For as long as Yan could remember, she had always wanted to be a Sentinel.

Not for any grand reasons like Rain, who felt obligated to stand up in defence of the common people, or Mila, who yearned to follow in the giant footprints left by both her parents. No, Yan wanted to be a Sentinel for one, simple reason: Sentinels rode roosequins, and roosequins were the most magnificent creatures the Mother had ever created.

Her infatuation with quins started off innocently enough, by watching a small group of Sentinels riding back into the village after a long hunt. Their shoulders and saddlebags were packed with goodies, whether they be butchered beasts or delectable wildberries, and Yan remembered watching it all from atop the shoulders of a housemarm. She couldn’t have been more than four or five, and the details were vague at best, so while Yan couldn’t remember the housemarm’s name, age, appearance, or even hair colour, she remembered asking how anyone could hunt so many enormous beasts.

“They’re Sentinels, sweet pea,” the housemarm replied. “The guardians and protectors of the village, who work hard to keep us safe from the mean old wolves, tigers, and terror birds of the wilds.”

Yan remembered wondering why they needed protection, but not if she voiced the question aloud. The next thing she knew, unfamiliar hands reached out for her and the housemarm happily gave her over to the strange Sentinel, who promptly sat Yan on the back of his or her quin. The quin’s name may or may not have been Roosie Goosie, but that was also the name of Yan’s imaginary talking quin friend who kept her company for many years thereafter, so she might have just made the name up. Either way, even though she must have seen quins before, that was undoubtedly the first time she’d ridden one, for the most vivid memory from that day was of how soft and comforting the quin’s fur felt as she buried her face in its neck and nuzzled the sweet thing until she fell fast asleep.

And thus began her lifelong obsession with having a quin to call her own, which in her innocent, childhood mind, meant becoming a Sentinel. Had she thought to question the matter and learned that couriers, trail masters, ostlers, trainers, and stablehands also had access to quins, then her life might have turned out very differently, but by the time she was old enough to question her childhood decisions, she was too invested to turn away from her dreams of riding her quin out into the world to do battle against the Father’s foul minions. Every morning, she dragged herself out of bed before the sun rose and helped out with breakfast, just so she could get to the training grounds before anyone else and maybe have a few precious minutes alone with the Martial trainer Kalil, who more often than not showed up late and drunk. Regardless of the lacklustre teachings, she threw herself into the Forms and learned how to fight with spear and bow in class, and with fist and horn in the secluded valley hangout where the youngsters all hung out and sometimes brawled, all the while seeking Balance during every free minute she had and neglecting almost every unnecessary aspect of her childhood in order to do so. Rather than dolls and ribbons, Yan played with wooden ‘swords’ and ‘bows’ forged from twigs and vines, vanquishing imaginary foes and conquering imaginary lands, and she loved every second of it.

Then she turned ten, and since she still had yet to Create her Core, the housemarms gathered to try and convince Yan to give up her dreams of becoming a Sentinel in favour of learning a real trade instead. The People were a community, and the only way it worked was if everyone contributed, so if Yan came of age and could not contribute, then she would be looked down on by everyone else. A harsh thing to say to a ten year old, but Yan knew now that the housemarms had no malicious intent. They all cared for her, and perhaps even loved her in their own ways, and were afraid she would become a burden to the people and live out a long and unproductive life.

Of course, back then, Yan thought they hated her and wanted her to fail, so she railed about the injustice of the world and ran off into the woods in the dead of winter, with barely more than the shirt on her back. She hadn’t gotten far before the cold set in and she could go no further, maybe twenty minutes or so, but it felt like an eternity before her rescuer found her, huddled up inside the hollow base of a tree and in grave danger of death. “Silly girl,” big Ghurda had chided, while tenderly covering Yan in her warm, furred cloak. “Got a burr in yer britches, do ye? Runnin’ off into the woods without so much as yer boots, on new year’s day no less. Daft as a duck in a Demon’s den, ye are. Come, tell old Ghurda all about it while I get ye back to a roaring fire and a warm cup of tea.”

Ghurda only wanted to keep Yan talking so she wouldn’t fall asleep and die, but Yan told the gruff woman everything. Aside from the housemarms clucking about Yan’s overreaction and walking around on pins and needles for two weeks thanks to her regrown toes, no one ever mentioned the incident again, nor did the housemarms try to dissuade her from pursuing the Martial Path. It was almost like the whole thing never happened, except when Martial training resumed once more at the end of new year celebrations, it was Ghurda who came to teach them, with a sober, hang-dog Kalil waiting at her heels. Finally, there was someone who was happy to answer all of Yan’s incessant questions, and before spring broke, she was a Martial Warrior in truth. There were other teachers Yan was grateful to, like Yaruq, whose beautiful, curvy horns made a young Yan erroneously believe they were somehow related, or kind, portly Mengu who brought hordes of quin cubs with him for training and socialization. There was also the stern Khagati who single-handedly kept the orphanage larders from going empty, pursed-lip Alsantset whose dark scowl just oozed disapproval, and sweet Tursinai who never said a mean word, but whose prodding switch was quick to correct someone’s improper Forms.

It was only after she became a true Sentinel that Yan learned her childhood trainers were all a part of the Iron Banner, an elite mercenary force led by the handsome and heroic Captain Baatar, and thus, Yan found herself a new hero to admire. That admiration died a few years later when Baatar mistook her for a spy because he thought Yan was a boy, but it had no impact on her determination, except as a stark warning to engage in more scholarly pursuits lest she become a muscle-brained fool like her childhood hero. She was working on a story in fact, a tawdry novel like the ones she so loved to read, but it was harder than expected and she had yet to find the courage to share her work with anyone else.

Not even her idiot Rain. Especially not him, or Mila, as they would no doubt instantly realize what events inspired the main character’s compromising encounters with a powerful female Warrior who broke his bones in the heat of passion...

All of this was neither here nor there, as Yan worked hard and persevered until, at the tender age of sixteen, she was accepted into the Sentinels as a young cadet. What followed next were the most gruelling six months of her life, where she spent every day learning the skills necessary to defend the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains from any and all threats. They jogged all day and marched all night, sleeping lightly in the harness between lessons of tracking, hunting, reading the land, using the terrain to her advantage, and running her quarry to ground or headlong into a trap. Field dressings, rudimentary self-Healing, forest craft, quin riding, and more, Tokta made it clear that she and all her fellow cadets would remain cadets until they mastered the basics of all these subjects and more, not to mention meeting the exacting Martial standards set forth by Chief Provost Akanai herself.

Aside from bonding with Shana over many snacks and countless hugs, Yan had few fond memories of her Sentinel training, which made her all the more indignant when she lost her place in her first training mission to an entitled foundling brat who got to skip all those harsh lessons just because Akanai was his Grand-Mentor. Granted, Rain proved his skills and more during the bandit attack and Magistrate’s banquet, but Yan was still irked by his reckless behaviour, and she pushed herself even harder to excel, which eventually led to her beating Huu by the slimmest of margins to become the undisputed strongest cadet of their graduating class.

And then, almost five years later, Yan discovered that most of her Sentinel training was utterly useless while standing on a Central battlefield.

There was a marked difference between what Yan had been taught to expect in battle versus what Imperial Officers expected from her. With the Sentinels, she’d been told to keep a clear head and an eye on her surroundings at all times, for a battlefield was a complex and dynamic environment which required awareness and quick thinking to survive. Strike where the enemy is weak and retreat when they are strong, such were the core tenets of Sentinel tactics, but the Imperial school of thinking was far more simplistic: take a defensible position and hold it to the last. It made sense of course, since all Sentinels were given a quin to ride and care for and could easily outpace most Defiled, while the majority of Imperial soldiers fought and travelled on foot, making it easy for the Defiled hordes to swarm and overrun them.

For Imperial infantry, it was truly a matter of hold or die, and as a hundred-man commander of one such infantry force, Yan had little experience to draw upon when setting out to the front lines for the first time. Now though, after a full year and a dozen tours, Yan was as hardened as any, and she stood tall between Kyung and KageTaka as the Defiled charged her position. “Stand firm, Warriors of the Empire,” she shouted, imbuing her words with Reinforced and Reverberating Chi in order to be heard over the din of stampeding Defiled boots approaching their position and Imperial projectiles hissing overhead. “Sinuji has seen off worse than this, and the Defiled will not take it from us today. For the Mother! For Sinuji!”

Echoes of her battlecry sounded down the line, and then there was no more time for words as the wave of Defiled flesh surged up the walls and crashed into the Imperial ranks. Ghurda was right, one kilogram heavier is one kilogram stronger, and Yan would have been swept off her feet if not for Kyung and KageTaka’s support, blunting the force of the Enemy charge with coordinated sweeping blows of their sabres. Deer Form, Parting the Underbrush, but a variation that covered a wider range of area in support of the soldiers around you. A tried and true Southern tactic introduced by her second, former Captain Sutah of the Imperial Army, and adopted by Yan for use in her retinue. A spear wall was easier to coordinate, but far less effective at dispersing the momentum of a crazed Defiled charge, for anything short of instant death was little more than a hindrance.

Though Yan’s Spiritual Battle-Fan was ill-suited for the maneuver, being light in weight and short of reach, she made up for her shortcomings through effort of will. Chi surged out from her Core, down her arm, and into her Battle-Fan as she slashed at her foe, and a blade of Wind Chi shot out to claim the Defiled tribesman’s life. Were it Grandpa Du, the Wind Blade would have continued on to claim more Defiled lives and leave a gaping void in the Enemy lines, but Yan lacked his Talent to keep Chi from dissipating on contact with a living being. It had something to do with natural Domains and the inner workings of life itself, which were subjects far beyond what Yan could comprehend, so instead, she traded massed killing power for unparalleled speed and efficiency.

A second swing of her Battle-Fan produced another Wind Blade, and so too did her third, fourth, and fifth swings, as well as each swing thereafter which would otherwise not connect. Every Wind Blade caught a Defiled tribesman unprepared as they believed themselves out of her range, and her Blessing left most of them dead or dying on their feet. Soon enough, there was a pile of dead Defiled mounting at the base of the wall where she stood, but tattooed Southern primitives relished the challenge and pressed her even harder.

And for long minutes, Yan held the line, striking down her opponents from afar like a hero of legend.

It had taken months of effort to get this far, and might have taken years if not for her fortuitous Insights from the Bamboo Grove and her beloved betrothed’s tendency to ruminate on questions he had no way to answer. It was so simple, Yan was ashamed she didn’t think of it first, for push-pull interactions were one of the most basic lessons an aspiring Martial Warrior learned. When thrusting a sword, you push with the right arm and pull with the left, while the reverse was true when drawing a bow. Yan lived and breathed these simple movements for years as a child while stabbing and shooting practice targets, so why not extend these interactions to Chi use?

Of course, this was easier said than done, and she would never have figured out the trick so quickly without Grandpa there to guide her. “What you possess,” he began, habitually searching his pockets for a pipe he no longer carried or used, “Is not the Blessing of Wind, but the Blessing of Air. A push-pull interaction of Air? Why that is the very definition of Wind, for it is both Air moving to fill a void and the void pulling Air in to fill it. Such is the nature of Air, constrained by this world we live in and perpetually testing its limits in a quest for unlimited expansion, or until it can expand no more.”

Which meant the trick to crafting Wind Blades with minimal Chi was not just to push it on its way, but to simultaneously create a void to pull Air in the right direction. Enter her Battle-Fan, which Yan angled to push air along and create wind, while simultaneously Honing the edge of the weapon to slice through the air itself. In doing so, she created a void along the axis of her swing which drew in the air being displaced by her fan, ergo the push-pull method of Wind Blade formation. Of course, this would occur even without Honing, but some testing revealed that a Honed edge displaced air the best, or at least that’s how it felt, and Grandpa agreed. Stupidly smart Rain did too, suggesting Yan try it before she even brought the matter up, mentioning something about a ‘mono-molecular’ edge slicing through ‘particles’ and creating a pressure differential, or something to that effect.

This raised more questions for Yan to study, especially when she considered the destructive capabilities of air pressure itself, but she put her stupid betrothed’s distracting ramblings aside to focus on her Wind Blades first. After weeks of practice, she could now rapid-fire them as quickly as she could swing her Battle-Fan, and do so hundreds of times before draining her Chi dry. Not bad for a Martial Warrior who had yet to Form her Natal Palace, since most upper level Chi skills required one to practice efficiently. Of course, the Wind Blade would not form without a full swing of her Battle Fan, since there was a minimum force requirement, and somehow, most Defiled seemed to instinctively know this. Either that, or they saw her deadly ranged attacks as incentive to close the distance as quickly as possible, but once they set foot on the wall and stood before Yan, they instantly moved to deny her access to a full range of motion, charging headlong into the fray with no care for self-preservation. In this situation, she could only manually create her Wind Blades in close quarters combat, which meant it was more efficient to fight without utilizing her Blessing.

And she loved every second of it. Here, in the thick of battle, shoulder to shoulder with her soldiers and face to face with her Defiled foe, Yan found her formal Sentinel training next to useless once again. Grandpa Du’s training was equally useless, as there was no time for feints or gambits and no room for footwork or tactics. It all came down to raw strength, an area Yan was sorely lacking in, but she’d been thin and weak all her life, and it never stopped her from giving as good as she got. Drawing on those hard-learned lessons from her childhood brawls, Yan laid into the Defiled by punching, kneeing, and headbutting with reckless glee. It wasn’t about hitting the hardest, but hitting the right places as hard as you needed to, and Yan had long since turned it into a science.

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Besides, there were few things more satisfying than the delectable crunch of broken bone and invigorating spray of metallic blood following a successful headbutt to the face. Once, she would have thought impaling her enemies on her Honed horns would’ve been even better, but things proved different in practice. There was a marked difference between getting sprayed with blood and having it dumped atop your head, so she now only used that as a gambit of last resort.

Time became meaningless as Yan fought and bled upon the wall. She fought until her lungs burned and muscles ached, and then she fought some more. Every time she felt she had nothing more to give, another Defiled would appear and she would find the strength to fight on. Some Defiled were killed in summary fashion, others she struggled with for seconds which felt like hours, but she emerged victorious each and every time. Not without help of course, as Kyung and KageTaka were there to support her, and she even chanced upon the opportunity to help the latter a handful of times. Not Kyung though, who was a force unto himself, taking on three to seven Defiled at any given time so Yan could fight one on one. Without him bearing the brunt of the assault, Yan’s section of the Wall would undoubtedly have fallen, or at the very least her people would have taken significant losses in order to hold, but when the battle finally drew to a close and the Defiled retreated in full force, the final tally lay at seven dead with only eleven more too injured to fight again any time soon.

Not a bad day’s work, for what it was worth, but Yan added the seven unlucky soldiers to her running tally, which now sat at two-hundred and ninety four. That’s how many soldiers died under her command thus far, averaging twenty-four and a half soldiers lost per military excursion, out of a total command of one hundred. Truly a mountain of corpses, one which would only grow as the weeks, months, and years passed by. Though much improved from her earlier statistics, she still lost one in four of her retinue every time she set out for the front lines, a figure which was utterly unacceptable in her eyes. Even if they killed ten Defiled for every soldier lost, it wasn’t good enough, because she knew the Sentinels could do so much better with quin and bow. What were the numbers like for Big Huu or Alsantset when they fought from quinback on the open plains, to say nothing of Rain’s incredible record of effective deployments beyond the front lines? Hard to say, but were it up to Yan, she would give every one of her men a horse and a repeating crossbow to better even the odds.

Arms leaden and shoulders in agony, Yan gratefully turned over command to the Officer who came to relieve her, a snide, Northern-born Society Adherent named Xue Biqian. The pompous bastard’s clansmen had probably been in on the hunt which had Yan and the rest of her party fleeing for their lives from the Society Headquarters, but now she was expected to play nice. Well fuck that. Yan had almost died during that great escape, and Mila had taken grave injury too, which made her unwilling to forgive and forget, but now she would have to invite their bastard of a Clan head to her bloody fucking wedding banquet, where her dopey husband to be would shake his fat hand and laugh like they were the best of friends.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Yan sought Balance and vented all her vengeful desires. They would return soon enough, but she would not let them take root, not after seeing what Huu struggled with each and every day. There he stood in their camp, waiting with water, rations, and bandages to help with her people, and Yan flashed him a grateful smile. “Your wives have trained you well,” she quipped as she accepted a water-skin, and her heart ached as he struggled to rein in his fury at her facetious barb. Oh poor Huu, how could he let things get so bad? “Thank you. It is much appreciated.”

Though he was still bristling with anger, Yan closed her eyes and ignored him while drinking deep from the water-skin, not just because she was thirsty, but because she knew her show of trust would calm him down. Draining a good half in one go, and the other half in two more manageable gulps, she slowed her gasps and took a slow and steady breath, holding it for a count of three before slowly exhaling. Only then did she open her eyes again, and to her delight, she found her old friend, the shameful, sheepish Huu standing before her once more. “It was the least we could do,” he rumbled, scratching his nose while flashing a smile at Yesui and Yosai. “You know, after sitting back here firing arrows over the walls while you do all the fighting.”

He looked so much better now, had gotten much of his anger under control, but there was a hint of self-loathing in his tone that was all too real, so Yan felt compelled to say, “Which is exactly where your Sentinels are most effective when fighting from a static position. They all trained the same as we did, and it’d be a waste of all those hours spent at the shooting range if we put them on the wall with spear in hand.” Truth be told, they’d probably be more effective than most Imperial units here in Sinuji, as Sentinel standards were much, much, much higher than those of the Imperial Army, but if there was a butcher’s bill to be paid, then better if it was paid by men and women who trained for it, rather than the tactically more valuable Sentinels under Huu’s command. Five thousand bows were nothing to sneeze at, unlike the one-thousand crossbow-wielding irregulars who’d done fuck all during battle.

To be fair, it wasn’t Brigadier Chen Hongji’s fault Colonel General Nian Zu’s pet project had yet to take off. It was easy enough to see that arrows loosed from bows had a wider trajectory compared to bolts loosed from crossbows when aiming at the same spot. This made it impossible for the irregulars to stand in the courtyard and fire at the Defiled beyond the wall without either risking friendly fire or having their spent bolts rain harmlessly down atop the Defiled lines, which was really just a waste of effort and money. They needed an elevated shooting position to reliably work, but Fort Sinuji hadn’t been built to accommodate crossbows, and the construction effort was dedicated to repairing the middle and outer walls which fell in the last epic clash between Rain and Gen. A futile effort, in Yan’s opinion, as they were little over one week shy of autumn now and the middle wall was still in shambles, with the worker’s most recent efforts having been trampled underfoot by the Defiled force she’d just seen off. Their efforts would be put to better use building raised platforms for Sentinels and irregulars to loose projectiles from, but she was merely a lowly, third-grade Warrant Officer and lacked Rain’s unbridled gall to directly tell her commanding officer he was making a mistake.

It made sense to do so, yet every time she thought to try it, Yan’s inner self shrieked bloody murder at the indignity of it all. Brigadier Chen Hongji was a good man, and she could not shame him like that, and if she disagreed with his decisions, she should simply make suggestions, rather than outright correct him.

A suggestion which had thus far gone ignored, as they lacked the materials to build a platform large and tall enough to suit the irregulars’ needs, so it was a moot point regardless. Tired enough to fall asleep standing, but unwilling to do so whilst caked in blood and viscera, Yan followed Yesui and Yosai to where they’d set up a steaming hot private bath for her, courtesy of the stone travel tub she’d ‘borrowed’ from Rain. Sinking into the steaming hot water with a muted groan, Yan admitted that she would never give this tub back, not if it meant she would have to do without one, and she didn’t even care that it was technically against Military regulations to have a heated bath in the fields. She needed this, and what’s more, she needed Yesui and Yosai’s tender ministrations as they fussed with her hair and nails. “Honestly,” Yosai clucked, scrubbing Yan’s fingers until they were raw and red, “How can you have so much blood hiding underneath your nails? Are you killing the Defiled with your bare hands and tearing their flesh into strips?”

“You think that’s bad? Take a look at this.” Pulling out a clump of something Yan would rather not look closely at, Yesui showed it to her sister before throwing it aside and going back to combing Yan’s hair. “I don’t know how you stand it. Blood and viscera is a part of war, but you get right into the thick of things. Might as well be swimming in gore, and I much prefer killing with my spear from three paces away, or better yet, from a hundred paces with my bow.”

“I find the Defiled are rarely accommodating enough to mind their distance,” Yan replied, enjoying their friendly discourse. The half-bear sisters were a bit fussy, but they didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, Yan could kiss them for helping her get clean, as she was so comfortable in the tub, she could barely move a finger. “You don’t have to do this,” she added, using her chin to gesture at the tub and various feminine cleaning gear which she’d never laid eyes on before today. Why in the Mother’s name would anyone ever need tweezers in the bath? Tweezers were for removing splinters, and there was little risk of those while fighting Defiled atop rammed-earth walls. “I’m perfectly capable of washing myself.”

Yesui snorted while Yosai only politely rolled her eyes. “Capable, yes,” Yesui said, pulling at Yan’s earlobe like she was a delinquent child. “Willing? Ha. Left to your own devices, you probably would have thrown a bucket of water over your head and fallen asleep whilst still caked in filth. This is the least we can do after all you’ve done for Huu, so quit squirming about and let me wash your ears before something seeps in and never comes out.”

“You’re an absolute gem of a woman, Yan,” Yosai chimed in with a shake of her head while Yan was still trying to decide if she should feel sheepish or offended, “But I swear you’re as bad as a man in some ways. Just look at how ragged your cuticles are, and I daresay your nails have never felt the touch of a proper file.”

Judging by the way Yosai held up Yan’s hand for inspection, she assumed cuticles had something to do with her fingers, but what, she had no idea. “Nails are there for scratching itches. Who cares if they’re neat and tidy?”

“And your hair,” Yesui said, working her brush with palpable fury. “With how often you cut it, you’d think you’d have no split ends, but the strands are so frayed and tattered, it’s as if you’ve never soaked your hair in rice water before.”

“...I haven’t.” Craning her neck back to look Yesui in the eyes as the woman did delightful things to her scalp, Yan asked, “Is that something I’m supposed to do? We wash rice because it’s dirty, so why would I pour that water on my head?”

“To nourish and strengthen your hair of course.” Blinking in surprise, Yesui stroked Yan’s hair and asked, “How did you ever get it so dark and lustrous without rice water?”

Shrugging, Yan sank back into the water with a yawn. “Born lucky, I suppose. Never really did anything special about my hair, skin, nails, or what have you. Never had anyone to teach me, not ‘til Eun came along and showed me how to put on makeup.” A sleepy smile made its way across her face as she shrugged again, needing to give credit where it was due. “Then again, Tomor knows all the ins and outs, so I suppose the housemarms must’ve taught her. I just never cared to ask about this sort of business, and was more liable to question them on the best way to skin a goat or when the next time the quins were expected to visit.”

“That does seem more to your tastes. Huu’s told us stories about your boyish adventures together, catching bugs and playing bandits.” The sisters shared a sneaky smile, and Yan knew they were thinking about how Rain mistook her for a boy, because Big Huu had a big mouth. At least they were too polite to laugh about it in front of her face, which was really all she could ask for since it was pretty hilarious. “That said,” Yesui began, laying a hot towel over Yan’s forehead, “I’m looking forward to seeing a more girlish Du Min Yan, if only for a day. What sort of dress have you picked out, or are you keeping it a big secret?”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?”

Yan could feel the sisters’ incredulity leaking out from between their ears, so utterly flummoxed by a simple question they struggled to find their voices. “Your dress,” Yosai repeated, as if that was all Yan needed, but it was far from enough. “For your wedding. Next week.”

“Oh.” Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Yan shrugged once again. “Eun had something in mind, I think. Made me stand in place for an hour while she took every measurement imaginable last time I was in the Citadel.” Almost a month ago, if she recalled correctly, though days spent on the front line tended to run together, aside from the stand out battles like today. “No idea what she even needs half of them for, but there’s no arguing with the woman. I swear, if we could weaponize her force of will, we’d win the war the next day, and there would be no Enemy survivors.” Seeing her joke fall flat, Yan glanced at one shocked sister, then the other, and asked, “What?”

“You haven’t picked out a wedding dress?”

“How could you be so laid back about your big day?”

Their voices were so similar, Yan couldn’t pick out which twin asked what, but she answered their questions in the order she registered them. “I’d marry Rain wearing a rice bag if that’s what it takes. Won’t be wearing it for too long either way, so best if it’s something easily removed. As for my ‘big day’, if I had my way, I’d skip the whole thing.” Yan shuddered, imagining how it would be. “Sitting there on stage with the Legate looming behind us, while fops and dandies simper, stare, and stuff their faces on my father-in-law’s coin. Ugh. No thank you. The wedding is for Grandpa, and with Rain overseeing business in the Southern Citadel and me here on the front lines, Grandpa is free to plan the wedding he wants, or the one Eun convinces him he wants, at least.”

Instead of commiserating with her distress, Yesui and Yosai simultaneously pinched Yan’s tender flesh, eliciting a girlish shriek of surprise. As if that weren’t enough, they then had the gall to scowl as if she had wronged them. “Idiot,” they said, uttering the condemnation in unison before Yosai continued, “The wedding banquet is an affirmation of your union before everyone you know, a chance to stand in front of all women of status and show them that Falling Rain is your husband.”

Yesui chimed in, her expression as serious as the grave. “You need to take this seriously. Mila had it easy, since she was the first wife, but you being the second means there is room for a third, fourth, and even fifth.”

“Nope, no room left I’m afraid,” Yan quipped, grinning to lighten the mood. “I’m afraid Rain’s all booked up for future wives and is no longer accepting any proposals.”

“So you think, but now that they know you and Mila are open to sharing him, the women of the Empire will be more forward with their advances.”

“You should have seen how shameless they were, after Huu showed off his skills at the Legate’s banquet.”

“Brazen harlots they were, pressing up against him and whispering in his ear.”

“Didn’t even have the courtesy to approach us first, not that we’d have allowed it.”

“Huu has enough trouble with the two of us, he’s hardly equipped for a third wife.”

Her sides in stitches from their disgruntled grumblings, Yan tried not to laugh and failed miserably. When she was done cackling, she gasped, “As if they haven’t been throwing themselves at Rain to begin with. You should read some of the letters he gets, they’re better than any lurid novel on the market. No, Rain has a lecherous appetite, but he’s not a man to go lusting after strangers, or even close acquaintances and subordinates. The only women I need to watch out for are the ones he feels most comfortable around, and he’s either related to them or has already won them over.”

Much as she loved Rain, Yan would be the first to admit he had issues with intimacy. Still, it was comical seeing how uncomfortable he became when confronted by amorous strangers, like a startled rabbit with nowhere to run. Da’in especially took great delight in the game, and she made it her goal to tease him whenever they were together. It’d gotten so bad he started actively avoiding her by ordering his guards to warn him whenever she was close, which sparked off a new game as Da’in took to Sending word of her arrival to Yan or Mila, who would then escort her in under Concealment.

Honestly, having Da’in as a Sister-Wife wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but she didn’t want a husband weaker than her, which meant that despite his lofty rank and status, her sights were not set on poor Rain. Or any man, for that matter, as Ryo Da’in had exacting standards.

Seeing how Yesui and Yosai wanted to push the issue, Yan directed the conversation away from interlopers and to something she’d been thinking about more often of late. “Mind if I ask a personal question? How do you two keep from getting jealous of one another?”

The sisters smiled, as if long expecting this question, and Yosai answered first. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, not at all, just...” Sitting up in the tub so she could face them both while she talked, Yan put her thoughts in order before continuing. “See, I thought I was perfectly fine with sharing Rain, because I know he loves me, and I can see he loves Mila and Lin-Lin too.” Luo-Luo and Song were another matter, but there was no point making things more complicated by throwing them into the mix right now. “I love Mila like a sister, and I was over the moon for both of them during the wedding banquet, but then I saw how they looked at one another the next day and...”

It hurt. It hurt seeing Rain’s loving gaze mixed with lust and gratitude directed at another woman, because while she knew he loved Mila, before their marriage, that look had belonged solely to Yan.

Shaking her head as if she could read Yan’s thoughts, Yesui helped her out of the tub and handed her a towel. “There’s no easy answer, I’m afraid. We’re sisters, twins even, which means no two women could be closer than us, and we fight all the time.”

“Not just over Huu. She’s a slob.”

“And she has no respect for others’ personal things.”

“She always forgets to bring in the laundry.”

“She never remembers where she leaves things.”

“She’s always frittering coin away on needless frivolities.”

“And she’s never happier than when she’s nagging someone or telling them what to do.”

Despite their heated exchange, the twin sisters smiled and embraced one another. “Let me tell you what Elia told us,” Yesui said, sighing as she linked arms with her sister. “You’re not just marrying your husband, you’ll be marrying your sister-wife too.”

“Not in the physical sense,” Yosai added, a little too quickly which raised Yan’s suspicions, but this was not the time to pry for lurid details. “But in an emotional one. Envy and jealousy is natural, but you can’t portion your husband out and enjoy him separately. That’s not how it works. You’ll have to share him in every sense of the word, not just physically, but emotionally as well, and that might be the hardest part. However, he will have to share you too, for you will have a bond with your sister-wives that not many will understand. It will not be easy, so you’ll have to figure it out with Mila and the others lest your dissatisfaction tear you all apart.”

“I suggest you try talking to her,” Yesui said, her cheery, self-satisfied smile proving her sister right. She did love telling people what to do, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t good advice. “That’s what women do, after all. Men just grunt and punch one another, and somehow that makes them the best of friends.”

And it was so much easier to deal with. Women were so complicated and emotional, but alas, such was life. “You’re right,” Yan begrudgingly admitted, inwardly grumbling at having to pit herself against the too-formidable Sumila. “I’ll talk to Mila when I see her.”

Yesui and Yosai each took one of Yan’s hands in their own, and the latter said, “And if you ever need someone else to talk to, we are both here for you.”

Huu was a lucky man, for his wives were loving and understanding. Unfortunately, Yan was now too distracted to concentrate on her own problems, and was burning to know if Mila was amenable to this same sort of sharing, or if Yan would survive the encounter. Well, no way to find out without trying it first, though she would like to have Rain to herself for a few days at least, if only to finally test the limits of their endurance.

An entire week spent in bed, just thinking about it made her legs quiver in anticipation…

Chapter Meme