by T. A. Miles
At the base of the stairs leading up to the shrine that preceded Song Lu’s tomb, Xu Liang offered the Empress his hand. She took it delicately and proceeded to take careful steps, the extensive train of her robes blanketing the pavement behind her, leading like a golden river toward the rimmed path that would return them to the courtyard and the awaiting sedan that had borne them, by the efforts of eight of her personal guards. Also lingering near were some of the handmaidens and lower ranking officers who had accompanied, as was required of their essential roles within the court.
“Do not be concerned,” Song Lu’s sister said quietly, revealing no fear, as her brother would not have. “They are images I have seen before. They only further justify your deeds concerning the Celestial Swords, and that pleases me.”
“Were you concerned that I have been wrong?” Xu Liang asked, recalling what Xiang Wu had said about others speaking against him to the Empress.
Song Da-Xiao smiled without looking at him. The expression was not warm, but somehow haunted. She said, “I have not lost faith in you, my brother. After our spirits ceased to be connected, I feared that the Heavens had taken you from me. I worried that you might have offended the gods by seeking the artifacts they meant to deliver to us at their own pace.”
“Yes, that has crossed my mind as well,” Xu Liang admitted as they entered the shrine, stepping out of the sunlight and into shadow. “However, in my experiences abroad, I have come to believe that the bearers of the Blades were also intended to be delivered to us, if we would but take the risk in discovering them.”
“It was a terrible risk,” Song Da-Xiao said softly. And then, “You are my strength, Xu Liang.”
Xu Liang stopped walking and waited for the Empress to do the same. She did and turned to face him sadly, as if expecting him to give the contradiction that edged on his lips. Though she may have known his response already, he spoke the words anyway. She could not rely on him like this. He would not outlive her or her rule. “Your strength comes from no men, save your ancestors. Believe that, my empress. For as you doubt, the land and the people doubt with you.”
“I have never doubted you, Xu Liang,” Song Da-Xiao told him and they continued walking.
As they neared the tomb of her birth brother, the Empress took sticks of incense from the kettle of sand they had been nested in and lit them on nearby candles. She held them between her hands in prayer before placing them back in their urn.
Xu Liang silently performed the same ritual.
“Sending you to Fa Leng is not truly meant to be taken as a reprimand or a punishment,” Song Da-Xiao continued. “Han Quan suggested to me that your personal involvement in the battle is the only way to guarantee success at this point, and I agree with him.”
“Chancellor Han Quan,” Xu Liang echoed thoughtfully. “He did not seem so confident of my abilities in a dream I once had.”
“He admires you a great deal,” the Empress informed, stopping in front of her brother’s tomb, where a multitude of candles and incense burned in a constant vigil. “He praises your young understanding of the ancient arts frequently. There are few your age who are considered to be among the Seven Mystics.”
“I am not among them formally,” Xu Liang reminded, veering away from the subject, returning to that of his dreams. “There was someone else in my nightmares after I broke away from our connection, someone who also opposed me and not only in dream, but in life as well. He was a warrior of tremendous skill, given the aid of a mystic. He was determined to stop my search for the Swords.”
With a trace of worry in her quiet tone, the Empress asked, “Where is he now?”
Xu Liang considered the disservice that had been paid to a warrior of such strength in leaving him exposed on the field of battle, even with his weapon beside him, and even though he had been proven an enemy of the Song. In a belated consolatory measure, Xu Liang referred to him by name, so that his strength might be attributed to his family. “Xiadao Lu perished in the outer realms, slain by one born of that region, who has come to Sheng Fan.”
“I know there is virtue among those you have brought with you from the outer realms,” Song Da-Xiao said to him. “Else they would not have your trust.”
Nothing more was said on the matter of rogues or of barbarians. They said their prayers for Song Lu, then departed, Xu Liang turning back for just a moment to look at an amulet resting among other objects that had been placed at the face of the tomb. The necklace was strung with pale beads and a single flat, black object that glistened with traces of violet and green, backed with gold. The iridescent disc was supposedly a piece of a tortoise’s shell, capable of granting protection to any who wore it. Song Lu had given it to Xu Liang so many years ago. He wondered if his prince had been wearing it that day he confronted his assassins, if he would be alive now.
Perhaps, Xu Liang thought to himself, we cannot change fate.
With the initial layers of formalities past and further layers pending, Xu Liang took advantage of the space between in order to begin preparations for the presentation of the bearers. It would be important to present them in a less foreign light. He hoped also to provide a gesture on behalf of his foreign friends, that they are willing to embrace the culture they have entered. Proper attire was paramount, though it would be difficult—if not impossible—to veil all of their exotic characteristics. The elves were the most at risk of prejudgment that would be based in fear. There were no elvish people known to Sheng Fan. The dwarves were also unique, but their small stature would have many regard them with more curiosity. Taya would very likely be received by many as a child. Xu Liang would do his best to ensure that both her and Tarfan’s dignity would not be trod upon.
The specific details of his plans for integration were a concern for later, Xu Liang decided, while his carriage came to a stop amid a thickly populated cluster of arcades well beyond the innermost walls of the Imperial City. Strung lanterns and banners cluttered a sky already crowded with the near edges of awnings, terraces, and the tops of trees that peeked through from various gardens throughout both the common and imperial grounds of Ji’s largest city. Xu Liang pulled back the drape in front of him and stepped out of the carriage. With Guang Ci and his personal tailor, Lun Tai, in tow, he entered the Peiyung House of Fabric in the eastern district of the surrounding city. It was less likely that word of much would have radiated too far outward from the western gates or the fortified heart of the city just yet. And what had traveled throughout what was largely referred to as the People’s City would not be so readily applied to him, since he had taken the time to change into more essential robes than what he typically wore within the court, as well as to have his hair braided and to don a hat—again, something more essential than formal. Most would first recognize him as a noble—of which he would not be the only one traversing the affluent district. His identity would not be as immediately at hand here as within the walls of the city’s heart. He anticipated no prying questions and no fodder for rumor unless he were to be spied upon and it was deliberately instigated by such a person.
He instructed Guang Ci, who was tactfully out of armor for the evening’s outing, to be observant while they stepped up to the threshold of the fabric house. The door was nested in a painted frame beneath the protruding roof of the second floor. The shop he’d chosen was well known for its variety and quality of material. Xu Liang would be making no order for anything to be crafted or delivered—his own servants would be attending to that—so again, there would be little to no risk of any embellishment of opinion. He left Guang Ci at the door, and upon being greeted pleasantly by the shop proprietor, he set off on a tour of pattern and color with he and Lun Tai guiding the man to what it was they hoped to find. They were well-treated by a merchant who was very grateful, and also undoubtedly wondering about what had brought a noble scholar this particular day, and for such a variety and amount of fabric as what was being requested. Still,
the man’s proper manner did not allow him to take license with his customers. He asked no frivolous questions. Xu Liang trusted Lun Tai, but stayed with him throughout the affair in order to ensure with his presence that no one would be tempted to cross the boundaries of privacy during their visit. It wasn’t until payment was being negotiated that Xu Liang noticed he had come with more entourage than he intended. He had been followed.
The Lady Song Bin Ce had been careful to bring an attendant, who appeared interested in the bolts of fabric being displayed before them by what was likely the proprietor’s wife, but Xu Liang suspected she had not come to this particular merchant plaza by mere coincidence. When Song Lu’s widow made eye contact with him, he felt his suspicions confirmed, and he felt more than a little annoyed. She must have known that anyone witness to a meeting between them under such circumstances could view it entirely outside of its context. Still, he would like to know what that context was and why she felt the need for such clandestine methods. Song Bin Ce did not tend to manage any of her affairs in such a manner. Since the death of her husband, her duties had been relegated to those of a court matron, one of the senior handmaidens of the Empress. She had become responsible for the tutelage and guidance of the younger handmaidens, and—in special consideration for her previous station as the Consort Princess—she had say in many ‘household’ matters where the servants were concerned. Regarding the Imperial Family, she was entrusted with a host of responsibilities in the fulfillment of the quality of living. Many of her days were filled with teaching chess and calligraphy to the Empress’ female and young relatives living in the court. Her station also bound her to the court itself.
Xu Liang noticed that her ‘disguise’ for leaving the imperial center of the city consisted of a less adorned style that may well have been worn by the wife or daughter of any of the city’s nobles who may have had any number of reasons for entering or leaving the interior. The daughter of the city’s prefect, for one. Xu Liang considered reminding her that Zhu Meng would not approve of her risk, and then he thought better of a public rebuke that might attach her to him in any of several perceivable ways.
When the transaction for his own merchandise had been settled, Xu Liang was accompanied back to the entrance by his tailor and the proprietor. He paused where Guang Ci was stood, allowing the other men to carry out the conclusion of their exchange for goods. While the fabric was loaded into the chest that had been brought to carry it, he contemplated his options, which were to further trust that Lun Tai would maintain discretion while his master departed with Guang Ci as if on another errand, or to leave Guang Ci behind with instruction to monitor and hopefully dissuade any conversation regarding any of Xu Liang’s affairs, or the current affairs of court. The latter option would only have to be witnessed by a solitary straying eye with even a meager imagination behind it to be spoken of as if it were an illicit tryst, should Song Bin Ce do as Xu Liang predicted she would in continuing to trail him.
“Come with me,” he said to Guang Ci, decided on how to handle the matter. While leaving the entryway of the fabric house, he instructed Lun Tai to proceed with their business quickly and efficiently, and to wait for his return.
Lun Tai agreed to do so obediently.
The air was warm and the hour remained young. Both details made the brief walk down the arcade less stressful. Xu Liang traveled up a wide flight of red stairs that were overseen by a tall open gateway of painted black columns and gold-gilt cross beams. At the top of the steps was a courtyard surrounded by various food and wine houses. The amalgamating aromas had announced the spot as articulately as the signage posted at the base of the staircase. There were many small tables set out amid the columns and partitions that cluttered the space. Men and women both occupied the tables, though tended to segregate by gender. The men would be city artisans, scholars and, on in some instances, merchants relaxing over food, wine, and conversation while the women were predominantly wives of house proprietors, toiling over district social and business priorities amongst each other. It would be unwise to draw attention to oneself here—wine houses were notorious for gossip—but it would be less of a risk of notice while everyone was otherwise preoccupied and so long as he did nothing to specifically draw attention to himself.
With that in mind, Xu Liang carried himself amid the tables and wooden partitions, locating a series of tables that the evening gathering had not yet overtaken. There were four altogether, flanked by a windowless section of wall tucked beneath the second story on one side. On the other side were pillars and a short set of painted screens. Xu Liang did not seek nor did he send Guang Ci to seek any nourishment of any kind. He intended to be there only a brief time, whether or not Song Lu’s widow found him.
Song Lu had been married to a strong-minded woman, who was no fool. She had taken a risk, but Xu Liang felt confident that she would not blatantly compromise herself. That she felt the need to approach him in this matter was both intriguing and distressing, but he would see it through. If not now, then he would be forced to seek her out within the court. He suspected that was precisely what she didn’t want, and she confirmed it when she arrived with her female attendant.
With the discretion of one of good heritage, she selected a table near to his, but not the table he and Guang Ci occupied. Dressed in quiet layers of green and yellow, she sat upon the stool closest to his table with her back to Guang Ci. Her attendant and Xu Liang sat distantly parallel to one another. He and Song Bin Ce would speak to one another over Guang Ci’s shoulder, if they were to speak at all.
The lady began a light discussion with her attendant, promptly filling the air with words that had likely been the dominant vocabulary of conversations she’d had with others as the prefect’s daughter. The women of the district would not be alerted by the tone and the men would likely find themselves bored with the very idea of such a topic. Etiquette tended only to be discussed by men within their households and in private.
Adhering to custom incidentally, Xu Liang filtered out her conversation that was being used as a decoy for over attentive ears, and listened instead to the words of others as they drifted through the partition behind him. He wondered at what rumors may have spread, not only about the unusual visitors to the Imperial City, but concerning the riots as well. He would be speaking with Zhu Meng on the matter directly, but he would not waste this opportunity.
He listened, not for full conversation, but for select words. He heard ‘rebels’ at one point and from someone else, the word ‘curse’ was uttered. Of the two, it was the mention of a curse that concerned him most. He attempted to descry the topic of the conversation and heard a man mention that disaster had been hung over the Song, and that the dynasty might end. Talk ensued of whether or not the governors would make themselves actual kings, and where that would leave Ji. Leaderless, someone suggested.
Xu Liang felt depressed and angry at once. If the Song family had been cursed, it was by the Five Kingdoms Resolution.
“My lord,” Guang Ci said.
Xu Liang looked at his guard, and then past him at the profile of Song Lu’s widow.
She said, “I have written my father a letter.”
That was all she said, and she left Xu Liang to consider why as she stood and walked away, followed by her attendant. He suspected that he knew. He would await his meeting with Zhu Meng with much anticipation.
The sky was awash with hues of coral and gold, framed by the stone balustrade and the broad overhanging architecture of the façade of the Hall of Military Glory. The bulky shadow of the Earth Turret, mounted atop the southwest corner of the inner city wall, laid a dark bruise over the fanning descent of steps in front of the administrative building. Carvings of tigers followed the railings, symbols of might and of glory. There were indeed tigers among them within the Imperial City, Han Quan thought. He would never forget, in fact, that the ruling Song were not of the Song by blood, but rather they were the descendants o
f the adopted Yuan family…uncultured, arrogant imposters from the Southwestern Kingdom before it was recognized as more than a province.
Yuan Dai, adopted son of Song Rong, who was famous for his social and political ferocity. Song Rong had held the scruples of a wolf. In that light, Han Quan supposed it didn’t really matter who was Song and who was not. The Yuan family could not have tainted the Song bloodline, for it was already a pool of despoilment. One could yearn for the proud days of Ganzan Li, when the Empire was expanding. It would expand again, but first…
“Chancellor,” came the voice of You Shang, accompanied by his footsteps as he joined Han Quan by the railing. The Supreme General was an older man, though not a weaker man for it. His history and his vast accumulation of deeds ensured that he would be long remembered in the annals of Sheng Fan’s history.
He was also not a man to be idly toyed with, so it was always with great care that Han Quan approached any topic of conversation with him. Bowing, Han Quan greeted his fellow officer of the court. “The weather will be pleasant this evening, I think.”
That was important to note, since the general also held a goodly portion of land gifted to him by Emperor Song Bao, and looked ahead to a prosperous harvest. Mention of clement weather and ultimately, his interests, enticed Yuo Shang to lower his guard somewhat, which would make him more pliable during conversation. Now that Xu Liang had returned, Han Quan would have to be both swift and cautious in securing allies against the impending rule of the Silent Emperor.
“Evenings like this, at the end of summer, remind me of the peace ahead of a storm,” the general said.
“Before the winds rise,” Han Quan added.
After what appeared to be thoughtful consideration of those words, Yuo Shang said, “I investigated your concerns about General Jiao Ren.”
