I hate crying.

When I first arrived in this world, I cried a lot, but I figured that since I was inhabiting the body of a twelve year old, I probably had the brain chemistry of one too. Thus since younger people have more difficulty controlling their emotions, it was no big deal if I cried every now and then, especially considering the trauma I went through. As I grew older, I did what I could to stop bawling all the time, but it wasn’t easy because there’s so much to weep about. It’s gotten so bad, it’s almost become an ingrained habit now, and the tears start up every time I’m faced with hardship, adversity, frustration, anger, and a plethora of other emotions which have nothing to do with sadness. I can’t help it. I just feel the buildup of emotions in my chest and my eyes begin to leak, but through sheer force of effort, I’ve learned how to hold them back except in the most extreme situations, because I am a man, a manly man, and manly men don’t cry.

There’s also the fact that I love adorable floofs almost too much, or more than what most people deem is appropriate, and if I were a crybaby as well, my man card might be revoked for behavior unbecoming of a man. Personally, I don’t think it’s fair that girls and children get a pass for being obsessed with animals. Why can’t a dude cuddle with his floofs? In fact, I would go as far as to say doing so should earn me man points, because what’s manlier than snuggling bears and wildcats? People just don’t understand me, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten used to taking all my emotions and stomping them flat into the deepest, darkest, recesses of my psyche, so if I have a mental break every now and then, well that’s just the price of being a manly man.

That being said, as the first prisoner sails screaming towards the setting sun, I admit I might be overcompensating for crying myself to sleep last night. What a great way to reunite with my beloved wife, to cry myself to sleep beside her while too ashamed to look her in the eyes. Yan didn’t say or do anything to make me feel like less of a man, and she never would, but it still doesn’t feel great knowing that’s how we spent our first night together in over a month. Thankfully, Yan has always been great about helping me cope, and Mila was out on the plains with Zabu and Alsantset, running interference against the Enemy and prepping for the castle’s retreat. I love her to bits, but Mila has a tendency to try and fix every problem she sees, so if she saw me last night, she’d spend the next few weeks trying to get me to understand why I shouldn’t feel bad about what the Defiled are doing for varying reasons. There’s nothing I could’ve done to stop it, I’m not responsible for their actions, the Enemy is doing this to get under my skin and I shouldn’t let them, et cetera, et cetera, but it wouldn’t have helped. I wasn’t crying because of what happened, I was crying because I had no other way to process all the sorrow, anger, regret, and other emotions which cropped up when faced with so many senseless atrocities.

While her efforts might normally have borne fruit, what Mila wouldn’t have understood is that I don’t blame myself for what the Defiled are doing. I just wanted it all to stop, but since there was nothing I could do, I cried. I cried for the poor tortured victims, hanging over beds of coals by their battered, broken limbs. I cried for the reluctant accomplices who took up the hammer because they believed they had no other choice, and ultimately could not finish what they were forced to begin. I cried for the poor, frightened souls who gave into their dark desires, their yearning for survival superseding their compassion for their fellow prisoners. I cried for all the meaningless and unnecessary suffering those people went through, knowing there was no hope for survival and that their last moments in life would be nothing but pain and agony.

And most of all, I cried for those brave souls who rose up against their captors and fought against all odds. For their courage, they earned themselves a far worse fate than what they would have received, all because they listened to me.

To be human, is to choose. What a bunch of fucking garbage. Some choices are an illusion, to die now or die later. What does it matter what happens in between?

“Judgment comes to the Empire, and you have all been found wanting! The Chosen of Heaven will bring justice to the Dog Emperor and all who grovel before him!” Struggling against his bonds as he’s loaded into the catapult, the second Chosen projectile rants and raves about crimes against nature and whatnot, but it’s all a bunch of meaningless drivel spewing from the mouth of a madman. The Spectres have a firm grip on him, as they do with all the Chosen I’ve met, and knowing what I know now, the Enemy’s methods seem all the more insidious.

It all goes back to what Grandpa Du said during my meeting with the Tyrant. “Chi is bound to the individual and inviolable until it returns to Heavenly Energy.” It makes sense considering we bind Heavenly Energy by drawing it into our Cores, which are part and parcel of our souls. A few days ago, I concluded that our souls are simply who we are, the very core of our being, so it made sense that Chi from two individuals couldn’t mix, since that would be the same as mixing souls. This, however, got me to thinking about Spectres and how they are literally birthed from Martial Warriors in times of extreme duress, as I saw with Jorani and Awdar. There are probably countless Spectre births happening all across the Empire at any given moment, and I would bet my left arm that commoners can birth Spectres too. Hell, back in Sanshu, the air was thick with Spectres, but while I assumed they’d all been brought there by Butcher Bay Bandits, who knows how many were birthed right there in the city itself?

Last night, as I stood here on the battlements taking in the horrific acts of cruel depravity, I kept going over everything I knew about souls, Chi, Heavenly Energy, and Spectres, and came up with a theory, one which ties back to Mahakala’s last testament. “No longer trapped by the cycle of samsara, itinerant souls seek to break through the barrier of existence and end it,” he said, and at the time, I had no idea what he was going on about, but when Grandpa Du mentioned the inviolability of Chi, the pieces all fell into place. Spectres are literally the darkest thoughts and desires of humanity brought to life with Chi, which is why Mahakala called them itinerant souls, because that’s literally what a Spectre is: a severed portion of a soul which was cast away to protect the psyche of the original owner. That’s what we humans do to protect ourselves from pain and misery, we do away with the bad memories and try to focus on the good ones instead. Sure, there are people like me who love to wallow in self-pity, but as a whole, humanity is quick to forget adversity and indulge in prosperity. This explains why there are no ‘good’ Spectres, because we’re selfish and keep the good emotions for ourselves, while dumping all the bad emotions and polluting the metaphysical atmosphere.

In a nutshell, Spectres, and by extension, the Defiled and quite possibly even the Enemy, is a calamity of humanity’s own devising. Humans ruining the world, what else is new?

The more I thought about it, the more it all made sense. Why is Luo-Luo’s music so highly valued as a balm against becoming Defiled? Not because she plays at an advanced technical level, which she does, or because her musical composition is superb, which it may or may not be, but because not only is she able to express her emotions through music, but she can also evoke those same emotions in her listeners. Oration is another such skill, but after a few days of experimentation and far too many corny speeches, I think I’ve figured out why it’s not widely used. Luo-Luo’s ‘Rise to Glory’ can elicit the same emotions every time, because the song puts her in mind of what she went through, which she then shares with her audience, but when Orating, I’m just speaking my mind and sharing the emotions I feel in that very moment. If I tried to write a speech beforehand and recite it for the crowd, nothing would get through, so it only works when I go with my gut and pass along the message in whatever way felt right. Though my speeches were cringe inducing to the extreme, I was honest and open with the soldiers outside the Citadel and again when addressing the Imperial prisoners across the field. This is war, but being humans, we have a responsibility to hold ourselves to higher standards than the rest of the world.

I want to drive the Defiled back, to eradicate the threat they present, to bring an end to the endless trials and tribulations of this world and make it so my children, grandchildren, and descendants born after them never have to go through what I did, and I want to do it all in a way that doesn’t involve slavery, torture, or general crimes against humanity.

...Catapulting living prisoners probably crosses the lines a bit, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I really wish Mahakala, the Abbot, Monk Happy, or someone from the Brotherhood was here to talk to, because I still don’t really understand the rest of what Mahakala had to say. “If everything is in nihility, then time and space become meaningless. An end to suffering yes, but an end to all else, the desperate last effort of the lost and destitute, Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” As far as I can tell, this means the Spectres aren’t happy being condemned to the Void, and while some seek a return to the material world, either in the form of Demons or by inhabiting another person’s soul, there’s a subset of Spectres, which Mahakala called Anathema, who are seeking to destroy the material world and turn everything into the Void and therefore ruin things for everyone. That’s what I got from it, but even if I’m right, I have no idea where to begin to fight that. What do we do? Arrange daily concerts from Luo-Luo? Train up an army of musicians, artists, poets, and whatever to go around spreading cheer and happiness to all? I don’t think emotions work like that, because there will always be highs and lows in life, and people respond differently to each one.

Better to put all the theological fuckery aside to focus on what I can affect, winning the war effort. Sadly, I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of raising morale, judging by all the appalled looks and incredulous stares going about the castle walls, and that’s only on the faces I can see. Who knows how soldiers down the line or alone in the privacy of their quarters are reacting. Then again, this is a world in which the Purge is viewed as an acceptable cost, so I have no idea why catapulting less than a dozen Defiled across the battlefield is making people uncomfortable. Probably because most of the people present have never taken part in a Purge, and don’t understand how terrible it truly is. Unfortunately, much like signing death warrants with less than complete evidence, I believe this is a necessary evil, to show what the ultimate fate of the Chosen will be.

As an added bonus, whatever Chi working the Defiled set up to broadcast the sound of their prisoners’ screams works just as well on my Chosen projectiles, their howls of terror coming in clear as they progress through the final meters on their journey through life. After the fourth Chosen projectile lands in front of Enemy lines, the noise broadcasting finally comes down and the fifth lands in utter silence, though the Enemy no doubt can still hear them. No one amongst the Defiled does anything to save their comrades, and a good number of them even take great delight in watching the show, but this message is not for the Enemy. The Imperial prisoners across the way deserve to see their hated foe receive their comeuppance and need to understand that the Chosen are no better than the Defiled. This same message also goes a long way with the soldiers of Castle JiangHu, because now they have proof that this is not a new, stronger Enemy they face, but the same foes we’ve always fought, just dressed in a different outfit. Plus, it does everyone good to see evil brought low, and nothing says vulnerable like broken, naked prisoners getting launched several hundred meters through the air before coming in for a grisly, fatal landing.

Following my express instructions, the irregulars set to work prepping the catapult for its next delivery while the remaining prisoners screech and howl in a mixture of fear and fury. Several people warned me that by taking it slow and giving them time for regrets, it was possible these Chosen might turn full Demon when faced with the inevitable end, but I would welcome such an event since I could just drain those Demons dry in front of all these witnesses. Not just the Imperial soldiers here with me, but I’m sure there are plenty of Defiled Scrying on me from afar, no doubt hoping to find an opening to have me killed by Wraiths, Peak Experts, or Demons. If Pong Pong was here, he could let me know whenever we’re being watched, but honestly, I’m kinda relieved the little guy isn’t around. Wandering around with two Divine Turtles is just asking to get found out, but one turtle isn’t so bad for several reasons. First off, Ping Ping’s been colloquially known as the Divine Turtle for centuries, on account of both her gentle demeanor and the public perception that she must be close to Divinity regardless. Secondly, Ping Ping’s ascent was recent, as she’s barely a month into her transformation, which means even though she’s what I would call a True Divinity, she’s also unfamiliar with her newfangled strength and therefore can be easily defeated by a Divinity, At least, that’s what my Dao Protecter, Xing Yong Wei, implied, and I’ve no choice but to take his word for it. Lastly, Ping Ping is pretty much a domesticated turtle. She eats what I feed her, sleeps where I leave her, treats every stranger as a friend, and only attacked Big Poppa Piggy after he made a move against me, and not before. Even her enemies can tell Ping Ping is a big sweetheart, and of no threat to anyone who doesn’t harbour ill-intent. This makes her a possible asset, and a valuable one at that, which means rather than trying to kill her, the Imperial Clan would much prefer to have her on their side, which means I’m in more danger than she is.

Not so with Pong Pong, who is unsociable, unfamiliar, and wholly willing to throw down when left with no other option, summoning giant pillars of water and blasting an Aura of Depression whenever he damn well pleases. It’s the difference between a friendly dog and a wild wolf. Both are possibly dangerous beasts, but the former is given the benefit of the doubt, while the latter is killed on sight to protect children and livestock. Pong Pong is safer and happier living his best life in the river by the People’s district, especially since I’m pretty sure Taduk has some powerful friends hanging around to help keep the tiny turtle safe. Or yanno… keep Pong Pong from destroying the Central Province in a fit of rage. He could probably do it too, but being a turtle, he’s just never really wanted to kill, maim, and destroy for no reason. Which is really good, because if I’m right about how animals utilize Heavenly Energy directly, then Pong Pong wanting to destroy Central would probably result in said destruction actually taking place. I once likened Divinities to walking nuclear bombs, but Pong Pong is an even bigger weapon of mass destruction, one only kept in check by the reasoning of a literal turtle. I pray we never run out of shrimp to feed him, or I fear this world will never survive Pong Pong’s wrath.

“No, no, please, no, don’t DO THIS!” The high pitched shriek brings me out of my thoughts and I turn to see Dastan’s prisoner struggling to escape his bonds. The last prisoner, it appears, with all others having been catapulted to their deaths before his eyes, and now, his turn has arrived. “Mercy, please, mercy,” he cries, his brow covered in sweat and eyes wild with terror as he tries to find a sympathetic soul in the crowd. “Please, you can’t! My name is Yomen Hoon. I have a wife Yun-Ju, and two children, Tae and Su. I served at TieJian, I fought against the Enemy, and I am a loyal man of the Empire, but they made me do this. They made me! I didn’t have a choice!”

Though the prisoner does his best to avoid my gaze, I can feel the stares of countless soldiers, Death Corps, Royal Guardians, and even Sentinels turn towards me, no doubt wondering how I will handle this. Will I be merciful or heartless? React with sorrow or anger? Will I condemn the prisoner for his lies, or hold him up as a warning to the others? Honestly, even I don’t know, which is why I have yet to step in, but I can tell how unsettling his claims are for the warriors around me, even the loyal Death Corps with their unflappable, blind faith. “You were taken during the withdrawal?”

Grasping at the lifeline before him, Hoon nods like a chicken pecking grains without ever meeting my eyes, his body quivering from fear and hope. “Yes! I fought loyally under Major Ichihara Sotaro, made three tours to the front lines since the war began, but once the bulk of his forces came under threat, the Major sacrificed me and my comrades to slow the Enemy down. They captured me, did unspeakable things, and they forced me to fight on their behalf. Please,” he begs, throwing himself at my feet, though still quite a ways away since the Royal Guardians refuse to let me stand closer. “Please, this fool begs you, merciful Legate. Spare me. Mercy please, mercy.”

Ignoring the sniveling theatrics isn’t easy, because I do want to save him, but he sang a different tune when I questioned him earlier. Perhaps something has changed, so once again, I give him another chance. “The withdrawal was less than a week ago,” I say, more for the benefit of the audience than Hoon. “How many Imperial citizens have you killed since then?”

“They made me do it, merciful Legate, they made me. I had no choice.”

“I know. Answer the question. How many did you kill? One? Two? More than ten? More than a hundred?” Seeing him at a loss for words, I press the issue further. “How many of your victims pleaded with you? How many told you their names, or the names of their loved ones as you just did? It’s a simple question, Hoon. Answer honestly, and I will show mercy.”

“...More than ten, but certainly less than a hundred.” Repeatedly knocking his head against the stones hard enough to make me wince, he takes on a plaintive tone and pleads, “This one repents, this one is remorseful, this one will seek to make amends, but this one had no choice! They would have killed me slowly and eaten me alive if I did not act, and what man does not wish to live?”

“So you seek a return to the light?”

“Yes, Imperial Legate, yes!”

“Do you renounce the Enemy in all its forms?”

“Yes, Imperial Legate.”

“Do you admit to your crimes of treason and murder?”

“...Yes, Imperial Legate.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Very well. Since you have shown remorse, renounced the Enemy, and admitted to your crimes, I will show you mercy. As Legate of the outer provinces, I, Falling Rain, absolve you, Yomen Hoon, of the crime of treason, and forgive you for taking up arms against the Empire.” At my words, every head pivots sharply in my direction with faces painted in obvious disbelief, including Hoon’s, but I am not yet done. “Liu Xuande?”

“Yes, Imperial Legate?”

“What is the penalty for murdering an Imperial soldier in wartime?”

“It depends on the nature of the crime,” Xuande replies, but picking up on my intent, he continues, “However, in this case, as the culprit has confessed to no less than ten murders, then I am confident that the death penalty applies. How that death is served is a matter left to the Justicars, but for a war criminal, flogging and hanging are most common, though in a case this severe, beheading and dismemberment is not unheard of.”

Nodding in thought, I face Hoon and say, “For your crimes against your fellow Warriors, I sentence you to be hung by the neck until dead. Kuang Biao?”

“Yes, Imperial Legate?”

“Hang him.”

“By your will, Imperial Legate.”

Hoon barely has time to elicit a terrified shriek before Kuang Biao is upon him, using another prisoner’s bindings to fashion a noose around his neck before pitching him over the battlements. A quick drop ends in a bone-shattering crack as Hoon’s neck snaps at the end of the rope, a far better end than most of his victims received. Taking advantage of everyone’s shock, I tap into the anger simmering in my chest and speak, praying my Oration kicks in and shares it with my audience. “Let it be known that Imperial Soldier Yomen Hoon was a criminal, one who has now paid for his crimes. He made a choice and his actions shamed him, but he repented in the end, and for this, I will show mercy to his wife and children. Yomen Hoon’s crimes end with him. Cremate him as a soldier, for he died on the battlefield, and see to it that his death benefits are paid in full.”

A mercy, but not what anyone was expecting. At least now, the poor bastard’s wife, children, and extended family won’t be put to death for his betrayal, seeing as the punishment for that is nine-familial execution. It would’ve been overlooked if he didn’t mention any names, because if we set out to kill everyone even remotely related to any of these new Defiled, then we might as well hand the Empire over on a silver platter. By now, Kuang Biao has already hoisted up the dead Yomen Hoon and laid his corpse out for others to collect. My decision to have him cremated with military honours won’t sit well with many, but it’s all I can do for him. His family won’t have it easy now, what with his identity revealed, but hopefully, people will be too afraid to directly act out against them when they hear I gave Hoon a military funeral. I wasn’t kidding about forgiving his crimes, and soon enough, Xuande has a document drawn up for me to stamp, which I do in full view of everyone watching.

It might mean nothing in the end, but it is the least I will demand of myself, to offer compassion wherever I can, if only to assuage my own guilt. Perhaps Hoon truly repented his actions and could’ve eventually turned his life around to become a valued member of society again, but then what would become of Hoon’s victims? Where would they find justice? It’s a fine line to walk, and I myself am not even sure where the boundaries lie, but all I can do is follow my gut and do what I believe is right.

Unfortunately, as I grow into my role as Legate, it’s become increasingly obvious that the world is not black and white as I once hoped it might be, but rather just varying shades of gray. Perhaps Yomen Hoon deserved worse for his crimes. Maybe he was Defiled from the start and sabotaged Major Ichihara Sotaro’s ill-fated withdrawal, in which less than half of his five-thousand man retinue made it back to safety with the corpse of their commander. Who’s to say Hoon’s wife and children aren’t also Defiled, having been tainted after he returned from one of his three visits to the front lines? Honestly, I don’t know, but I can set people to watch them, both to protect them from reprisal, and to ensure they aren’t part of a deeper conspiracy. Paranoid? Maybe, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong, and I probably won’t find out the truth until it’s too late to matter.

Yomen Hoon made his choices, and I’ve made mine, so it doesn’t seem fair that only one of us has to live with the consequences.

I hate everything about this, but I’m doing the best I can, which is only a minor comfort as I trudge down the stairs and depart from the inner wall. Though night will soon be upon us, I have yet to eat dinner, and I fear it will be a lonely affair since Grandpa Du is accompanying Yan on night duty, along with Rustram, Dastan, and most of my retinue too. Mom and Akanai are out in the field alongside most of my friends, including Wu Gam and his singular cassowary cavalryman, leaving me, Lin-Lin, and Song all by our lonesome. Rather than have a quiet dinner with the three of us, I invite Zian and Fung for a meal in my private quarters, and they are more than happy to accept. Arriving with Jing Fei on his arm, Zian greets me and Lin-Lin with a nod and a smile while his pregnant wife fakes enthusiasm for this dinner. It’s easier to see through her than usual, but it gladdens me to know she seems to truly enjoy Zian’s affection, though I still can’t tell if she really loves him. As such, while Zian is distracted dealing with my overly affectionate bears, I give Kuang Biao the pre-arranged signal and he reminds Jing Fei through Sending that even though Zian loves and trusts her without fail, I am still skeptical, and remain true to my word. If her husband dies under mysterious circumstances, I will kill her after she gives birth and leave their child with Zian’s mother to raise. Whether or not I’d actually do it is another thing, but if it keeps her honest, then it’ll be effort well spent. If Zian does die, well… I’m not above demanding an Oath from Jing Fei to find out if she actually had a hand in his death, and may the Heavens forgive her if she did, because I most certainly won’t.

While I’m busy exchanging pleasantries and Sent threats with Zian and Jing Fei, Fung arrives with Ryo Seoyoon at his side, though from the looks of things, their relationship has yet to progress to hand-holding in public, though I cannot speculate what happens in private. Arriving with them is Fung’s manservant/torturer/Healer, Fu Zhu Li, as well as two handmaidens who stand on either side of Seoyoon and keep Fung at a reasonable distance away. Trailing them is another six guards, entering my meeting room unseen under the guise of Concealment. Sensing these Concealed figures take up position around Seoyoon, I can only assume they’re here to protect the youngest Ryo daughter, who joined the last-minute reinforcements with little to no fanfare or warning.

Ever since I woke from my most recent coma, spotting people in Concealment has been fairly easy, though I still don’t really know how I’m doing it. It’s like… wandering around in the dark, but in a familiar place, so you can almost see the outline of things you know are there. You’re not actually seeing anything, but your mind is helping you fill in the blanks, which is pretty much how I’m spotting people in Concealment. If I concentrate really hard, I can sort of make a figure out, but only just barely and without much colour or substance. With Seoyoon’s guards, even squinting doesn’t reveal their physical presence, though I could point them out with my eyes closed because I just know they’re there.

There’s two types of Concealment. The first type Conceals the user from the physical senses to varying degrees, that is sight, sound, smell, touch, and I would assume, taste. The second type isn’t really a different type, but more of an advanced version of Concealment which hides the user from another Warrior’s Domain. I assume Seoyoon’s guards are using the second version, because the Royal Guardians and Sentinels posted outside wouldn’t have let any Concealed guards pass without revealing themselves. It’s mostly for security reasons, since any one of them might have been a Wraith, but I also left orders to keep the number of guards low since I wanted this to be a quiet, intimate dinner. There goes that plan, but I would love to know how it works. Grandpa Du couldn’t tell me, because he can only Conceal himself normally, and no one else wants to discuss the Dao with me. Even Guard Leader keeps a Sound Barrier around her at all times so she doesn’t overhear our conversations, though Lin-Lin listens in without fear of reprisal.

“If I didn’t know any better,” I quip, plainly eyeing the Concealed guards around Seoyoon, “I’d think you were here to kill me.”

The problem with moving up in the world isn’t that everyone thinks you’ll change, but rather that everyone expects it. Fung, Zian, and Jing Fei all freeze in place with bewildered expressions while Seoyoon and her handmaidens drop to their knees in panic, kowtowing on the carpeted rug before me. “This one wouldn’t dare,” she says, knocking her head against the carpet louder than Hoon did on stone. “Guards, reveal yourselves!”

Six panicked handmaidens join Seoyoon in kowtowing before I reach her side, wishing I hadn’t made that stupid joke. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” I say, pulling her to her feet, or at least trying to since she’s actively resisting. “Just a joke. Please don’t make this awkward.”

It’s immediately apparent this was the wrong thing to say, as Seoyoon’s shock and horror quickly morphs into anger as she asks, “A joke?”

Audibly sighing, Fung moves to help straighten Seoyoon’s robes, but is deftly stopped by the two initial handmaidens, while the other six remain on their knees with their heads pressed against the stone. Pursing his lips in discontent, Fung shoots me a dirty look as if it’s my fault his girlfriend’s guards are so wary of him and says, “The Legate has always been a little slow in the head, and has yet to understand the gravity of his office. He meant no insult by it, and I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

This is bullshit. I’m the Legate, which means I’m everyone’s boss, so when I make a joke, everyone is supposed to laugh. Now Fung calls me slow in the head while Song glowers disapprovingly and Lin-Lin, Zian, and Jing Fei struggle to hide their laughter. Where’s the face? I was told there’d be face. Plus, in my defense, Seoyoon’s guards came in uninvited, or at least the six kneeling ones did, but I suppose making jokes about traitorous actions is well over the line of decorum. “This is entirely my fault and I do not blame you in any way whatsoever. I didn’t think things through before opening my mouth, which is a bad habit I have yet to correct even after all these years.” Realizing I’m still holding her by the arm, I let go and gesture towards the dinner table with a sheepish grin. “Please, everyone, stop kneeling and let us settle in for dinner now. Did I ever tell you how Fung and I met? I was wandering around a market in Shen Huo when…”

After recovering from my social gaffe, Fung and I take turns telling amusing tales of our early years while the others listen intently, though Lin-Lin chimes in with a few sordid details I’d much rather remain hidden. It’s all in good fun though, and by the end of the night, most of us are laughing and smiling save for Seoyoon and Song who are mostly focused on the animals. The youngest Ryo daughter is seemingly fascinated by Sarankho’s snowy white fur, though I hope it’s because she’s a beautiful creature full of grace and majesty rather than any desire to turn my sweet kitten into a coat to match her flowing white robes.

Why am I so mean to my friends’ girlfriends and wives? If Fung or Zian treated Lin-Lin, Yan, or Mila like I treat Jing Fei and Seoyoon, I’d cut ties with them immediately. I should work on that, but I just can’t bring myself to trust Jing Fei, and I have no idea what Fung sees in Seoyoon. She is a cold, passionless woman of few emotions save for anger and impatience, and she doesn’t treat him half as well as he deserves, largely ignoring him until it was convenient to acknowledge his presence. Regardless, Fung is a friend, so I should at least give her the benefit of the doubt, which I keep in mind as I move on to the real reason I invited them here. “So,” I begin, once the dessert dishes are cleared away and we’re ready to talk business. “Things on the second line are going to get real complicated, real soon.” Eyeing Jing Fei’s pregnant belly and doing my best not to glance at Seoyoon as well, I continue, “Zian, if your wife is amenable, why don’t the two of you move into my guest suites? I’m sure she’ll be more comfortable there with my servants to attend to her needs, rather than in your officer’s quarters with you taking meetings there at all hours of the day.”

Quickly picking up on my meaning, Zian furrows his brow and asks, “Are things really so dire?”

“I’m afraid so.” Personally, I wanted to just tell them both that we’re about to engage in a bloody, fighting retreat and that they should get out while they can, but operational security aside, I doubt either of them would thank me for the warning. Zian is here to progress along the Martial Path, and Fung is here because Akanai dragged him away to war with her, saying she’d left him to his own devices long enough and it was time he did his part. There’s also the fact that it’s probably too late to send Jing Fei safely away, as the Enemy no doubt is already moving their forces into place to intercept our advancing forces and catch us during our ‘retreat’. Despite doing our best to keep the plan a secret, there is no doubt in my mind that Zhen Shi knows what we’re planning, or at least, he thinks he knows. With luck, the plan my War Council and I put together has a few surprises lying in wait, but only time will tell. Nian Zu and Shuai Jiao are both fairly confident my contingencies won’t be needed, but better to have a plan and not need it, than to need a plan and not have it.

After a bit of back and forth, Jing Fei accepts on Zian’s behalf, as he was still wavering on whether he wanted to impose on my hospitality. With their agreement secured, I turn to Seoyoon as if the idea just came to me and say, “Oh, I know, why don’t you move into the suite beside them and keep Jing Fei company? Song and Lin-Lin will be around too, and I’m sure they’ll appreciate having a fourth for majong.” Sometime during all the fighting and chaos, Lin-Lin picked up an addiction to the strange game of tiles, and she is a fiend when it comes to finding people to play with. I’ve long since been kicked out for my careless playing, and while Mila and Yan are casual players at best, Song picked up the game with the same intensity she had for chess.

Rather than answering, Seoyoon takes a long minute to study my expression, and even goes so far as to study Lin-Lin and Song as well. “Fung tells me you are a straightforward man,” she begins, frowning as she does, “Though I find this difficult to believe, seeing the position you are in now. That being said, I will trust him and speak freely, for it is what he is urging me to do. I know what you are trying to do, but I do not appreciate it.” Drawing herself up to full height, which is actually a little shorter than I am, she declares, “I am no helpless maiden or pregnant woman to be hidden away and protected. I am Ryo Seoyoon, a Warrior of the Empire, and I have come to Castle JiangHu to do battle with the Defiled.”

“I understand,” I begin, but she shoots me a pointed look and I shut my mouth, because that is a look all women share, and one Mom, Alsantset, Akanai, and Mila have all mastered well.

“I am well aware of the risk involved.” Giving me another pointed look, this one calling me an idiot, she Sends, “In case you’ve forgotten, my father is a Colonel General, one who sent me here knowing full well what you intend.”

Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a complete idiot, and the fact did cross my mind, but I’ve also heard plenty of whispers regarding the Ryo family’s lacklustre contribution to the war effort. Of the three Ryo siblings, Seoyoon will be the first to do battle with the Defiled, and after shaming Ishin Ken-Shibu for eschewing battle and forcing him to the front lines, popular opinion has shifted against the Ryo family for failing to send their children to war, when most other prominent families begrudgingly dispatched one or two talents to display a token effort. Now, a pivotal point in the war will soon take place here in Castle JiangHu, and lo and behold, in comes the youngest, least distinguished, most expendable member of the Ryo family, little Seoyoon, here to win acclaims for the Ryo family, or die as a symbol of their contributions.

Either way, the Ryo family shows they’re doing their part, and knowing this, I thought she might want a way out. Seoyoon has a mere hundred soldiers under her command, infantry no less, with her immediate commander being a career Senior Captain by the name of Mibu Ono, who on the surface has no discernible ties to the Ishin family, but none with the Ryo family either. All it would take is for the senior captain to place Seoyoon in an unfavorable position to win points with the Ishin family, and it’s possible he’s already been bribed to do just that since my people can place Ono in a very expensive brothel prior to deployment, which doesn’t mean much considering even I didn’t know Seoyoon would be setting out until we were already on the march. Granted, I wasn’t really paying attention, so who knows what others might’ve picked up on, and since I only have suspicions, and no proof, this is the most I can do.

Having kept silent for too long, I offer Seoyoon a wry smile and respectful nod, since an outright salute would make her, and everyone else lower ranked than I, exceedingly uncomfortable. “I meant no offense, and pray none was taken. If you should have need of my assistance, let me know and I will do whatever I can to help.”

With that said, Lin-Lin jumps in and cajoles Seoyoon into a game of mahjong with Song and Jing Fei, leaving me to entertain Fung and Zian. Since neither of them care to sit around and cuddle floofs, and we can’t drink since battle can break out at any time, we head out for a stroll with most of my pets and my honour guard in tow. I can tell my friends are dying to ask about the impending danger, and are also curious to know why I brought all my beloved animals with me if I already knew, but neither voice their concerns and I don’t offer an answer, because again, operational security. As we move through the castle streets, Fung is the most vocal of us three, while Zian and I chime in with mostly monosyllabic answers. Due to my status, even my closest friends defer to my lead, and eventually, we find ourselves outside one of many barracks within the castle, though I know a certain individual is stationed within.

That individual, however, is not in his room, mourning the loss of a family member, but instead out in the courtyard sparring with four soldiers who look somewhat familiar at first glance. None of them show mercy to their erstwhile partner, because none is needed, as Ishin Ken-Shibu moves about the sparring grounds in a blur of spinning steel. Picking up the pace as we arrive, he splits his opponents into two pairs, and fends off one pair with the left hand and attacks the second pair with the right, all while whirling about in a dizzying, deadly dance. Neat and precise, the longer sword aims unerringly at its target’s vulnerabilities, and both sparring partners are taken out in short order with beautifully placed slashes. Free to concentrate on the remaining two Warriors, Ken-Shibu’s shorter sword lets one weapon through its previously ironclad defense and promptly traps it between blade and hilt. The battle all but won, he goes through the motions of defeating his opponents before smoothly spinning on his heels to greet me with a flourish, offering a deep bow with blades pointed downward rather than sheathed as protocol demands.

“Ishin Ken Shibu greets Legate,” the painted dancer says, his breathing steady and makeup perfect despite his obvious exhaustion. “To what does this servant owe the pleasure of Imperial Legate’s honoured company?”

It must kill him to say it, but I take no delight in his discomfort. “I came to offer my condolences for your uncle,” I begin, noting the flash of anger in his eyes. “He was a hero of the Empire, and his sacrifice will not be forgotten.” I didn’t ask Hongji to do it, but apparently, he placed Ken Shibu in one of the most dangerous posts of the outer wall. No big deal there, but last night, when the Demons and Peak Experts took the field, Ken-Shibu’s Peak Expert uncle died getting him to safety, and I’m guessing he blames me for the loss. I get it, he’s angry and wants to lash out, but I’m hoping a small peace offering will go a long way. “Also, I had this made for you, before I left the Citadel.”

Pulling a token out of my sleeve, which is just a terrible place to keep pockets, I approach and offer it with both hands, which he graciously accepts after putting his weapons away. Clearly confused by my actions, Ken-Shibu’s gaze alternates between the token and my face, struggling to make heads or tails of the situation. After a long period of hesitation, he finally asks, “But why?”

“Because your talents are wasted as a hundred man commander.” Shrugging, I add, “I suspect you could rank higher than a mere first-grade Warrant Officer, but you’ll have to prove yourself first, then agree to join the army before I can promote you any more. If you are lacking soldiers to fill your new retinue, you may draw however many Warriors you need from the Death Corps and lead them in battle.” Doing my best to appear regal and magnanimous, I add, “I take it you know what is to come, so you also know the Empire is in dire need of heroes. Ishin Ken-Shibu, will you answer the call?”

Again, Ken-Shibu hesitates as he tries to puzzle out my ‘true’ intentions, but when the time comes, the Officers under me need to obey orders without hesitation. If one group breaks formation or deviates from the plan, it could spell disaster for the entire second line, and the rest of the Empire will suffer for it. It’s fine though, because I never had any intention of waiting around for an answer, and promptly turn on my heels and saunter off into the night with Fung and Zian.

A perfect exit, until I notice Aurie picking through a pile of garbage and run over to stop him. Stupid wildcat. I already overfeed you, why are you going through trash and looking for scraps?

This is my life now. Prisoners and politics. Boring, tedious, and unpleasant, but a hell of a lot better than what’s to come. As if on cue, the harrowing horns of battle sound as the Defiled tribesmen begin their nightly assault, one meant to wear down the defenders in preparation of the big moves we’re about to make. After sending Fung and Zian off to gather their retinues to wait in reserve, I send word to Song that I will be visiting the inner wall again, much to Kuang Biao’s dismay. “The soldiers fight in shifts,” he begins, grimacing as he struggles to explain without triggering his oaths. “But your honour guard must remain vigilant at all times, and doubly so when you approach the battlefield. You will need us all at our best, and as such, you must give us time to rest.”

He makes a good argument, but unfortunately, I have good reason to stand so close to the battle. “Double my honour guard,” I say, “And start guarding me in shifts. I mean to be close to the fighting as often as I can, so I’m afraid you and my other guards will simply have to endure.” Zhen Shi has seen what I can do, but he’s not sure how much I’ve improved, especially since he knows I had a hand in Ping Ping’s ascension to Divinity. From start to finish, Zhen Shi has always believed I was faking my infirmity, but I never really realized it until I saw through Gen Shi’s actions. He was bait, there to test my strength and see how far I’d progressed, because Zhen Shi, the real Zhen Shi, is worried. About me.

No idea why. I mean, okay, I Devoured some Spectres when I was healthy, and Devoured some Demons back in Sinuji, but otherwise, I don’t really know what I did to warrant such caution. Regardless of the answer, I’m betting my presence so close to the battlefield will leave him more hesitant to act. In fact, he kept his Demons in reserve all day while I watched from the inner wall, which according to Hongji was an uncommon occurrence. Hopefully, this means I’m right and Zhen Shi thinks I can do… something to turn the tides of battle, whether it be Devouring, Orating, or something else altogether, so until I figure out what that is, I’ll just have to bluff and pray he doesn’t call it.

And if he does? Well, that’s what Kuang Biao and my honour guard is for. It’s a gamble, but I’ll take any advantage I can get, because Mother knows we’ll need it.

Chapter Meme