by Mark Swaine
“The pain will stop Ling Long, stay with it, the pain will stop,” says Mǎkè earnestly.
Mǎkè, hopeless around pain, suffering and blood, holds her other hand tightly and squeamishly turns away until her yells fade.
“It is over Ling Long, you are most courageous. Now keep your wrist in the bowl until I return,” says Mǎkè.
“Where are you going?” asks Ling Long groggily.
“To prepare a meal for us both, you especially must eat,” adds Mǎkè before rushing off.
Mǎkè returns after a short while balancing two trays containing a steaming pot of tea, plates of noodles, Spring rolls, noodles, pancakes and a whole roasted duck. Mǎkè provides Ling Long with his new range of skewered chopsticks and smiles proudly at his invention as the one armed woman is able to eat single-handedly with the greatest of ease. Mǎkè watches every move her hand makes, down to the simplest of gestures; he studies the twists of her wrist, the elegant folding of her slender palm, and the nimble motions of her thin fingers. Committing every detail of her hand to memory, he sets to work in his mind and looks forward to putting his theory into practice, undisturbed. After finishing everything in sight, the colour returns to Ling Long's face and she yawns greatly, much to Mǎkè's delight. Ling Long, feeling better with a full stomach begins to smile until she looks down at her missing hand. Mǎkè, heeding her sadness and tiredness, and wanting to work, ushers her to a spare bed chamber and urges her to sleep. Unable to refuse the wide inviting bed and subtle glow of the dimly lit room, Ling Long drags her feet over and collapses on the soft woven quilt of wool.
With Ling Long snoozing like a baby, Mǎkè gathers the plates and rushes back into the kitchen and loads the dirty crockery into a machine built into the wall. He turns a hissing wheel to release a surge of hot water and races off but stops in mid track as he hears the machine whir to a stop. Sticking his head inside the frothing machine to inspect the problem, the water filled draw erupts in an explosion of white bubbles. Mǎkè takes his head out of the draw and spits out a mouthful of bubbles before slamming the door of the volatile machine shut, then changes into his work clothes. In a dirty, ragged and leather padded tunic, matching khakis, steel plated boots, utility belt and a Mengo fashioned welding mask, he enters a ring shaped lift shaft with a single solid rail mounted in the centre. All signs of levity and fun completely disappear from Mǎkè's face as he sets about crafting Ling Long what he had promised to deliver. He barely waits for the elevator to clunk to a stop before he swings the mesh gate open. He steps out into his workshop and pulls on a series of chains, and as the shutters of the various balconies fly open, large torches and wall mounted mirrors cast light upon hundreds of unique inventions. Mǎkè walks over to an entire wardrobe of protective gear and takes a pair of rarely-used gloves made of dragon fibre and straps them on tightly before setting about his task. In the early morning with the stars still shining and the sun still yet to rise, Ling Long stirs awake as she hears a man panting heavily. Opening her eyes she finds Mǎkè standing by the entrance sweating heavily and covered in cuts and scrapes.
“It is ready,” smiles Mǎkè.
Ling Long had almost forgotten about her missing hand as she slowly wakes, but Mǎkè's news overshadows the sudden realisation of her permanent injury. Mǎkè and Ling Long make their way down to the main factory floor and onto a long bamboo balcony looking out to the Huanghua city. Mǎkè prepares breakfast for Ling Long and runs around with a slice of charred buttered bread in his mouth. Ling Long enjoys the chilly air and even colder spray from the falling drizzle forbidden from entering the overhanging tarp shelter.
Mǎkè takes great gulps of his tea whilst searching a shelf of scrolls rising and dipping beneath the stalagmites. Mǎkè finds the required scroll and reads it intently before returning to Ling Long with a slim object wrapped in parchment.
“What I do cannot be undone: scolding heat and rods of iron will fuse the hand to your wrist. But only a spell you must speak will allow you to control it, to manipulate its movements,” says Mǎkè instructively. “‘Tis not too late to change your mind should you wish,” says Mǎkè clutching the wrapped object preciously.
Mǎkè slowly unfolds the parchment to reveal the shiniest and most beautiful construct she has ever laid eyes upon. The slender hand of forged dragon twine sparkles as the sun breaks over the horizon, and Ling Long's decision is cast in
stone as she is unable to take her eyes off it.
“It is beautiful, how did you...?” asks Lin Long in awe.
“A combination of organic metal extracted from the twine I trade with you. Molten at super heated temperatures the fusion of various dragon twines creates a chemical reaction to generate various beneficial side effects. On this occasion, I used twine harvested from a Cónglín (Jungle) Dragon. Their scales are known to change colour to adapt to their surroundings. ‘Tis also unique in the sense it is the most pliable, and a joy to work with. I amalgamated this organic compound with the twine of a Sea Dragon, I know not why but due to their great intake of fish their blood bonds well with ours. ‘Tis the strongest of metal I assure you, and the most pleasing to the eye,” smiles Mǎkè proudly.
The joints of the taffy coloured fingers hang loose and effortlessly as he runs his fingers along the curves of the pointy white fingernails. He appears almost sad to part with the masterpiece, but he also knows what mutual joy will be had for the gauntlet and its master once he lets it go. Mǎkè takes Ling Long's wrist and observes the bloody sizzling stump from every angle and nods in approval. He looks at Ling Long as her eyes well up with tears, could have been fear, fear of the possibility the procedure might fail. Fear of the unknown pain that is sure to follow in the next few seconds, but she was not fearful of the pain, and her tears of hope drop freely as she smiles meekly at the eccentric man. Mǎkè discards her hopeful expression and twists the ridged rim of metal prosthetic wrist until it will twist no more, it is then he knows she is trusting him with all the hopes the future once held. Ling Long isn't what he would call a preferred customer, and they traded very little words, only dragon twine. But he has heard her play Guqin many times, and knows her well enough to know that if she cannot play music, there was is reason for her to go on living.
“Let us begin,” says Mǎkè, offering her another, much thicker stick to brace between her teeth.
Ling Long declines, and without further pauseMǎkè presses the base of the metal hand against her bloody stump and presses the ridged ring on the metal wrist with a click. Two searing hollow barbed spikes shoot out from the clockwork interior of the metal wrist and drive into Ling Long's forearm. Ling long's head bucks backwards and she grunts in pain as the spiky spikes begin retracting and pulling and clamping the flush metal wrist against her bloody stump. the pain continues as smoke rises from her arm and with no more leverage between her wrist and the gauntlet, a metal sleeve retracts over her wrist encasing her bloody stump within. Ling Long pants heavily to maintain consciousness andMǎkè urgently and unsuccessfully tries to gain her attention. Eventually he resorts to slapping her across the face as he holds a scroll to her face.
“Read it; read it now before the blood cools again!” shouts Mǎkè, forcibly aiming at each word in the passage.
The passage of steel, blood and bone blows in the morning wind as he frantically screams at her to recite the passage over and over again.
“Do you desire this hand or not? Read it again, LOUDER! ” bellows Mǎkè.
Ling Long Song hastily reads the passage aloud once more, pronouncing every word with as much passion and conviction as she can gather. A beam of purple light and a blow of smoke bursts from her wrist and she laughs insanely as her fingers begin moving. As Ling Long marvels at her new hand, Mǎkè stands to his feet and begins filling a sack with loaves of bread, cheese and a cured leg of ham.
“I must return to Xiaojian the Healer with medical supplies. I shall return before long. During this time you should rest,” says Mǎkè, turning to find her pas
sed out with her head slumped on the table.
Mǎkè carries her to a hammock and gathers the medical supplies he'd promised Xioajian and meets Húluóbo at the elevator. After making good use of the Bonsai portals, Mǎkè returns a few hours later to find something new in his abode. A Bonsai tree had grown from beneath the rock and through the panelled floor in the centre of the immense and extremely high vestibule a short distance away from his factory floor. Mǎkè looks around curiously and suddenly reaches the conclusion the Black Dragon has finally come through for him.
“So, you are the mysterious Mǎkè Shīwěixián that likes to break into prisons,” says Yu-Huang, touching a mechanical grasshopper suit of armour displayed into the cave wall.
“I prefer Mǎkè the genius. Please, please do not touch that. Who are you? How did you enter my home?” asks Mǎkè whilst slowly reaching for a hammer.
“What exactly do you intend on doing with that?” asks Yu-Huang looking impressively at the grasshopper's rounded iron helmet.
Mǎkè backs away from the hammer as the imposter looks at him with a shimmer emanating from his eyes.
“Emperor Yu-Huang, please forgive me I did not recognise you,” says Mǎkè dropping to his knees in humble amazement.
“I apologise for the intrusion, rise. First allow me to express my gratitude for caring for Ling Long Song,” says Yu-Huang.
“Is she awake?” asks Mǎkè.
“No, she is still unconscious on the hammock, and still very shaken I feel,” says Yu-Huang.
“Why are you here my Emperor? How can I be of service?” asks Mǎkè curiously.
“A rumour has reached my ears, rumour of a great warrior who fought against the forces of the Darkness not sunrises ago during the attack. A warrior so great, he can even change his form into a steel tiger,” says Yu-Huang cryptically.
“I am no warrior, the events you speak of were nothing but a field test, and an act of self defence,” says Mǎkè in protest.
“I have not come here to judge you Mǎkè, I merely wish to make your acquaintance and offer my aid, in gratitude of your service. I have also heard tales of your ability to fuse metal with human flesh,” says Yu-Huang.
“The tales you speak of are true, but I not practise these methods in your cities,” says Mǎkè whilst picking up a Guqin.
“I do not lie Mǎkè, I frown upon the use of magic. Many an inexperienced mortal would use this art to do wrong unto others,” says Yu-Huang.
“My ability to harness magic is limited. I possess many incantations yet lack the ability to harness them,” replies Mǎkè.
“Black magic?” asks Yu-Huang.
“All kinds of magic,” replies Mǎkè.
“The penalty for using Black Magic would see you in the Liumang prison, a penalty you alone do not dread as I understand it, for you are the only man in all its long sordid history... to break in,” says Yu-Huang.
“I required information valuable to my work. I was desperate...” stutters Mǎkè.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I have found myself in desperate need of your services,” concludes Yu-Huang humbly.
“Is this him?” asks Chika looking down from the mezzanine balcony.
“Who is this woman? Who else have you brought into my home?” asks Mǎkè a little crossly.
“Chika Minami, an assassin,” says Yu-Huang crudely gesturing to her. “I am also accompanied by Yeman Ren, the former King of the Kunlun mountain, and a soldier of the Jade army who goes by the name of Shaozu Zhu, and he is in great need of your help,” says Yu-Huang.
“You brought a troll into my home? Where is it?” asks Mǎkè excitedly.
Yu-Huang gestures toward the mezzanine floor where he last left Ling Long, and Mǎkè races up the spiral staircase.
“I must see it, I must see it,” says Mǎkè excitedly.
Mǎkè turns the corner of the balcony and runs into a thick grey wall before bouncing back onto his rear end.
“...it?” asks a deep voice.
Mǎkè looks up at the massive towering beast and stands to his feet before scurrying around the large troll and measuring his dimensions with a piece of string.
“What are you doing?” asks Yeman Ren, lifting his foot as the man scurries underneath his legs.
“In all my years I never believed I would be granted enough fortune to see a troll with my own two eyes, let alone meet one face to face. I have something for you. After a dear friend lost his life in the attack I was presented with a vision, but I must make adjustments. You are the perfect man... troll to test my theory,” saysMǎkè, giddily.
“You! Should you finish pleasuring the beast with words of praise there is an injured man who needs your attention,” says Chika brashly grabbing his sleeve.
“Is he sick?” asks Mǎkè.
“No he is not sick, not any longer,” replies Chika.
“Is he dying?” asks Mǎkè.
“No, but...”
“Then he will wait his turn,” says Mǎkè, pulling his shirt from her grip.
Chika squeezes the hilt of a dagger fastened in her belt as Mǎkè shoots her a look of contempt. Chika has killed men for much less, and as she goes to tighten her grip even further she finds her grip empty. As the Emperor appears before her, Yeman Ren sees the thunderous look upon his face and takes a step back. The Emperor toys with the swiftly stolen knife as he stands face to face with Chika.
“Time has not presented me the opportunity to address your presence here,” says Yu-Huang sternly.
“I have nothing to say to you, Yu-Huang the Merciful. Return my blade,” says Chika scornfully.
“If you so much as raise a blade to any more innocents under my rule, I will see your blade buried deep within your heart,” says Yu-Huang civilly whilst flipping the blade in his hand.
“You cannot threaten me, and I am not afraid of you, nor do I fear the wrath of Diyu. I have studied the many heroic tales of Yu-Huang the Merciful, you are just as likely to allow an innocent child to drown than strike down your true enemy,” says Chika staring warningly at Yu-Huang. “You are forbidden from harming any living creature in cold blood. I wager you could not even dare to kill a fly with your bare hands, let alone harm a mortal woman, nor have you the courage,” says Chika taunting the man.
“You are right. Instead I will throw you into the sky and allow your return to decide your fate,” says Yu-Huang.
“He will, I have seen him do this,” says Yeman Ren truthfully.
Chika glances sideways at Yeman Ren, suddenly concerned for her life. Setting her hate for the Emperor aside, she addresses him with a little more respect.
“I stay only until I have fulfilled my life debt with Shaozu, then I am gone,” says Chika.
“You not only possess a life debt to Shaozu, but to this Empire also. Do you actually believe when your life debt with Shaozu is complete, I will simply allow you to wonder freely away from the crimes you have committed against my people?” says Yu-Huang.
“Life debt, to you!? What of your debt to my mother and father, to my little brother, to my countrymen?” snarls Chika.
“I know not of any such debt. The Chinese and Japanese Empire have always maintained a strong alliance. You will stay, and you will fight, just as your fellow countrymen have pledged to do so,” says Yu-Huang.
“You may have been able to work your divine influence on the others, but I will not be tricked by your sorcery, nor swayed by promise of riches,” says Chika with a half-cocked smile.“Regarding my crimes, they are a separate matter. I would pay for my crimes and burn in the hottest pits of Diyu before serving you,” adds Chika with a bitter expression.
“And so you shall, assassin! Simply remember, ‘tis not your choice to remain by Shaozu's side, but mine alone,” says Yu-Huang.
“Why are you allowing me to remain by his side?” asks Chika curiously.
“Remember this always Chika Minami: you slayed my countrymen, innocent people. Simply because I have formed an allian
ce with your kind, do not presume I am pleased about it,” sneers Yu-Huang.
“Innocent? I was not paid to slay innocents. I was paid to slay a man named Gang Huojin in the depths of Liumang prison, only my ride was brought down over the jungle and I was captured,” says Chika with a throwaway attitude.
“Gang Huojin? Why?” asks Yu-Huang.
“I know not, we did not ask questions. Those that did were consumed by those undead beasts that rode beside us. There are many assassins much more interested in glory and fame, and they are useful in a fight, but cannot keep their mouths shut regarding their missions. During the long journey between the oceans, people would talk and exchange information,” says Chika.
“Information?” asks Yu-Huang.
“Yes, those of us more trusted assassins were given detailed pictures of our targets and maps of the Huanghua territories. But the hordes of undisciplined raiders were paid to do little more than wreak havoc across the cities and assassinate less important marks. They were given little details regarding the whereabouts of their targets and on our travels would pass word around requesting information,” replies Chika.
