Having spent a good portion of his life as the sole magisterial heir to Shen Yun, Young Patriarch of the Situ Clan, and eventually the number one Talent of the North, Zian had long since grown accustomed to being the focus of attention. No matter the venue or event, there would always be someone important waiting to greet him as he arrived, as well as a long line of attendants and boot-lickers hoping to catch his attention. They never spoke of anything worthwhile during these contrived interactions, merely exchanging banal pleasantries about this or that, with praise and flattery a plenty, because they weren’t there for Situ Jia Zian. They were only there to forge a connection with the future Patriarch of the Situ Clan, something to be used when he came into power a decade or two down the line. This made these social niceties boring to the extreme, but Mother insisted he behave and play along, because he ‘represented too many interests to step out of line’. Vast fortunes had been made and lost on matters of face alone, and even an inkling of impropriety from the Young Patriarch could ruin current and future business deals as allies and partners steered away from the Situ Clan out of fear for the future. Thus, despite his pleasure-seeking ways, Zian always made sure to thank his hosts, refuse any overly lavish gifts, and refrain from falling into anyone’s debt. It’d all become routine to him, exchanging meaningless pleasantries and smiling along as some old fart or another waxed on about the good old days, and he thought this would be his life for many years to come.
Had he known what he knew now, he would have done everything he could to sabotage the Clan’s future, but then again, that might have given Rang Min everything he wanted, a valid excuse to replace Zian as Young Patriarch instead of bullying the Clan Elders into accepting mediocre Gulong as their future leader.
Regardless of the reasons, Zian’s star had fallen from on high, and he was Young Patriarch no longer. Nor was he the Number One Talent of the North either, both too old and too weak to reclaim the title. Now, with only his magisterial office and play-boy reputation left to him, the only time anyone of note might care to acknowledge his existence was to warn their daughters away from him. There were no more toadies looking to make connections or lesser peers inviting him out for a night on the town, no wiley old snakes acting overly familiar or pretty young maids sent to distract and beguile. Upon arriving at the Central Citadel, he spent the night resting in his private officer’s billet attached to Uncle Yang’s suite, and this morning found no letters of challenge laid at his doorstep or invitations to events hosted by powerful factions, and not even a cursory spy wandering aimlessly about the hallways or lingering outside the building to keep track of his actions. For the first time in his life, Zian’s presence had been entirely ignored by the prominent powers that be, because he’d become a person of no consequence whatsoever, and therefore unworthy of attention.
And he loved every aspect of it.
There was a certain freedom in anonymity that Zian never knew existed, for it did away with so much of the rote tedium in day to day life. Laurels came bundled with obligations and constraints, and were he still the Young Patriarch of the Situ Clan, he would have been obligated to spend most of last night visiting various households to offer gifts and give face to his Clan’s local allies. There was nothing more dreary and tiresome than showing up at a stranger’s home and pretending like they were the closest of friends, all the while keeping a close watch for possible traps, assassins, or social pitfalls laid out by his so-called allies.
Now he was free to do whatever his heart desired, which unsurprisingly was no different from his normal daily routine. Zian woke at dawn, ate breakfast with Jing Fei, and headed out to the training field to spar with his retinue.
“Good!” he called, as his curved sabre collided against his opponent’s active parry with a thunderous clash and the impact numbed his arm to the shoulder. “Now capitalize!”
Already in motion, the older warrior’s boot brushed across the front of Zian’s robes as he skirted aside, having long since anticipated the move, but what the wily veteran lacked in speed and imagination, he more than made up for in experience. A shoulder tackle thudded into Zian’s chest and drove the air out of his lungs, sending him staggering away for three and a half steps before he recovered. Too late, he realized he should have kept retreating as his opponent’s sword whistled through the air on an arc towards his neck, and he took the only route left to him. Darting forward inside the swords range, Zian danced around his opponent to narrowly avoid defeat, but only for a few heartbeats more.
It was a game of centimetres keeping ahead of his foe, and back and forth they went. Move too far away, and his foe was free to stop and use his sword. Move too close, and another tackle would leave Zian flat on his ass, which was no place for a commander to be. Zian had to throw off his opponent without giving him time to bring his sword about, while also leaving himself enough room to bring his sabres into play. Straight lines were too predictable, too easily followed and countered, so after circling about with his opponent for a handful of moves, Zian took a risk and thought in curves instead. Sensing his opening, he feinted left, leapt right, and spun through the air, his sabres whipping around and scoring two heavy marks across his opponent’s chest and shoulder-guard before sending him tumbling across the stage.
Zian’s heavy breathing cut through the silence, which only moments ago had been filled with cheers and hoots from the gathered crowd. Most were members of his retinue, and there were a few unfamiliar faces, but all wore the same look of wide-eyed disbelief. Why, he couldn’t say, because all he’d done was use a dance move commonly seen in acrobatic operas, a triple Lu Tse jump. It wasn’t particularly difficult to pull off, just dangerous without the right timing, but highly effective when used correctly and thoroughly disorienting when done at high speeds to both performer and his foes alike.
“Hey!” one man cursed, smacking the soldier beside him on the arm. “The young master won! Pay up!”
And like that, the crowd came to life as they cheered, groaned, and settled their debts, while Zian moved both sabres to one hand and went to help his opponent up. “Well fought,” he said, unable to suppress his smile. “Well fought.”
“Almost thought I had you there, young master.” Beaming with pride despite his defeat, Junyi gratefully accepted Zian’s aid and pulled himself to his feet. “But damn me if it didn’t feel like I was facing Jukai himself, with you darting and whirling about.”
The older warrior meant well, but the reminder still stung, so Zian simply smiled and held his tongue. Truth was, Jukai would have retreated while dodging the initial kick, denying Junyi the chance to seize the momentum with his follow through, but what was the point in arguing? Like Jukai and many others of the retinue, Junyi was here because he’d served under Zian’s father, Lu An Jing, but alas, none of the older warriors were the match of the Twinned Dragons themselves. Still, these soldiers were good, loyal men who Zian trusted with his life, all qualities which were in short supply these days.
He was too reserved and distant to ever be the charismatic leader his father reportedly was, but he would do the best he could with what the Mother gave him. Calling over the next soldier in line, Zian took his position for another spar and lost himself in the match, pushing him and his soldiers to become the best they could be. This was who he was now, Lu Jia Zian, even if the world still knew him as Situ Jia Zian. He was a warrior, a Warrant Officer, a young magistrate, and nothing else, which suited him just fine. There was a simplicity in it all that he revelled in, a clarity found within these mindless spars which honed his mind and body to a razor’s edge. The Martial Path lay before him, and he moved ever forward each day thanks to these spars, and that was all he cared about. So engrossed in his progress, it felt like only a few minutes had passed before Zian ran out of opponents, having fought every single member of his hundred-man retinue without rest. He didn’t win every match, but he won far more than he lost, and more importantly, was losing more than he was three months ago now that his retinue’s skills were steadily improving. This was all he could offer them, these heated sparring matches, for Zian had no ability to teach, and these loyal warriors deserved more than just coin as thanks.
Oddly enough, despite beating most of them bloody at least once a day, none of Zian’s soldiers seemed put off by these daily matches. In fact, like Junyi, they all took great pride in their defeats, even the few who never served with Zian’s father and were here for their own reasons. Some were undoubtedly Rang Min’s spies, but despite working with this same retinue for months on end, Zian had no clue who those spies might be. It didn’t matter though, so long as he did nothing worth reporting. Jing Fei handled the politics now, with help from Mother’s guiding hand, leaving Zian to focus wholly on the Martial Path.
With the sparring matches over and done with, Zian dismissed his retinue and set to work on the Forms themselves, but as he threw himself into the first movement, he spotted Nian Zu watching from the crowd, with Han BoHai and Uncle Yang beside him. “Colonel General,” Zian said, saluting at each of them in turn. “Lieutenant General. Major General. A good morning to you all.”
“At ease, young Zian, at ease. No need for formalities outside of battle.” Smiling as if he’d told some hilarious joke, Nian Zu winked and said, “That is unless you care to follow in your uncle’s footsteps here and enlist in the Northern Army. I’m still wading through bureaucratic nonsense to have him transferred from Central and restored to proper rank, but you I can make a Senior Captain today. How about it? The army is always in need of dedicated talents like yourself, and the Situ Clan’s loss can once again be the Imperial Army’s gain.”
This wasn’t the first time Nian Zu had made this same offer, but it was the first time he’d done so in public or mentioned their shared experiences as outcasts from Clan and Society. Were it anyone else, Zian would have suspected the other party of doing this to apply more pressure, but considering Nian Zu’s infamous lack of social graces, he figured the old general was just making sure he knew the offer was still valid. “I am honoured by your consideration, Senior Zu,” Zian said, picking a friendlier title to address the Colonel General, but not an overly familiar one. “However, as I am in a transitory time in my personal life, I am not yet ready to commit to something of this magnitude.”
“Ah, to be young again.” Clapping Zian on the shoulders, Nian Zu favoured him with an approving nod. “So bold and independent, I see much of your father in you. I only hope you do not suffer the same fate. The Empire needs its new Heroes now more than ever.” There was genuine sadness in the old general’s eyes, and Zian almost demanded he share everything he knew, but then reason overcame anger and he saw that Nian Zu’s sadness was on a more professional level, rather than a personal one. The Colonel General was mourning a fallen Hero of the Empire, no more, no less. Lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper, yet still loud enough for Zian’s retinue to hear, Nian Zu said, “If Rang Min takes issue with your continued existence, then you come to me. Understood? Do not let pride or anger cloud your judgment, for your foe is a wily beast lacking in morals and principles, and you are not yet ready to face him.”
Patting Zian once more on the shoulder, Nian Zu marched away with Uncle Yang and Han BoHai in tow. “I recommend you take his offer,” Uncle Yang Sent, glancing back to make sure Zian saw how serious he was. “Your mother will throw a fit and have my hide for it, but so long as you live, I will gladly accept her rage. You must know that you will always be a threat to Gulong, and Rang Min is not one to suffer threats lightly.”
“What’s wrong Uncle?” Zian Sent, his stomach dropping out from beneath him. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
“...I don’t know.” Uncle Yang looked so different these days, more tired and less confident than the Jia Yang of old who Zian had always looked up too, but he was still much improved from the jittery mess he’d devolved into after the whole debacle at the Northern Wall. “My contacts in Central were all Clan contacts, so there’s little I can learn on my own, but matters are coming to a head here in the Citadel and Rang Min moves as if he’s already won.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. Just... tread carefully.” Winking before he turned the corner, Uncle Yang Sent, “Remember, there are two lives in your hands now, yours and mine, for your mother will not suffer my continued existence if I fail to keep you safe.”
Despite the dire circumstances, Zian smiled at Uncle Yang’s joke. It’d always been this way with them, and as a child, he took great delight in watching his great Peak Expert Uncle feign fear before his formidable, intelligent, but ultimately feeble-armed mother. She could Demonstrate the Forms and did so religiously each morning, but only as a means to retain her youth. Zian had only seen her pick up a sword once, and she’d almost cut her leg bringing it over, so unless she had specific need to fool her son in the privacy of his own training room, then Mother was no skilled Martial Warrior.
Then again, knowing what he knew now, Zian wasn’t entirely sure Uncle was joking. Mother might not be a warrior herself, but with her political connections and conniving ways, she could be every bit as dangerous as Uncle Yang, if not more...
“Curious, is it not?” As if summoned by the thought of her, Zian turned and found Mother strolling towards him with Jing Fei and their collective handmaidens in tow. “You were ousted as Young Patriarch some months ago, but Nian Zu ignored you completely, yet this last week, he’s made a point to be seen speaking with you almost every other day. How strange.”
“Uncle Yang said Rang Min is acting like he’s already won,” Zian Sent, reluctantly putting his blunted practice sabres away. Most Martial Warriors disdained training with anything besides their Spiritual Weapons, but Zian found it immensely beneficial, as it helped him understand the overlooked details regarding the efficiency of motion. “Perhaps Nian Zu knows something of the Patriarch’s plans that we don’t.”
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“Doubtful,” Mother replied, stopping to smile at this soldier here or compliment another soldier there. She knew how to play a crowd, especially one filled with hot-blooded young men, and Zian never liked watching her work. It was... disconcerting to see men make fools of themselves to impress a woman twice their age, so he headed over to greet her and dissuade those bold fools from overstepping their bounds. “He knows something, but not about Rang Min. Nian Zu has never been shy about conflict with the Society, because he knows making a public fuss is the best way to make his problems go away. No, if he truly believed you were in danger from Rang Min and wanted to protect you, he would simply make a public declaration painting you as a fellow cast-off Clansman, a ploy even he could easily come up with.”
True. “Then why the charade?”
“I’m not sure,” Mother Sent, as Zian arrived at her side and greeted her by bowing over her hands. “Which is strange. He’s usually so easy to read. Tell me, did your uncle say why Nian Zu brought him along?”
“...Not specifically, but why wouldn’t he? Uncle Yang has more than earned Nian Zu’s trust.”
“Indeed, and the old fart has also won my brother’s loyalty, and therein lies the problem.” Seeing his confusion, Mother explained, “Your Uncle Yang used to tell me everything, but now he keeps secrets from his older sister. There is something afoot here, something that requires the presence of Nian Zu’s most trusted aides to handle, as well as his Famed Fifty and five-thousand of his veteran Experts.”
“...Veteran Experts?” Blinking in surprise, Zian studied the Imperial soldiers sharing the training field with him, who until just now had been merely faceless soldiers marching alongside his carriage. “You’re telling me every soldier here is an Expert with a Natal Palace?”
“Insofar as I can tell. Stop gawking dear boy, it makes you look boorish and uncultured.” Patting his cheek a little too forcefully, Mother met his gaze with a fond smile. “These soldiers are Nian Zu’s core strength, five-thousand loyal, Captain-level talents or thereabouts, which means he’s worried. I attributed it to Falling Rain’s plight, but Nian Zu’s heightened interest in you tells me something else is afoot. He’s bolstering your status and building you up as a promising young hero to watch. Why do this when he already has the Mother’s Miracle Child Falling Rain?”
“To take pressure off Rain while he recovers?” Zian Sent, unsure why any of this mattered. “Or maybe he wants someone to follow in his footsteps as the black sheep of the Society.”
“Perhaps.” Grabbing his chin and forcing him to look her in the eyes, Mother furrowed her brow and asked, “The boy is still crippled, correct? You’d tell your Mother if you knew otherwise, wouldn’t you.”
“Yes Mother, on both accounts.” Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he Sent, “I told you everything he told me. Rain was not faking his infirmity, and does not know how he gained strength enough to kill three Demons barehanded. All he remembers is falling off the outer wall, and then waking up in his camp with his pets all around him and while the battle for Sinuji raged on.” Shrugging, he added, “And I believe him.”
“...And I believe you.” Fussing about with his collar, Mother smoothed his shirt and straightened his hair. “Enough politics, and enough training. You’ll run yourself ragged sparring with these sweaty men all day, so go freshen up and put on a new shirt. Fei-Fei and I are going to the market, and since your uncle is too busy to escort us, you shall have to take his place.”
Enough politics, ha! As if that were ever possible with Mother. No doubt this shopping trip was also politically motivated, else Mother would never bring Jing Fei anywhere. They worked together well enough, but they loathed one another on a personal level. In public, Zian’s beloved concubine played her part perfectly, always silent and deferential in Mother’s presence just like she was now, barely even lifting her head to smile at her husband. In private however, they went at each other like two tigresses fighting over one mountain, except Zian had no idea what metaphorical mountain they were fighting for. Probably some silliness over Jing Fei’s family, but as far as he could tell, his concubine’s brothers were treated quite well. The older one, Jing Tai, was here with them, working as a military courier and taking lessons from Uncle Yang, while her younger brother was back in Shen Yun with Jing Fei’s mother and running the city unsupervised in Mother’s extended absence. It spoke volumes to the trust Mother had in Ong Ruo Mei that she would leave her alone and in control of Shen Yun for several months instead of the two weeks Zian had expected this family reunion to last, and truth be told, it was a trip he wanted to end as soon as possible. He loved his mother, but her constant bickering with Jing Fei was starting to take a toll as he nodded along with Mother during the day and was ground underfoot by Jing Fei by night, a vicious back and forth which had him counting the minutes before Mother returned North to resume her Magisterial duties.
Zian’s suspicions regarding his mother’s motivations soon proved to be true. As soon as they set out to the market, they ‘coincidentally’ bumped into Rain and his Imperial Servant. So strange to see their positions reversed, with Zian’s twelve-soldier entourage all but swept aside by Rain’s one-hundred-and-twenty Death Corps escorts, and he marvelled at how well his friend was handling his rise in status. Back straight and head held high, Falling Rain seemed the epitome of a noble young hero as he strode down the street with Zheng Luo on one arm and his mother on the other, so stately and striking despite their noticeable height difference. Rain wasn’t any taller than before and still overly thin, but his broad shoulders and dignified bearing did wonders for his image, as did his functional Khishig leathers worn over a fashionable silk shirt and trousers.
Not to mention the crowning piece which Zian had taken to emulating, his sturdy, serviceable marching boots. Cloth loafers looked better, but they were simply not suitable for duels or sparring...
Frail, crippled, and short, but Falling Rain was a warrior still, and not only was he worthy of respect and veneration, but his demeanour showed that he expected it. Granted, it might just be that the height difference between Rain and everyone else didn’t seem so important with the Divine Turtle looming over him, but regardless of the facts, Zian was proud of his friend for having come so far.
“Zian! Good to see you.” While onlookers would see Rain’s greeting as a farce, Zian knew his friend was genuinely happy as he waved them over to join him. “Please, come join us.” As Zian arrived next to him, Rain lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, an action which would have the surrounding spies cursing the noisy crowd. “Shopping is the worst.”
“Hush you.” Rain’s mother Sarnai was a stern woman, all steel and grit, but her smile showed how much she cared for her son. “It’s barely been an hour and this is only the second time we’ve gone shopping together. Is your mother’s company truly so hard to bear?”
“Well, it’s hardly fashionable for heroic young men to go shopping with their mothers.” Inserting herself into the conversation with ease, Mother patted Zian’s cheek and added, “In fact, we should count ourselves lucky that our sons pay us any mind at all. Such good, filial boys.”
Sarnai snorted. “True enough. Foolish men all around the Empire do not appreciate their mothers enough. The bar for filial piety is set so low the bare modicum of effort is enough to clear it with room to spare.”
Cheeks colouring at the loud and embarrassing exchange, Zian and Rain exchanged pained looks of shared sympathy while their mothers rattled on about unfilial children. Since it didn’t seem like their conversation would end any time soon, Zian glanced around and said, “No pets?”
“Yea, left them at home, except for Roc up there.” Gesturing at the feathery personification of greed, gluttony, and hatred perched atop the Divine Turtle’s head, Rain shrugged and added, “They weren’t too happy about the decision.”
Implying he wasn’t the one who made it, but this was for the best, since he was short of helpers to keep his curious and frankly disruptive animals in check. “Mila and Yan?”
“No change. They stayed home too. Not sure if they even realize we’re in another Citadel.”
Fascinating. For Insight to last so many days after the fact, the Bekhai were surely hiding some great secrets of the Martial Path, but Zian was too polite to ask. “Li Song and Mei Lin?”
“Also stayed at the manor. Lin-Lin was not happy about the decision.”
This time, Zian winced in sympathy. Lady Mei Lin was a charming and affable young woman, unless one managed to raise her ire. Zian had once scoffed at something she’d said, some silly nonsense about which rabbit was the cutest which made him mutter something about how they looked best when roasted on a spit. Nothing came of it except for a pointed glare, until he woke up the next morning with a painful rash across his entire body, which made him so itchy he almost clawed the skin off his stomach. Jing Fei soon identified the cause as itching powder sprinkled over his bed-sheets, but between her fits of laughter and palpable relief at having slept in her own bed, she was unable to come up with a salve to soothe his pains. Desperate for aid, Zian had sent for Rain, and not ten minutes later, he showed up with the cure in hand and head bowed to apologized for Mei Lin’s actions.
Apparently the half-hare had taken grave offence at Zian’s comments, and after thinking things through, Zian vowed to never upset the sweet maiden ever again. This time, it was merely itching powder, but he shuddered to think what other foul concoctions the Medical Saint’s daughter might have, not to mention the implications. If the sweet half-hare could send someone to sneak past not only Zian’s guards, but Uncle Yang’s as well, then itching powder was really the best he could hope for...
“What a charming sight.” Cutting through the noise of the crowd came a familiar, taunting voice, and Zian turned to see his Clan cousins Situ Chiang and Shirong marching towards them, only for them to visibly balk as the Death Corps readied their weapons. Stopping well short of those signature pole-arms, Chiang raised his voice for all to hear and said, “The Imperial Consort out for a stroll with his pet, and the Guardian Turtle to boot.” Spitting in the dirt, he sneered and added, “To think, I once looked up to you, Zian. You were the best of us all, but one defeat and you betray Clan and Society to go crawling into your rival’s camp. Disgusting.”
A clever barb, but Chiang has always been the smart one. Smarter than Gulong at least, yet not half as smart as he believed himself to be. Still, he’d been there when Gulong insulted Rain directly and temporarily lost his tongue in the process, so Chiang made this argument about Clan and Society instead. Now, Rain was merely a bystander to this discussion, but by painting Zian as a disloyal traitor, others would come to associate these traits with Rain as well, for if one often walks by the riverside, one’s shoes will eventually get wet.
Or as Rain once put it, birds of a feather, flock together. Full of strange and sometimes clever sayings, he was...
Oddly enough, Rain understood the nuances of this exchange and held his tongue, which was good because if he’d spoken up in Zian’s defence, it would be seen as taking responsibility for Zian’s actions. Not only would this lend validity to Chiang’s claim, since it would be strange for Rain to speak up on a matter he wasn’t involved in, but it would also make it seem like he was Zian’s superior, rather than friend.
How incredible. Rain was finally learning to navigate the rules of proper society. Zian was almost tempted to call it a miracle...
“Run along now, little Chiang,” Zian called, waving contemptuously for the benefit of the crowd. Truth be told, he didn’t hate Chiang, Shirong, or even Gulong. Rang Min was his enemy, and the others were merely fruits from the poisonous tree. “You know nothing of matters you speak of. Falling Rain is an Imperial Consort, a man raised to Imperial Peerage by the Legate himself. How can associating with such a fine warrior and esteemed individual be considered a betrayal?” Narrowing his eyes to warn Chiang off, he added, “Unless you see the Imperial Clan as enemies?”
Little Chiang was a clever man, but he’d never learned to consider the consequences of his actions. This whole argument was likely made at Gulong’s behest, or perhaps even Rang Min’s, but Chiang’s hatred was too strong to see he was being used. He blamed Rain and the Bekhai for his father’s death, and in truth, he was probably right to, but the Society sent Guardian Chi Lok out to kill the Bekhai, so they could hardly claim the moral high ground when their assassins turned up dead.
The bigger question was: what did Rang Min hope to gain from this pointless altercation?
Seeing his cousin struggle for words, Shirong knew to beat a hasty retreat. “Come cousin,” he said, gently pulling Chiang away. “Leave this beaten dog to his new master. It shames me to share a family name with a coward, but Zian is a defeated warrior of no consequence anymore.”
“Oh?” Approaching unseen from behind Chiang and Shirong, Ryo Da’in made her presence known to everyone watching this exchange. An alluring woman who radiated danger and menace, she strode through the Situ Family guards as if they didn’t exist, and in truth, they didn’t dare try and stop her. “So are you saying,” she began, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword while alternating her deadly gaze between Chiang and Shirong, “That my beloved baby brother, Ryo Geom-Chi, lost to a defeated warrior of no consequence? Such a bold claim from... Who are you again?”
“I – I am Si-Situ –”
Shirong’s answer was cut short as Da’in’s sword darted out of its sheath and stopped between his eyes, the tip resting ever so gently against his brow. Her second sword caressed Chiang’s neck, and it took an effort of will on Zian’s part not to look awestruck. To move with such speed and precision without drawing a single drop of blood, she was truly worthy of her title as the Sword Princess of Central. “You are no one,” Da’in hissed, her anger so palpable Zian feared she would slaughter both his cousins on the spot. “Children who have accomplished nothing of note, so how dare you insult my brother with your wagging tongue?”
“So-Sorry, Lady Da’in, I –”
“Sorry? You think a single word of apology is enough to erase this mark upon Ryo Family honour? No child. Your elders failed to teach you proper manners, so I will do so in their place.” Eyes burning with rage, Da’in pressed on her sword and sent Shirong to his knees, her subtle movements guiding him into the position she so desired. “This is how you apologize to your betters, child. On your knees to start. Do you know what comes next, or must I teach you how to kowtow?”
Unable to keep quiet any longer, Zian stepped forward and ignored Mother’s Sendings while clasping his hands in a salute. “Warrant Officer Da’in,” he began, having noted how much angrier she’d gotten when Shirong addressed her as ‘Lady’. “Please accept my most humble apologies in my younger cousin’s stead.” Bowing at the waist, he held the pose and continued to speak. “As you said, I, as their elder, have failed to teach them proper manners, so the punishment should fall to me.”
“...Tch. How boring. Away with you, worms.” Sheathing her swords, Da’in dismissed Chiang and Shirong, and they left with unseemly haste, but Zian could hardly fault them. Studying him with obvious disappointment, she asked, “Why stand up for them? Why remain loyal to a Clan which has all but cast you aside? You are no dragon among men like my little brother, but surely you can do better than Falling Rain’s lapdog.”
More political maneuvering, saying all this out loud, but Zian refused to play along. “Having seen how Rain treats his pets,” Zian Sent, favouring Da’in with his most charming smile while ignoring the question, “I’m not sure there is anything better. Who else would ship fresh shrimp a hundred kilometres to the battlefield?”
Unaffected by his charms, Da’in rolled her eyes and moved past him to go greet Rain instead, and while Zian would be lying if he claimed it didn’t sting, he knew this was for the best. Let the world believe him a defeated dog, but Falling Rain was a freak of nature and statistical anomaly. There was no shame in being inferior to him, because there were none who could match him. Not even Ryo Dae Jung himself could have killed three Demons at the age of twenty, with a shattered Core no less, and while Zian hadn’t seen it for himself and Rain wasn’t sure how he accomplished the feat, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.
The Martial Path was one of conflict, but there was no sense comparing oneself to others. Rain would never be Zian’s enemy, and he was a better friend than most, for in these troubled times, he was the only person to make Zian an offer of assistance without expecting anything else in return.
And for no reason besides because that's the sort of man he was.
“Hey,” Rain called, pulling Zian out of his thoughts. “We’re going to an opera show later, so you should join us. I already sent someone to tell Vichear, and Fung, BoShui, and Ji Yeon said they’d meet us there.”
“You hate the opera,” Zian replied, smiling at Rain’s considerate nature. Not only did he not mention the incident with his cousins, but he remembered Zian had mentioned having difficulty getting tickets and went out of his way to secure extras for his friends.
“Yea, so I’d like some good company to help me get through it without falling asleep.” Slipping away from his mother and concubine, Rain clapped Zian on the shoulder and muttered, “Might be dangerous though, so keep on your toes.”
“Good.” Seeing Rain’s confused amusement, Zian simply smiled and shook his head, refusing to clarify his statement. “Let’s go.” Mother was none too pleased, but for once, he didn’t care. Let her glare and glower all she liked, but Zian was proud to call Rain his friend.
And if Jukai had taught him anything, it was that a good man stood by his friends, no matter what.
Chapter Meme