Savage Divinity

Still reeling from his abrupt defeat, Dastan shuffled off-stage as Li Song took his place. He couldn’t understand how the boss defeated him so easily using his strange, deceptive movement. Seeing it used against Li Song, Dastan realized it wasn’t a secret technique, but something he recognized from the boss’s long hours of practice, an awkward, sliding shuffle. He’d marked it down as a stretching exercise but it turned out it was a clever, if peculiar, ground-shrinking technique, ending two matches before Dastan understood what was happening. Dastan was at a loss to explain how the boss used this misleading step to seize initiative and emerge victorious against Li Song for the first time in a mere handful of exchanges.

Eager to see more, Dastan cleared his mind and focused all his attention on the following matches, but the boss dealt with Fung and BoShui in a single exchange. Having learned so little from their defeats, Dastan trembled with anticipation as Zian took the stage, delighting in the boss’s successive victories. One look at their faces was enough to see this match was all but won before it had even begun. Zian’s pale, agitated expression was worlds apart when compared with the boss’s casual indifference and relaxed tranquility. Nerves unravelled by the mere prospect of defeat, Zian lost in a spectacular manner as Falling Rain anticipated his opponent’s every move, using a beautiful double slash to send the pompous young magistrate and future patriarch tumbling over the stones.

Kneeling over his vanquished foe like a hero in an opera, it was clear today’s Falling Rain was different from usual. Gone was the unrestrained dragon raging against the world, the unsheathed blade poised to strike, the bow drawn taut and ready to loose. Though that Falling Rain was tyrannical and domineering in attitude, his skills and foresight were lacking while his veneer of brash arrogance concealed deep-rooted unease and anxiety.

Which was the act and which was his true self?

Perhaps Vichear wasn’t entirely wrong about Falling Rain’s dual personalities.

...

Ludicrous.

But... If the boss did have a split personality, Dastan prayed this was the real Falling Rain. Today, he was a clever and calculating hunter, patient and all-knowing instead of aggressive and foolish. Standing on stage, he appeared deep and unfathomable, still arrogant but in a different, quieter way. Though he voiced no jeers and offered no insults, his demeanour spoke loud enough for all to hear. Taking no time to savour his victories and rushing his defeated foes off-stage, he appeared disdainful and eager to be done with the spars. It was as if in his eyes, his peers were children to lord over in combat, his victory merely a foregone conclusion instead of the stunning upset it would seem if one reviewed his record.

So incredible. The other Falling Rain brought to mind a typical young master, puffed-up and cocksure while lacking any real talent. This Falling Rain was a true dragon among men, his superiority ingrained in his bones despite the meek, harmless attitude he naturally reverted to. Yet... why was he holding back in their spars? Why even bother? Clearly none of them were his match if he gave his best effort yet he continued to handicap himself during their spars. The boss’s excuse rang hollow, but he rarely did things that made sense. Perhaps he was telling the truth and there was a weakness to this patient, calculating fighting style, one he’d been unsuccessfully trying to fix. Or maybe he was developing a persona to show the Empire a more conventional young master so they’d overlook and underestimate him.

...Unlikely. If this was his goal, then adopting a colony of rabbits wasn’t helping his image.

While Dastan tried to decipher the boss’s motivations, Zian stormed out of the sparring room. Swarming the boss with congratulations, Fung and BoShui spoke in concert, their voices blending together in their excitement. “Did you see his face?” Fung asked, clapping the boss’s shoulders a little too hard judging by his wince. “Like he ate a frog covered in shit and enjoyed the taste. Beautiful, beautiful.”

“Magnificent performance,” came BoShui’s overenthusiastic praise. “I knew you were hiding your true prowess, never a doubt in my mind.”

Instead of swelling with pride, the boss seemed displeased by their praise, so Dastan held his tongue. Frowning at his friends, the boss said, “One victory is nothing to celebrate, and you learn more from a loss than a victory. More importantly, I noticed you both waited until Zian walked out of earshot before saying anything. I’ll admit he’s not the most pleasant person around, but his skills deserve respect. If you want to look down on someone then wait until you’re stronger than they are.”

A good thing young magistrate Fung was not a man overly concerned with pride or posturing. “Bah, how many years will that take?” Fung said, his smile never faltering. “Even if he never forms his Natal Palace, his Martial Skills will take him far. Though my strength has risen noticeably since we started sparring together, I’m still unable to close the distance between us. So unfair, why couldn’t I have been born with his talent.”

“Talent has nothing to do with it.” Blunt as always, the boss’s words held no consideration for pride. “Zian works two times harder than you and BoShui put together, so it’s no surprise he remains out of reach.” Seeming in a foul mood, the boss launched into a full-blown tirade. “You’ve grown complacent ever since forming your Natal Palace, but don’t forget you still lack the strength necessary to wield your spear.” Snatching the practice weapon from Fung’s hands, the boss twirled the cumbersome practice weapon before unleashing an overhead, one-handed swing. The heavy rush of air betrayed the strength behind the attack as it crashed into the stone stage with a thunderous crack. Drawing the spear back to his side with deceptive ease, the weapon audibly thrummed in the boss’s grasp while he continued his lecture. “With proper leverage, a one-handed swing can be far more powerful than a two-handed swing, but instead of extra training or proper rest, you waste hours every night with maids and serving girls. Don’t deny it, the bags under your eyes give you away.”

No longer smiling, Fung shrunk back like a chastised child, clearly unhappy but with no means to defend himself. “You’re starting to sound like Mentor, always harping about my 'bad habits'. It’s just a little harmless fun and I’m not even doing the chasing. Most of the women seek me out.”

“Your Mentor scolds you because she worries about you, and now I’m doing the same.” Handing the spear back, the boss shook his head and crossed his arms, looking every bit like an old veteran lecturing a young recruit. “Compared to Zian, you aren’t lacking in talent, only in work ethic. Rumours of his dalliances have all but disappeared while you’ve inherited his title as the most promiscuous young master in the North. Learn from his mistakes and rein yourself in. Besides, women seek you out because it’s public knowledge your betrothal to Ong Jing Fei fell through and they’re hoping to catch your eye. I know you think you’re still young, but have you ever considered settling down to start a family?”

“Indeed, young magistrate Fung,” BoShui chimed in with a grin, a fool unable to read the boss’s mood. “As an only child, you are duty-bound to continue the bloodline in case disaster should strike. Though many women will weep over the loss of your company, I, a confirmed bachelor, shall sacrifice my time and make myself available to all the scorned young ladies of the north.”

Without missing a beat, the boss turned his attentions to BoShui. “What are you smiling about? Fung wastes his potential but you lack even that. You play the part of dashing young hero destined for greatness but you and I both know you’re a paper tiger. Your Aura is pitiful, your comprehension lacking, your talent all but non-existent and yet you’re easily the laziest person present.”

Fearing he’d gone too far, Dastan readied himself to intervene should things turn violent but to his surprise, BoShui merely sighed and glanced away, accepting all of the boss’s harsh criticisms. BoShui wasn’t as easy-going as Fung, nor was he as close with the boss, but the prideful young patriarch naturally stepped the role of meek subordinate. After a long silence, BoShui whispered, “Sorry. I know I promised to seize power and stand at your side, and things aren’t moving as quickly as expected but-”

“Don’t be stupid.” Mercilessly cutting BoShui off, the boss rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You and Dastan have built me up to be something I’m not. I don’t care about your status. Whether you’re the Han Patriarch or a penniless vagrant, I’ll still call you friend. Because of this, I worry about you. You work just hard enough to feel satisfied and call it a day before running off to indulge in drink and games, happily ignoring the fact that your father has placed a target on your back. Even if your enemies don’t move to kill you, your rival will eventually reveal themselves and come to take your life and title. The truth is upsetting but ignoring it won’t change anything.”

This was the first Dastan was hearing of this but it hardly shocked him. Noble politics were a cutthroat affair where family bonds meant nothing. Even someone as accomplished as BoShui was a pawn in their games of power, a stepping stone for the true Han heir. What better way to kick off a meteoric rise to power than killing your accomplished, successful older brother, a man who entered the Roll of Experts at the age of twenty five? Such was life among the powerful, a cruel and merciless existence where the strong thrive and the weak die.

Sighing with regret, the boss patted BoShui’s arm and nodded at Fung in apology. “Sorry. I’m in a foul mood and I’m taking it out on you both, but my words still hold weight. Talent isn’t everything, so work harder and work smarter. I can’t promise to help, but if you need it, ask and I will do what I can.”

While Dastan, Fung, and BoShui shared glances and silently argued over who should try to cheer him up, Li Song was the first to speak. “Why are you in a foul mood?” she asked, not even glancing over as she watched the sleeping rabbits. “You were fine during lunch.” With another sigh, the boss merely shook his head and retreated into his thoughts, leaving everyone standing around in awkward silence. Fung patted the boss’s shoulder while Dastan and BoShui stood idly by, unused to showing affection to other would-be rivals.

In the agonizingly long lull, the mother rabbit woke up and hopped out to explore her surroundings. Ignoring Li Song sitting next to her babies, the rabbit charged out to assault the boss’s ankles with a vengeance, slamming her head into his boots to no effect. Chuckling at the sight of a twenty kilogram rabbit trying to slay the boss, Dastan said, “This silly creature doesn’t know how lucky it is, assaulting the only man in the Empire who won’t turn it into a stew.”

“All she knows is I’ve disrupted her life and she’s doing what she can to defend her babies.” Pulling out a handful of dried fruit, the boss crouched down and presented them to the rabbit, who promptly stopped attacking to fill her belly. “We’re not that different, her and I. We both want our loved ones to live in peace and harmony, and we’re both too stupid to know it’s unlikely to happen. Her babies will probably end up in someone’s belly while mine might one day accidentally offend someone they shouldn’t. This is a cruel world we live in.”

“Are the Bekhai facing a new threat?” Fung asked, his brow furrowed in anger. “Whatever it is, Shen Huo stands with you.”

“As do I,” BoShui announced, straightening up before slouching once more. “Though I can’t promise more.”

Waving their declarations of support aside, the boss shook his head. “Relax, it’s nothing new. The only threats we face are the ones I’ve brought to their door. It’s funny, I joined the Khishigs because I wanted to protect the Behkai, but they’d be better off if I never left the village. I’d go back and change things if I could, the world’s a safer place when no one cares who you are. That’s the only way to live the carefree life I’ve always dreamed of, to be so insignificant you’re not worth killing.” With a rueful laugh, he added, “It’s too late now. There’s no going back.”

Trying to raise his spirits, Dastan chimed in. “But you’re meant for so much more. Look at what you’ve already accomplished, becoming a hero of the Empire before turning nineteen, your name spoken in every household across the land. If the Western province hadn’t fallen, I’m sure you and the other heroes of Sanshu would have been called to Central to receive honour and glory.”

“Bah. What good is honour or glory? That and five coppers will buy you a bowl of noodles.”

It’s almost as if the boss was trying to stay depressed. “What about your school? You’re single-handedly feeding most of the population here at the Wall, a feat worthy of praise.” Though it would probably earn him more scorn than it was worth, talking about the school always put a smile on the boss’s face.

But not today. “Ha. I know you all think it’s a waste of money, and honestly, it kinda is.” Shrugging, the boss asked, “You know why I keep at it?”

Surprising everyone once again, Li Song was first to answer. “Because you are a kind man who wants no one to go hungry.”

“Close, but wrong.” Picking up the voracious rabbit, the boss placed it back inside the box and sighed. “I do it because I don’t want to see anyone go hungry. It brings back memories of times I’d rather forget, understand?”

Wasn’t the boss a Bekhai princeling? When did he ever go hungry? The more Dastan learned about Falling Rain, the more mysteries there were to uncover. Only Li Song seemed to understand what the boss was talking about, though she merely nodded and offered no sympathy or explanation. Picking up the box, the boss strapped it to his fat quin without another word, leaving Dastan, Fung, and BoShui once again trading awkward stares. After a short, silent exchange, they successfully bullied Fung into speaking out. “Well, even if you deem it a waste of time, we should celebrate your first victory over Zian. Come share a drink with us, explain why you’ve been hiding your strength, and then we’ll go right back to practising. Promise.”

“Another day.” Smiling at their half-hearted attempted, the boss declined without thinking. “I’d make for poor company and I have to get home and dig a warren for my bunnies. I didn’t think they’d be so confrontational, so I’ll have to separate them from my other pets. I’d hate to wake up and find my wildcats had themselves a midnight snack. Strange as it seems, I’m under orders to keep these bunnies safe and sound. Besides, you’re overthinking things. I really haven’t been holding back, it’s just the movement technique I used today is too easy to counter once you’ve seen it.”

Nodding once more, Li Song spoke up, the chattiest Dastan had ever seen her. A beautiful woman, but too cold and impersonal for his tastes, or so he thought. Perhaps she merely needed to come out of her shell. “It’s a matter of perspective,” she explained. “Rain’s aggressive stance draws his opponent’s focus to both weapons. By keeping them in place, it gives off the illusion of stillness while he slides his feet into position. To counteract this, place more attention on his feet and shoulders instead of the weapons themselves, which allows you to easily track his duplicitous movements.”

Cracking a smile, the boss said, “See, what’d I say? She’s a smart one, my junior Martial Aunt, although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Zian. He’ll probably figure it out on his own, but no sense making things easy for him.” Shaking his head with a rueful chuckle, he added, “No idea how I’m going to win one out of three matches from here on out. I don’t have many more aces up my sleeve.”

Striding out with Li Song, the boss left his friends to puzzle out yet another cryptic idiom. What was an ace and why would one keep it in a sleeve?

“Well,” Fung said, flashing a grin, “What say we get that drink and celebrate for our grumpy friend?”

“I don’t think he’d like that,” BoShui replied. “Not after he just lectured us about it.”

“Too bad for him, Rain’s my friend not my father.” Smile fading away, Fung put an arm around BoShui’s shoulder. “Who I intend to speak to regarding your circumstances. I thought we were friends? Why go to Rain with your problems when you could come to me? Rain is strong but knows nothing of politics.” With a wink, he added, “Dastan, I’m sure you have plenty to add to the conversation, so why don’t we all discuss this over a drink or three?”

An incorrigible rascal, Fung seemed determined to pull them into a drinking party but Dastan stood firm and refused. “He’s your friend but he’s my master. I am a slave to his whims, which means I must return to train. Such is life.” Chuckling to himself as he strode off, he marvelled how he was already laughing about his status not six months after swearing his oaths. Despite his dour moods and curious ways, being Falling Rain’s slave wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Oh what a shame,” Fung said, feigning a sigh. “I promised to meet these three lovely sisters later this afternoon and they were adamant I bring the numbers to match. Why I’ll never understand for I myself am enough to satisfy all three of them, but they insisted and I am nothing if not a gentleman. Now where will we find a third gentleman to join us?”

Pausing mid-step, Dastan spun on his heels and returned to Fung’s side. “He’s just in a bad mood, it’ll blow over by morning. Besides, the boss is a kind and forgiving man. I’ll resume training early tomorrow to make up for lost time.” Though the boss treated him well, Dastan still held a slave’s status which meant few women cared to spare him a glance, especially in the presence of eligible bachelors like Fung and BoShui.

Sorry boss, but even a slave has needs.