself for thinking this way. Gone were the days of the fearless and arrogant Situ Jia Zian, for he was but an ignorant child who knew nothing of the ugliness in the world. Lu Jia Zian, however, knew all too well about the danger he was headed into and how woefully unequipped he was to deal with them.

Stifling a chuckle, he laughed at his craven thoughts and steeled his resolve, as his choice had already been made and it was too late to reconsider.

Stepping into the shade of the pavilion, Zian followed Jing Fei’s lead and had her wash his feet while BoShui smiled and waited at the side. This farce wasn’t solely meant to antagonize the gathered Society adherents, but also to give them both time to surreptitiously study the crowd and gather their bearings. Idly scanning the crowd as Jing Fei sensuously scrubbed his soles, Zian smiled at possible allies, greeted those he deemed important, acknowledged those he recognized, and intentionally snubbed several would-be rivals and their cronies. The leading figures had yet to arrive since they would lose face if seen waiting for a junior, but as this meeting was open to all adherents, the factions who intended to take part were already represented in the audience. The Arahant and Baiji Sects were here in force, both factions in decline after clashing with the Bekhai, yet still not weak enough to disregard. In contrast, the OuYang Clan was on the rise and had arrived in full force, with five young talents present yet none the match for the deceased heir, OuYang Yu Jin, slain by Falling Rain in the duels at the Wall. Sang Ryong was also here, along with a cadre of his Seven Star Sect disciples, but where he once fawned over Zian to Sanshu and back, his fellow Warrant Officer now did his best to pretend Zian didn’t exist.

Orders from above no doubt, for in the event of a divide between the Situ Clan and Zian, it was much safer to cling to the trunk rather than a mere branch. No great loss there. Zian couldn’t stand the boorish brute.

Though their leaders were off pretending not to wait, the Situ and Han clan had members standing in a clump, alongside representatives of their auxiliary factions. Zian recognized BoShui’s half-brother standing at the forefront, though for the life of him couldn’t remember the young man’s name. He might not have even recognized his face if not for the striking resemblance to BoShui, looking more like the buffoon in Zian’s memory than the stalwart ally standing beside him. Also there were Situ Chiang and Situ Shirong, both orphaned by the Bekhai long before Zian first heard Falling Rain’s name. The two unfortunate young men had been taken in by Rang Min, and judging by the fervent hatred they directed towards Zian, they took issue with him for being friends with Rain. Were they really too blind to see that their fathers died because of Clan and Society? Greed and hubris drove them to attack, while the Bekhai merely defended themselves.

Putting his clansmen out of mind, Zian continued studying the crowd, but there were no other notable guests to mention. More telling were the conspicuous absences, the most prominent of which was the Harmonious Unity Sect, one of the three figureheads of the Society alongside the Situ and Han Clans. Also missing were the Lin Clan, White Lotus Sect, and all of their respective allies, which meant more than a third of the Society was left unrepresented, a fact which alarmed Zian enough to inform Jing Fei through Sending.

Looking regal as she knelt at his feet, Jing Fei patted him dry with a towel and Sent, “Worry not, dear husband. There are still enough factions present to guarantee our safety.”

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“You don’t understand,” Zian replied, doing his best to stay calm while watching the exits. “The missing factions have representatives here in Sinuji, so the only reason they would all abstain is because they disagree with what the majority has decided. Their absence is a show of civic disobedience, which means much considering the purpose of this meeting is to present a united front.”

Skilled as she was with politics, there were certain facets of the Society one would never understand unless born to it. Clan or Sect above all else, but Society was a close second, and only after both were things like family and friends ranked. Even if two factions were embroiled in a blood feud, they would put aside all enmity if their conflict became detrimental to the Society as a whole. This was the mentality taught to them from young, so even if brother turned against brother or husband against wife, it was always in service to faction and Society. Even the famed black sheep Nian Zu never bared his fangs at the Society, and the only adherent in living history with the nerve to strike back was Shing Du Yi.

And what a decisive blow it was, a warning letter to the entire province written in the blood of his clansman. Truly a man worthy of admiration.

When his feet were clearly dry and they could delay no longer, Zian slipped back into his shoes, indicated for Jukai to remain behind, and stood beside BoShui. With Jing Fei beside him, he marched in lockstep with his friend to the centre of the venue as the ‘guests of honour’. Three seats awaited them, two simplistic wooden chairs on either side of an ornate throne carved from a block of green jade, all of them facing three wooden thrones, marked with Situ, OuYang, and Han insignia in turn. Seated in the central position, it seemed like the OuYang Clan would be the mediators for this gathering, an odd choice, but one Zian could accept.

As for the jade throne, who it was meant for or why they deserved such an honour, Zian couldn’t say, though he wouldn’t put it past the elders to place it there just to separate him from BoShui. Idly toying with the idea of sitting on the jade throne, he decided it would be best not to set himself above his friend and took the seat across from the Situ throne, smiling as Jing Fei settled into his lap. Though Sendings would undoubtedly be noticed by the gathered Peak Experts, most would attribute it to Jukai or BoShui’s guards offering advice from afar, and unless directly questioned, no one would know for certain that Zian and BoShui could already Send without contact.

Glancing to the right, Zian locked eyes with his friend and nodded once, both of them prepared to see this through together. Oddly enough, throughout the entire journey here, Zian never once thought about what to do if BoShui betrayed him. It seemed he trusted his old adversary more than he trusted his clansmen, an eye opening revelation if there ever was one.

Minutes passed in hushed silence until the architects behind this meeting finally arrived, pretending as if they hadn’t been waiting while Concealed in the shadows. Elders, Guardians, Arhats, and whatnot took their places in the crowd, and though their titles differed, they all served a similar purpose amongst the various factions, so Zian paid them little mind. Instead, it was the three presiding officials who caught his eye. Situ Rang Min, OuYang YuSheng, and Han BoDing took their seats before Zian and BoShui, three patriarchs from arguably the three most powerful Clans. Their presence in Sinuji cast a dark shadow over these proceedings, because for them to arrive so quickly meant they raced across the skies to be here, a dangerous venture considering each of them had no shortage of enemies, both in and outside the Society. If they were willing to risk their lives to be here, then things were more serious than Zian thought.

Rather than begin with the arrival of the Patriarchs, the crowd settled in to wait. So the jade throne wasn’t merely a prop, but what sort of personage could warrant such a throne, much less could afford to keep three patriarchs waiting? No matter, so long as they sat along the same line as Zian and BoShui, then they could be considered something of an ally, or at the very least, not an enemy. The pause gave Zian time to think and discuss matters with BoShui and Jing Fei, but their conclusions were less than useful. The presence of three patriarchs might be why the Harmonious Unity Sect and fellow dissenters refused to participate, because without their faction leaders present, then they would be helpless to speak out against a line up of senior officials.

Why the OuYang Patriarch though? Rang Min and BoDing risking their lives to be here made sense since Zian and BoShui were their successors, but YuSheng had no stake in all this...

Long minutes passed until YuSheng cleared his throat and offered an apologetic shrug to the crowd. “Though our last guest has yet to arrive, let us commence this meeting of the Society of Heaven and Earth.” A ruddy-faced grandfatherly type, he seemed friendly enough, though Zian suspected he was probably the most devious out of them all. Enjoying his moment in the sun, he raised his arms and intoned, “Join hands and we shall close the proceedings to outsiders.” Zian felt nothing, but he knew the various Experts would be setting barriers against eavesdropping, yet another skill Jukai refused to explain until he was further along the Martial Path, a most frustrating teaching method.

Nodding in approval, YuSheng flicked his sleeves and settled back in his chair with a sigh. “Now, we have gathered to discuss a matter of grave importance. We, the Society of Heaven and Earth, have survived where other factions have failed, because we have always stood united. Situ Jia Zian, Han BoShui, you have been called here today because even though your defiance has been tolerated in the past, but it is time you both returned to the fold. Dragons must roam free if they are to soar into the Heavens, but even the mightiest dragon must have a nest to return to. Our offer is simple: both of you will renounce your titles of Young Patriarch, and in return, your Clans will make every effort to see you married into a position of power within another faction of your choosing. Better to be the head of a dog than the tail of a phoenix, so even though you won’t be Patriarch of your respective Clans, it isn’t out of the question for you both to lead a different clan or sect.”

Truth be told, these were far more favourable and enticing terms than Zian expected, which meant there had to be a catch. “And what, pray tell, do you expect in return?”

“Audacious brat!” Rang Min roared, wagging an accusatory finger at Zian. “Three patriarchs sit before you and offer peace, but still you play games?” Shaking his head, he sighed for the crowd’s benefit, playing the victim in this ridiculous farce. “I should have taken you away from your mother earlier, the lass has poisoned you against Clan and Society.” A none-too-subtle reminder of how Zian didn’t grow up at the Society headquarters like most of his peers had, painting him as an outsider to make his excommunication that much more palatable.

To distract from Zian, BoShui spoke up, sitting at the edge of his seat with fists clenched and eyes tight. “I refuse.”

Well, that was that. Poorly played, but BoShui did always take after his uncle when it came to politics.

The crowd burst into outrage, but fell silent at BoDing’s raised hand. “I urge you to reconsider,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. A bear of a man, Zian could see where BoShui’s transformation would eventually take him. “You, my prodigal son, my chosen successor, have shamed your Clan and Society enough for a hundred lifetimes by becoming the guard dog of a tribal savage. How many of your fellow adherents have suffered at the hands of the Bekhai? How many have lost brothers, sisters, fathers, or mothers? Yet you, you sit at Falling Rain’s feet and shit where he tells you to, an utter disgrace. Were it not my love of your mother and the advice of my peers, I would kill you where you sit right now.”

Teeth bared in a feral grin, BoShui replied, “No need to pretend. You suffer my existence not out of love for my mother, but fear of your brother.” Ignoring his father’s infuriated stammers, BoShui faced his brother and declared, “I am Han BoShui, Young Patriarch of the Han Clan by virtue of superior strength and skill. If you believe otherwise, then come face me in single combat, BoSha. Be warned: Uncle BoHai lacked the resolve to kill our father, but I never liked you much, brother.”

Right, BoSha was his name. BoShui for water, BoSha for sand, BoDing had terrible naming sense to label his children after elements in the hopes they’d secure a Blessing. Not so uncommon in the Empire, but Mother forbid they receive a blessing which didn’t fit their name...

“Enough of this nonsense.” Startled by the voice, Zian turned to his right and found a woman seated on the jade throne, having arrived without notice sometime during the discussion.

He wasn’t the only one surprised by her presence, for even the three Patriarchs were caught off guard. Silence hung in the air for all of a second until YuSheng finally found his voice. “Little sister,” he said, putting on a fawning expression which ill-suited his face. “I’m so glad you could find the time -”

“Yes, and I have precious little to waste.” Not caring for her older brother and Clan Patriarch’s face, the woman sniffed and gave a dismissive wave, inadvertently (or not) showing off her abundance of jewellery, with multiple jewel-studded rings on each finger and an assortment of bangles gracing her wrist. An odd contrast considering her plain, unadorned robes and clean, but dishevelled hair, not overtly untidy like Rain or Mila, but less than professionally cared for, which seemed odd for a woman of wealth.

And then the pieces fell together and Zian bolted to his feet to greet her, almost throwing Jing Fei aside in his haste. “Little Zian greets Aunty Yuhuan. Had this one known Aunty was in Sinuji, he would have greeted Aunty sooner.” With a pricey gift no less, for this was the legendary Tyrant, OuYang Yuhuan, the talented and wilful younger sister of OuYang YuSheng who ran away from her arranged marriage to become one of the north’s most notorious bandits. A plague upon wealthy merchants and nobles alike, the Tyrant plundered multiple fortunes to fund her study of runes, studies which paid off when she emerged as the foremost Runic Craftsman in the North.

Granted, she earned the title by killing the previous holder, mostly to plunder his wealth, but regardless of how she secured her position, none could deny OuYang Yuhuan was unmatched in the North.

“Tch.” The Tyrant was less than pleased and waved him aside. “Had I wanted you to learn of my presence, then you would have known.” As the crowd clamoured to greet her, she glared them into silence and submission. “No need to greet me one by one, I’m far too busy to craft you anything. Now let’s get this meaningless discussion over and done with, some of us have important work to attend to and don’t have all day to spend quarrelling and quibbling over nonsense. What do you want?”

Truly a Tyrant, trampling over all in her path.

Zian quickly took his seat lest he upset the heavily-armed Runic Craftsman. Though he’d met her once, when she came in to make sure the breastplate fit properly before she inscribed it, he spent most of their time together staring at his feet, properly terrified by Mother’s high-strung demeanour and his unexpected arousal. Until then, Zian thought Mother the most powerful woman in the world, but the Tyrant trampled all over that notion, a brusque, heavy-handed Expert who excelled at her craft and had the backing to keep herself free of Society intrigue. Mother called in every favour she had to get Yuhuan to visit, and paid dearly to have her craft a Runic Breastplate, a nigh impenetrable barrier now worn by Li Song, who despite her lofty status, was still little more than Falling Rain’s slave girl.

...There were days when Zian found it difficult to call Rain ‘friend’.

Nodding like a chicken pecking grains, YuSheng quickly rehashed his speech about dragons and nests, but Yuhuan cut him off once more again. “Why now?” she asked, not caring to hear her brother’s offer. “Why here?”

The three Patriarchs traded glances in silence until Yuhuan audibly growled, at which point YuSheng stammered, “We have been tasked with the removal of a certain young warrior, and we require aid from the three of you to do so.”

...This was about Rain? The Tyrant came to the same conclusion and snorted in disbelief, a most unladylike sound, but one which made Zian uncomfortably bothered. “You intend to assassinate Falling Rain? Fools and imbeciles the lot of you. Putting aside his Imperial Title, powerful backers, and the Bekhai’s hidden strength, if you move against him, then I will stand to defend him.”

“...But why?” YuSheng cried, so flustered he lost all sense of propriety.

“I’ve entered into an agreement with him, my protection in exchange for goods and services. What’s more, my partner would be most displeased to learn of your intentions, so listen carefully brother, because I will only warn you this once: leave Falling Rain and the Bekhai alone, lest you bring destruction down upon yourself.”

“Have you forgotten your nephew, my son? He died at the hands of that runt, and now you protect him?”

Slamming her palm against her throne, she reduced the carved jade arm to dust and rubble. “Yu Jin’s death was a tragedy, but one of the Society’s making. Greed killed my nephew, greed and pride, because the Society must always come first, no matter the cost.” Yuhuan’s voice broke, but it returned soon after filled with fire and steel. “Leave Falling Rain alone.”

Ever the politician, Rang Min took this opportunity to speak up. “Rest assured, lady Yuhuan, we have assurances from our backer-”

“Idiots!” Her patience at its end, Yuhuan came to her feet and hissed, “Short of a direct order from the Emperor himself, you will not lay a finger on Falling Rain or the Bekhai. Fail to heed my warning, and you shall face my wrath, provided there are enough of you remaining to bother. Think it through. Why would anyone in power bother using you to kill him? They will make cats-paws of you all, while you gladly slip the noose about your own necks.” Glancing to either side of her, Yuhuan sniffed and said, “I grow weary of fools and politics. Come now, I’ll bring you two boys back to camp. If your fellow adherents think things through, then perhaps they’ll realize the benefit in keeping two of their best and brightest by Falling Rain’s side.”

Storming out of the pavilion, Yuhuan left as quickly as she arrived, and Zian and BoShui traded a brief glance before hurrying after her. Things could have gone far worse, as he never would have guessed the Society had called this meeting to pressure him into betraying Rain. Luckily, The Tyrant had arrived to save them, a beautiful goddess of anger and destruction.

How did Rain convince Yuhuan to become his guardian? The lucky bastard...

Chapter Meme