Savage Divinity

Striding through the carpeted hall, Zian paid no mind to the palatial furnishings or opulent decor, his thoughts focused on the tribulations ahead. Tonight marked a turning point in his life, a crucial event in which success or failure would determine his fate. Whatever the outcome, it would be better to die with dignity than live in disgrace, and while his thoughts fixated on past humiliations, he did his best to put them all behind him. Tonight, a new Zian had arrived, and while this new version lacked the prestige and renown of his past self, he’d surpassed the former entitled, hedonistic young master he’d once been. The new Zian was better in all ways, smarter, stronger, and savvier than ever, equipped to deal with whatever the Heavens had to throw at him.

Or so he hoped.

For the umpteenth time, Zian silenced the part of his brain telling him to retreat to the safety of his guest room at the Yo household. What awaited at his destination was indignity at best and far worse should he fail, but this was the only path left to him. It’d taken several cups of liquid courage to even make it this far, and though he was determined to see things through, the new Zian also came with a host of unfamiliar insecurities and apprehensions. Jing Fei had been coaching him through his inadequacies, but while she proved herself an able teacher, he was a mediocre student.

What happened to the golden child, the Zian who could do no wrong? The number one talent in the North, the peerless duellist and rising young dragon?

He’d been replaced by a failure is what happened. No, not a failure, but worse, a man doomed to wallow in obscure mediocrity for the rest of his life.

The days preceding the Imperial Grand Conference had not been kind to Zian. Day after day he took to the stage, hoping to defeat an illustrious warrior and make a name for himself, but after eighteen victories on his first day, the warriors of Central banded together against the foreign threat. Knowing they were not his match, Zian’s similarly-aged peers all but disappeared from the duelling grounds and were replaced with older, seasoned nobodies. Though nameless and undistinguished, those wily, shameless veterans used their combined knowledge and experience to uncover Zian’s patterns and weaknesses for all of Central to see. Time and time again, he suffered defeat at the hands of his well-prepared opponents, all wise to his tricks and all to happy to exploit his shortcomings. The Enemy came in all shapes and sizes, so Zian viewed it as practice to help shore up his weaknesses, but even then, losing was unpleasant.

And he lost far more often than he liked.

Now, almost a week later, Zian had become the laughing stock of Nan Ping, the Northern whipping boy for the Empire’s flawed and inferior warriors. Men and women wallowing in mediocrity used him to bolster their confidence or vent their frustrations, proving they too could match or defeat a former number one talent of the North, future Patriarch, Magistrate, and all around stuck-up noble. As humiliating as it all was, it was nothing compared to the shame Zian felt from admitting Rain was right: One learns far more from a loss than a victory.

Unfortunately, while his Martial prowess steadily improved, his ‘inflated’ reputation was at an all time low. While he hardly cared for the opinion of peasants, it put him in a precarious situation within the Clan. Displeased by Zian’s dissatisfied attitude and smouldering hostility, Patriarch Rang Min had seized the opportunity, using Zian’s ‘disgraceful’ behaviour to discredit him among the Clan and put Cousin Gulong’s name as a candidate for the next Patriarch instead. While this was what Zian wanted, Mother and Jing Fei both warned him things were moving too quickly, his fall from grace more meteoric than expected. Were he to fall too far too fast, then Zian’s support from the Clan would all but disappear and there would be nothing holding Rang Min back from having Zian killed, dragging Mother and Uncle Yang down with him.

Thus, to preserve his life and the lives of his family, Zian needed allies outside the clan, and there was one person best suited to help him. He didn’t want to do it, but what choice did he have?

Having arrived at his destination, Zian hesitated at the threshold of the opened double doors, knowing this would be his last chance to retreat. His pause was brief, infinitesimal even, but the indecision was there and Zian loathed himself for it. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed his pride and faked a smile, forcing his feet through the doors and into the warm glow of the courtyard. Dreading the next few minutes with all his heart, he followed the stone pathway lined with dozens of paper lanterns and surrounded by a crowd of servants and onlookers. Their muted chatter was lost among the background music and babbling streams, intermingling and clashing like the heady bouquet of perfumes and aromas, but it all went unnoticed as his stomach dropped at the sight of his new ‘benefactor’.

“Zian!”

Grinning from ear to ear in what seemed like a genuine smile, Rain greeted Zian like an old friend, leaving the Guardian Turtle behind to meet him halfway instead of standing in place to wait as decorum demanded. An honour for most, but Zian felt the knife twisting in heart as his most hated foe became his most valued ally.

Zian almost preferred death to relying on Rain’s charity.

Almost.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Rain said, arm slipping over Zian’s shoulders in an overly-familiar gesture. As much as he wanted to shrug Rain’s arm off, Zian needed the watching nobles and dignitaries to see how ‘friendly’ he was with the new number one talent in the Empire. Rain’s star was on the rise and seeking shelter in his growing shadow was Zian’s best chance to stay alive. It was a tremendous blow to his pride, but his options were limited and oddly enough, Zian trusted Rain not to betray him. When all was said and done, it would be foolish to rely on Uncle Yang’s tenuous friendship with Yo Shi-Woo or Mother’s self-serving allies in Central when Rain was the best option, a man who valued friends and family above all else.

Mother told him that if a common street whore could smile while a fat, greasy merchant grunted over her, then Zian could smile and shake hands with Rain, a distasteful metaphor, but an apt one.

Oblivious to Zian’s inner struggle, Rain Sent, “It feels good to finally see a friendly face, and an unpowdered one at that. All these Central nobles cake their makeup on so thick, how am I supposed to recognize them without it? I swear if they traded hats, I wouldn’t be able to name three of them even if my life depended on it.”

“Mhmm,” Zian grunted, remaining non-committal. Were they friends? How did this happen? He’d expected smug gloating and hidden barbs, not friendly small talk.

Leading him back towards the Guardian Turtle, Rain nattered on through Sending while making no mention of the large favour he was doing for Zian and his family. “Fung and BoShui are here and so are ZhiLan and a few others you might recognize. While I haven’t had a bite to eat yet, the food was cooked by my brother himself, so there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll love it. Anyways, let’s get the formalities over with, I’ve been greeting guests for an hour now.” Giving the turtle a pat on the beak, Rain turned and faced Zian, Mother, and Uncle Yang, hands clasped in a salute as he bowed ever so slightly. Speaking in a loud, if strained and post-pubescent voice, he announced, “I, Falling Rain, welcome distinguished guests Magistrate Situ Jia Ying of Shen Yun, Lieutenant General Situ Jia Yang, and Warrant Officer Situ Jia Zian. Your presence brings great honour to this one’s humble banquet, thrown in honour of his concubine, Zheng Luo.”

What a difference a day makes. Rain played his part to perfection and even looked the part of respectable young noble, sporting a new haircut and a high-collared, black silk shirt adorned with striking gold-patterned embroidery. Wearing his sword on his hip, the red-wrappings of his hilt had been replaced with interlacing gold and black, with the scabbard repainted to match. Oddly enough, under his loose silk pants, Rain wore sturdy leather boots instead of fashionable cloth shoes, a choice which suited him. The boots made him stand out and lent him an air of authority and dominance, a man ready to wade through blood and guts no matter the occasion.

Feeling self-conscious about his choice in footwear, Zian clasped his hands and returned the greeting while Mother and Uncle Yang did the same. Barely glancing at their proffered gifts as waiting servants took them away, Rain stepped in to chat some more, putting on a show for their watching audience. Already, Zian saw spies and sycophants scurrying away to report on Rain and Zian’s friendship, and while Zian felt grateful for the help, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Enjoying this far too much, Rain grinned and bowed properly to Mother and Uncle Yang, sending another wave of servants rushing off. “It’s nice to see you both again, especially in this amicable setting given our... rocky past.” Straightening up, he winked and whispered, “Though I will say your gifts were far more impressive the last time we met.”

Uncle Yang merely grunted, still feeling self-conscious about owing the Bekhai for not exposing his errors at the Wall and now sheltering his nephew, but Mother visibly bristled with anger as she pinched Rain’s cheek like a kindly aunt. “You impudent brat,” Mother whispered, knuckles white with fury. “Last time, you cost me almost a quarter of my hard earned fortune and you dare still bring it up?”

Enduring his punishment with a smirk, Rain freed himself and moved past them to greet Zian’s concubine. “Ong Jing Fei, is that you?” Stopping her mid-curtsy, Rain brought Jing Fei’s hands up to his lips and kissed them lightly, setting Zian's hackles to bristling. “Come now, no need for that. We’re old acquaintances and while we haven’t always gotten along, it’s all water under the bridge.” Though his smile never wavered, Rain’s eyes hardened as he stared at Jing Fei’s hands and whispered, “If my friend dies under mysterious circumstances, I will kill you and everyone you care about. Doesn’t matter if you have a hand in it or not, so I suggest you take good care of your husband’s health.”

Quashing the instinct to throttle Rain where he stood, Zian spoke up in Jing Fei’s defence, his smile strained and slipping. “This is nothing you need concern yourself with.” The words came out mild and quiet, not at all the harsh tone he expected. “She is my concubine, her fate intrinsically tied to my own.”

“Uh-huh. Does she scratch you during love making?”

“What?”

Still holding Jing Fei’s hands, Rain brought them to Zian’s attention and raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. “If she does, you might want to see a Healer. I don’t have proof, but her sharpened nails are mighty suspicious. Add in the almost imperceptible quiver in her fingers and the dead skin at the base of her nails, and I’m fairly certain they’re coated in a dye made from white snakeroot. It’s not immediately deadly unless taken in staggering quantities, but even trace amounts remain in the body for years after exposure, allowing toxins to build up over time until it reaches fatal levels. Not a pleasant way to go, seizing, vomiting, and shitting yourself to death.”

Blood draining from his face, Zian confirmed Rain’s observations before turning to Jing Fei, his heart sinking as he watched her struggle against Rain’s unyielding grasp. Gritting her teeth, Jing Fei’s shoulders slumped and she fell still, accepting she was trapped and showing no signs of resistance. “It’s not what you think,” she said with a sigh. “It’s datura extract, not white snakeroot. Far deadlier and kills within minutes. It’s for self-defence, not slowly weakening my husband.”

Quickly releasing Jing Fei’s hands, Rain calmly inspected his skin for cuts and uttered, “Oh good, because that makes me feel so much better.”

Zian itched to draw his saber and cut Jing Fei down where she stood, but Mother stopped him before he could act. “Don’t be hasty,” she Sent, soothing him with a pat on the arm. “Rain did us a great service forcing her hand. I also thought she was using white snakeroot, but now we know she isn’t plotting to kill you slowly. Congratulations, your years of bedding every serving girl in sight have finally proven of use.”

Cheeks burning with shame while inwardly swelling with pride, Zian made a mental note to be more careful when holding his concubine’s hand. Taking a deep breath, he saluted Rain and said, “Thank you for your concern, but I have matters well under control.”

Wearing a mischievous, shit-eating grin, Rain clearly reached the same conclusion Mother had. “I’ll bet you do. My respects to a master of his craft.”

Disguising his laughter with a cough, Uncle Yang patted Rain’s shoulder in a false show of friendship for the watching crowd. “Enough dallying about, you have other, more important guests to greet.”

“Thank you for the reminder.” Stepping aside to let them pass, Rain added in a low voice, “Regarding your... difficulties. Neither the Situ nor Han Patriarch received an invitation tonight, which will tell the Society where the Bekhai stand. Marshal Yuzhen said it would be enough, but if you need more, speak and I’ll do what I can.”

Though it pained him to do so, Zian nodded in gratitude and Rain graciously accepted it with a nod of his own before leaving to greet his next waiting guests. Silently promising to return this favour ten-fold, Zian hung back to allow Mother and Uncle Yang lead the way while he waited for Jing Fei, drinking in the sight of her voluptuous body squeezed into a tiny dress. Mother in Heaven, why was he so entranced by this viper of a woman?

Offering her his arm, he gingerly patted her hand as they strode into the courtyard. “You’ve clawed me often enough with your poison dipped nails,” he Sent, doing his best not to sound accusing, “yet I still breathe. Why is that?”

With an indifferent shrug, she Sent back, “You’ve nothing to worry about. The incense we use is a general antidote and it will do you good to build up your resistance. I will admit not all my clawings are... voluntary, however.”

Zian hid his satisfaction with a noncommittal grunt. “In the future, I’d like to remain informed regarding your... preventative measures.”

“As you command, husband mine.” Fighting the urge to flinch away from her hands, Zian froze in place as she adjusted his collar. Flashing a mischievous smile to show she noticed, Jing Fei Sent, “I know it irks you to rely on Rain, so go out and find new allies, preferably some silly little lady with a powerful family you can seduce with your winning smile. I suggest you start with the Ryo siblings, they’re behind you and to your left. Make friends with the brother and charm one or both sisters. Good hunting dear husband, Fei-Fei wishes you the best of luck.”

Though he didn’t need her permission or understanding to take a wife, Zian was glad to see Jing Fei handling this so well. Truth be told, were it not for his dire circumstances, he wouldn’t even want to take a wife, content to spend his days and nights with his intoxicating concubine. Not only was she beautiful, intelligent, and perceptive, she was also a skilled Martial Warrior, not quite as strong as Fung or BoShui, but close. In comparison, other women were boring, meek, unappealing creatures, incapable of drawing his interest or holding his attention, but circumstances demanded he go seek one out. In a just world, he would make Jing Fei his official wife, but as outstanding as she was, she lacked the backing necessary to contend against the Society. He needed new allies, and the easiest way to secure them was through marriage.

Despite the logic behind his decision, Zian was reluctant to start his ‘hunt’, instead standing around to silently greet a few familiar faces while searching for Mila in the crowd. How was she handling the news of yet another woman in Rain’s life? Not well considering her pride and temperament. Sadly, Mila was nowhere to be seen, nor were Li Song, Mei Lin, or any of Rain’s pets. Either Mila would debut alongside the new concubine or she had eschewed the festivities in silent protest. A small part of him hoped it would be the latter and eventually lead to Mila calling off her betrothal, allowing Zian to swoop in to console and win her over. Then he would have a true alliance with the Bekhai, without having to rely on Rain’s goodwill and... friendship.

Drowning in a sea of guilt and self-reproach, Zian banished all thoughts of stealing Mila away. Much as he hated to admit it, she seemed happiest when at Rain’s side, her charming pout turning into a dazzling smile every time she saw him, and she’d already proven to be fine with sharing him with other women. It wasn’t right for Zian to pine after his friend’s betrothed, and even though it felt strange to call Rain his friend, denying it at this point would be silly and self-destructive. Maddeningly enough, Zian had precious few friends. None, in fact. Previously, all Zian had were allies and enemies, and while it’d never bothered him before, he found it... irksome Rain would be his first. Even Sang Ryong, a fellow member of the Society who he’d fought beside in Sanshu, refused to return Zian’s nod, while Jin ZhiLan, the other Society Warrant Officer he’d fought beside, had to make sure no one of note was watching before she returned his greeting. Though Zian’s precarious circumstances were known only to the Clan and select few others, the other factions of the Society had spies aplenty to inform them of his fall from grace.

Which meant he had to act fast before word spread and his value plummeted. As a future Patriarch and Magistrate, his dual status would be enough to entice all but the most powerful of Central noble families, but a disgraced heir in conflict with his powerful clan? No noble family would spare him a second glance.

Many an alliance had begun at parties like this, with friendships struck and marriages made over polite conversation and too many drinks, and Zian intended to take advantage. Following Jing Fei’s advice, he approached Ryo Geom-Chi with a smile, but before he could speak, Geom Chi moved to shield his sisters like a thuggish bodyguard, arm crossed and nose pointed skyward. “Away with you,” he said, lip curled in a sneer, “Neither of my sisters are interested in a playboy, dandy masochist.”

“Mind your manners now Chi-Chi.” Graceful and refined, “Chi-Chi’s” elder sister Ryo Da’in was more deadly than beautiful, though still easily one of the most beautiful women in the room. Where Jing Fei was shapely and seductive, Da’in was slender and supple, her every movement made with finesse and elegance. Wearing a modest, traditional dress, she possessed the bearing of a bold, unyielding warrior. Seeing her brother instinctively give way set off all sorts of warnings. Her slow, gliding pace with feet never leaving the floor, her delicate fingers twitching towards the hilt of her sword, how Geom-Chi gave her enough room to draw her weapon, all this and more reminded him of Da’in’s reputation, a former number one talent who dominated her peers in the Hwarang for five years with her dazzling swordsmanship, and one itching for a fight.

Which happened to be exactly Zian’s type.

Even her smile was aggressive, given with narrowed eyes and bared teeth as she offered a martial salute instead of a curtsy. “Young Patriarch Situ Jia Zian, Da’in has heard much about your exploits in Nan Ping, especially after you defeated my dear baby brother. What does the former number one talent of the North think of Central’s level of ability?”

Erring on the side of caution, Zian responded with humble cordiality. “As with everywhere else, there are exceptional warriors and mediocre warriors, though I have had the privilege and pleasure to cross blades with more than a few exceptional members of Central.”

“Oh?” Disappointment flashed across Da’in’s eyes as Zian’s modest response cost him her interest. “And here I thought Situ Jia Zian was a dragon among men. How boring. Leave now.”

No wonder she was still unmarried at twenty-eight years of age. No matter, there was still a younger sister. Ignoring Da’in’s offhand dismissal, Zian smiled at Geom-Chi and said, “I enjoyed our last match. We are close equals in strength and our styles complimentary. We would both benefit much from sparring again.”

Cognizant of Zian’s intentions, Geom-Chi smirked and gestured towards his younger sister, who stood with arms crossed and a look of contempt pasted across her fair face, so full of youthful vigour. “Seoyoon makes Da’in seem bashful and polite in comparison.”

“Take care then.” Nodding in thanks for the warning, Zian strode off in search of another target, but found no woman who drew his interest. Worse, few even cared to keep him company, his attempts to make polite conversation kept falling flat, whether it be with Tam Taewoong, Yong-Jin, Dienne, or any of the other well known talents present, though he saw no sign of Du Min Yan, Wu Gam, or Mitsu Hideo. Even lesser known warriors barely made a modest effort to carry on a conversation, while others chose to outright snub him. For the first time in his life, Zian’s charms and good looks failed him. His ‘stubborn and shameless’ display on the duelling stages made him something of a pariah in Central, where they valued face and victory far more than actual growth.

How maddening. What did they expect, for him to tuck tail and run home because he lost a handful of matches? In retrospect, keeping his Natal Palace a secret had cost Zian more than he’d expected, his reputation as a martial genius now called into question. Everyone saw him as a failed has-been, replaced by the new rising stars of the North, Falling Rain and Dastan Zhandos, though neither one was present. In their absence, Fung and BoShui stood high in the public’s eye, surrounded by admirers who sought to connect with the Bekhai through their closest allies.

How depressing. Despite Rain’s warm welcome, it seemed like everyone had already decided Situ Jia Zian was a name to forget.

“Zian!” As if noticing him for the first time, Fung’s boisterous voice boomed out over the music, an irksome, languid smile stretched across his stupid face as he strode up with arms outstretched. “It’s about time you arrived. Always so fashionably late. I told Rain that gifting you a pocket-watch was a waste.” Wrapping Zian in a friendly hug, Fung Sent, “Stop struggling and play along you cantankerous ingrate. We’re friends now, remember? Mother in Heaven, you have the acting skills of a brick. How did you survive so long?”

Realizing Fung was trying to help, Zian faked a smile and returned the warm greeting, though felt utterly awkward doing so. Fung was Zian’s least favourite sparring partner, though not for any fault of his own. For years he’d heard rumours of how Tong Da Fung would be the next Situ Jia Zian, an affluent, carefree, womanizer of prodigious martial talent, and while those rumours never bothered him before, it vexed him to watch Fung’s star rise while Zian’s blinked out of existence.

It had nothing to do with how Fung used to be betrothed to Jing Fei. Nothing at all. Zian disliked Fung long before Jing Fei came into his life.

While BoShui introduced Zian to the fawning onlookers, Fung and Zian stood side by side like the best of friends, struggling to keep their fake smiles while exchanging barbs through Sending. “I’ll never understand Rain,” Fung Sent, squeezing Zian’s shoulder harder than necessary. “Were it up to me, I’d leave you for the wolves. Your little cousin Gulong would be much easier to deal with, but alas, Rain is a merciful man. He does so love collecting pets, but you’re easily the ugliest one yet.”

“Perhaps he’s grown tired of playing nursemaid and tutor to a grown man-child like yourself,” Zian replied, his fingers digging into the back of Fung’s neck, “And yearns for an actual peer to associate with.”

“That’s rich, coming from the profligate Situ Jia Zian. Then again, after seeing you fail miserably with the Ryo sisters, I’m beginning to think those rumours were all lies. You were so awkward and bumbling, it was painful to watch. Come, this young master will take pity upon you and teach you how to properly seduce a woman like Ryo Da’in.”

“Hmph. And I suppose you have your eye on Seoyoon?”

“I do, but oddly enough, her old maid of a sister disapproves. I figured the best way to deal with her was to sacrifice some poor, luckless bastard to that she-devil and I immediately thought of you. You’re about as ancient as she is, so you two will have much to talk about, like your aching bones and thinning hair.”

As much as Zian wanted to refuse, Fung’s help was exactly what he needed. Only now did he realize Situ Jia Zian had never been a ‘hunter’ of women. He was a caged tiger, with meals delivered to his doorstep whenever he desired them, wholly out of his element in the wilds and at a loss on how to entice the alluring and contentious Ryo Da’in. Left with no other choice, Zian swallowed his pride and played along with the farce, treating Fung and BoShui like his bosom buddies as they laughed and drank with the most prominent youths of the Empire.

Tonight marked the death of Situ Jia Zian and the rise of Lu Jia Zian, son of Lu An Jing and Situ Jia Ying, Disciple of Jukai, Nephew to Situ Jia Yang, and a dragon among men.

Chapter Meme