Savage Divinity

While going through my daily stack of letters and reports, it occurs to me that duty is a funny word and terrible burden.

As a Second Grade Warrant Officer, I am duty-bound to defend the Empire from its enemies, despite so many of my ‘allies’ working to see me dead or disgraced. Under orders from the Legate, I spent two months on the front lines, staying longer and accomplishing more than any other officer there with me, yet instead of learning from my tactics and choice of equipment, my peers openly derided me for using bows, crossbows, cattle, and chariots, the weapons of peasants and cowards alike. Sitting on my table are more than a dozen letters from officers and nobles in Sinuji, presumably offering kind advice but really they’re little more than thinly veiled verbal slaps to the face, recounting my failures and laying them firmly at my feet. Too many Defiled? Should’ve stood and fought with more courage. Wraiths? Why didn’t I notice them earlier? Demons? Bring more Experts, stupid.

Throwing the letters aside, I sit and stew in displeasure at being stuck in Sinuji, where every random Wraith, Demon, and assassin knows to find me. I’m so vulnerable and exposed I can’t even take a shit in comfort and privacy, yet no one has anything to say regarding gratitude or respect for my efforts. Instead, judging by the rumours and letters on my desk, it would seem most people think I’m not doing enough despite having done more than anyone else my age or rank. I can thank the Legate for this. By crowning me Number One Talent in the Empire after a best of one tournament with extremely limited participation, he turned me into a target for every young talent in the Empire, my wives included. Everyone wants my lofty title and since the Legate has made no moves to protect me, my rivals sense I’m fair game.

To make matters worse, the public expects me to be a shining example of virtue and righteousness, because I’ve been gifted these talents by the Mother, so I must prove myself worthy of her Blessing. My achievements have nothing to do with hard work, ingenuity, or excellent training, no, my victories have been ordained by Heaven and accomplished despite my ‘disgraceful’ tactics and ‘cowardly’ choices. As for the failures, those are all my own, the consequences of my sins and a sign I’ve lost the Heavenly Mother’s favour, if the rumours floating around are to be believed. Already it’s gotten to the point where everyone ‘knows’ I slunk back to the fort with my tail between my legs, and now I’m somehow solely responsible for the poor morale plaguing the front lines because I’m an overbearing, hot-headed savage who let his newfound status go to his head. Stories of my ‘unbridled arrogance’ paint me as a monster who’s been banished to the outskirts of Sinuji because I had a soldier’s tongue ripped out over a heated exchange of words, a tale which conveniently leaves out whose tongue was ripped out and what words were exchanged. Lies built upon a kernel of truth, which makes it that much harder to disprove.

This brings me to my next point. If I had proper backing, no one would dare whisper these lies about me, but as the first and only ‘external’ Imperial Consort, I must uphold the honour of the Imperial Clan while drawing on precious few of its benefits. Things might’ve turned out differently if I’d accepted the Legate’s offer to be his bitch-boy, but such is the price I pay for freedom. I must be humble due to my origins, yet prideful of my lofty status, noble and eminent as befitting an Imperial, yet courteous and respectful lest I be accused of vanity, pretension, or overstepping my bounds. The nobility envy my title and constantly test the limits of my newfound status, while at the same time endeavouring to get in my good graces to exploit me for all I’m worth. They expect me to play their games of politics with the odds stacked against me, and whether I play well, play poorly, or choose not to play at all, my actions will offend someone assuming my existence doesn’t do it first. With each passing day, my list of enemies grows ever larger while the allies I can count on remain few and far between.

In short: duty sucks, responsibility sucks, politics sucks, army life sucks, and the Empire sucks.

Most days, I don’t give a rat’s ass about public opinion, but all the hate gets to me sometimes, and today is one of those times. I almost died more than once yesterday, and I lost good soldiers to Wraiths and Demons, yet no one gives a shit. I also learned how to use External Chi and charged a Demon to distract it, but the first item isn’t exactly useful yet while the second was kinda stupid and not worth bragging about. Besides, it’s not like I couldn’t manifest Water Chi before. It sticks around longer than before, but it’s hardly the powerful breakthrough I’d hoped it would be. As evidenced by my little bout with the Wraith, Water Chi isn’t exactly deadly, but Yan had no helpful advice to share. All she does is slash with her Wind Chi, and the wind slashes, like it somehow makes sense, except it doesn’t. When was the last time someone was cut by the actual wind? Never would be my guess. I mean, the wind can carry things which might cut a person, but cutting with the wind itself? Absurd.

Yan’s experience directly contradicts Guan Suo’s cryptic advice about water being water, but the grumpy old man refused to show his face after I asked him about Concealment, so instead of thinking up better ways to use Water Chi, I spent the rest of yesterday alternating between apologizing to empty air and covertly searching for hidden guardians, assassins, and smoking half-red-pandas. Even now, as I sit alone in my yurt, my eyes are drawn to the shadows in search of unseen observers, my paranoia magnified by the very real possibility that there could actually be someone there. It doesn’t help that it feels like I’m being Watched, which is an actual thing Experts do. According to Luo-Luo, I should always behave as if there’s someone Watching, or better yet, never be alone, which sounds like my personal version of hell. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night because I kept wondering if there was an Expert standing next to my bed, so I tossed and turned about while randomly flailing my arms and legs, hoping I’d hit someone and reveal them. What I’d do next was up for debate, but I even left Mama Bun with Song because I didn’t want to be seen cuddling floofs.

That’s how bad things have gotten. How is a man supposed to survive without floof cuddles?

In a foul mood thanks to the lack of sleep, cuddles, privacy, and overall personal strength, I finish going through the unflattering reports before going about my other duties. With Argat laid up with his injuries and Lei Gong still asleep, I make do with Ping Ping, my Death Corps guards, and hidden fake Khishigs to guard me as I set out for inspection. Why my secretive saviours refuse to show themselves is a mystery, but short of asking Lei Gong to force them out into the open, there’s nothing I can do except leave them be. Colonel Hongji didn’t know anything about them, so maybe they’re Imperial agents or something, here to make sure the Legate’s sacrificial pawn doesn’t die a meaningless death.

Wandering about the camp with my escort, I check on my soldiers and yearn for the days when I could banter and joke around. Now it’s all business all the time, as the soldiers of my retinue have bought into the propaganda and are afraid to chat and laugh with me like before. My mere presence is enough to turn brave warriors into nervous wrecks, so being the compassionate person that I am, I do my best to leave them alone as much as possible. Sadly, this means I have precious few people to talk to, especially since Yan wants to keep our relationship professional while out in the field. This isn’t to say I can’t have a normal conversation with her, but despite her insistence we behave like colleagues and not lovers, Yan enjoys teasing me into utter frustration, frustration which I can no longer... vent since people could be Watching. Song isn’t much for conversation either, and though she is available to talk at, I’d rather avoid falling more in love with her if I can help it.

As for my friends, lately I’ve noticed Dastan’s been avoiding me and refuses to look me in the eyes, probably because he’s upset about his demotion. Zian was never one for friendly chatting, and amongst my original retinue, Rustram is busy training at all hours of the day, Bulat, Ravil, Pran, and Saluk have all become model soldiers who salute me with every other sentence, while Silva, Viyan, and Birca treat me like I’m a cop there to entrap them. Worst of all is the hero-worship I get from usually level-headed young men and women like Altan, Tomor, and Mugi. They’ve joined BoShui in believing I’m some sort of chosen saviour, a man destined to single-handedly turn the tide against the Defiled. I’m not their friend or commander, but a living symbol of hope, a burden which is heavier than any duty ever could be. Even though I think their expectations border on the delusional, I want to live up to them and feel horrible when I inevitably fail to.

Then there’s poor Junior, lying injured in his yurt. Turning white as a sheet as I open the door, he trembles so much I’m worried he’ll pop a stitch. “Yimu,” I say, leaving the door open and trying to keep my tone light. “I’m here to see if our eagle-eyed hero is alright. You comfortable?” Wide-eyed with terror, he nods and shrinks back into his pillow in an attempt to burrow under his blankets and escape. Poor guy, one clash with a Wraith and he’s lost his nerve. I don’t think he’s cut out for warfare, but bringing it up would not be giving him face, so I make a show of checking his injuries while changing his bandages. Though still dark and angry, his wounds are healing nicely and he’ll be on his feet in a few days, but I feign concern and sigh. “Well, you’re not in any danger of dying, but your wounds look worse than I’d like. I’m not too sure about how Wraith poison works, so how about I send you and the others back to SuiHua so my Teacher can have a look?” And from there, maybe even send him back to Sanshu. Junior has promise, but there’s no point keeping him around if he doesn’t want to be here.

Rather than jumping at the chance to escape, Junior grabs my wrist and shakes his head in agitated panic. “No! You can’t!” Turning even whiter once he realizes what he’s done, he releases my wrist as if it were burning hot and burrows beneath his blankets once more. “Sorry Boss, won’t happen again. I’d like to stay please. Here, by your side. Send the others back if you need to, but I’ll be fine boss, don’t you worry. Please, let me stay and defend you with all the resources at my disposal...”

The last is almost said with a whimper as his eyes fill with tears, not a good look for any man, much less Junior, not to mention his odd choice of emphasis. What resources? Not that I need his money, but I doubt he has two silvers to rub together after two weeks dicing with Viyan and Birca. Smiling because I don’t know how else to react, I nod and mumble an agreement before slipping away, stifled by the sheer awkwardness of the encounter. Putting the question of why Junior doesn’t want to leave aside, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was afraid I’d send him away. Why? Is his family pressuring him to stay to make a connection with me? That’s stupid, I already have a decent working relationship with Chun Yimu Senior, so why does Junior have to be here? Personal glory maybe? Well, I have enough problems to deal with, so Junior will have to handle his issues by himself.

Ugh. If only I could leave things be. I’ll ask Wang Bao to work Junior harder in training, so either it drives Junior back home or he grows stronger and more confident. Win-win for everyone, except maybe Wang Bao.

Unfortunately, Junior is but the first of many awkward encounters in store for me this morning, as there were several other soldiers injured by Wraiths who need checking on. With Abjiya and Jibari gone, I’m the closest thing to a Healer my retinue has, and even though the soldiers I brought from the Wall have experience in field-dressing wounds, I wanted to personally look at the injuries to see if my Purifying Water affected the Wraith poison. As far as I can tell, it didn’t, but it’s hard to say for certain. When arranging the wounded into different treatment groups, I forgot to account for their personal skill in Healing, but even if I rule out anyone who can use Panacea, there’s no clear pattern in recovery speed with regards to whether they were treated with Purifying Water, normal water, or no water at all. A shame I had to destroy the Wraith weapons, else I could’ve used them for more testing, but standard military protocol says to cremate all Defiled and their weapons, so into the pyre they went.

Honestly... kinda wish I kept a few around since not many poisons work on Martial Warriors, so it would’ve been nice to study one that does, especially now that I think it’s not Demon related. Maybe I should’ve let a Wraith poison me to see what it’s like. If keeping Defiled artifacts wasn’t punishable by death, I might’ve been tempted to squirrel a few away for research purposes, but with how much scrutiny I’ve been under of late, it’d be a stupid risk to take. I’d also like to study an actual Wraith, but considering I don’t know the first thing about autopsies, that’s a bust too. Besides, the last guy who cut up corpses for research ruined things for all science-minded individuals in the Empire, what with being branded a heretic and all. Not to say his reputation wasn’t deserved since Zhen Shi was certifiably bat-shit crazy and totally stepped over all the lines, but it’s ass-backwards for the murder-crazed Defiled to be more innovative than the supposed Balanced Empire.

With my leadership duties taken care of for the day, I head over to the training area hoping to steal Mama Bun and Blackjack while Song is busy sparring, but alas, I arrive just in time to see both long-eared floofs hop into her bosomy embrace. Averting my eyes, I sigh and thank the Mother Yan’s still in bed, else she would definitely have noticed something was up. I need to keep my feelings a secret and never, ever tell anyone about them, because Song deserves to be happy, which she can’t if she knows I’m lusting after her body. Despite everything she’s been through, she trusted me with her chain, and I don’t want to do anything to betray or jeopardize her trust.

Grabbing an iron striking post, I bring it back to my yurt and ask the Death Corps to set up my bath tub, much to Ping Ping’s delight. Once the partitions are up (minus a section for Ping Ping to lay in), I head in and plant the striking post into the dirt to be used after my bath. Slipping out of my clothes, I settle into the cold water and step into the void, where I turn Chi into Water Chi while wishing there was a less embarrassing way to do this. When I’ve gathered enough for my purposes, I climb out, get dressed, and turn the bathwater into Chi-Tea, saving two gourds as per usual for me and Pong Pong. Gesturing for Ping Ping to have at it, I pat her cheek as she drains the tub dry and try not to think about the hidden Experts judging me with their looks of disgust. Technically, I could have the Death Corps empty the tub and make Chi-Tea from a barrel of water, but it might raise questions regarding what’s actually going on. So what if the world thinks Ping Ping likes to drink my bathwater? She’s the Divine Turtle, and she wouldn’t drink your bathwater if you begged her.

Honestly, I wish I could Conceal myself to hide this one humiliating detail...

Once finished with her drink, Ping Ping settles down to watch me work as I take my stance in front of the striking post, standing about five meters away with sword in hand and ready to begin my actual training. There are so many steps to get to this point, but as much as I’d like to streamline the whole thing, there’s no point. As things stand, I have no real use for Water Chi, so until I do, why bother wasting time optimizing the gathering process?

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I figured if I don’t make progress over the next few days, then I’ll rethink my strategy.

Settling down in a wide, open area, I make sure Ping Ping isn’t touching me before drawing Peace and closing my eyes. Though I no longer need to reach for Balance to gather Chi, I do so regardless because sometimes it helps me think. The Energy of the Heavens is unruly as ever, a torrent threatening to sweep me away, but I struggle and endure to resist the undercurrents. It’s a world of difference from Devouring Heavenly Energy for Chi, but the familiar conflict sets my mind at ease and I set to pondering the mysteries of Water Chi.

If Water Chi behaves like water, then how do I turn it into a weapon? Hone it?

Taking a deep breath, I take a few minutes to calm my mind and reflect on how I got here. It’s been years since I’ve practised with a striking post, and the first time around, I used it to practice Honing with Peace. Today, years later, I’m standing before a striking post to practice Honing again, but this time, it’s not with my sword.

I’m going to Hone Water Chi.

It makes sense right? If water is water and requires outside assistance to do non-water things, then why can’t I use Honing to make water cut? I don’t understand how Elder Ming made an actual sword of water or how Pudge made tentacles, but if all I want to do is cut, then Honing is the skill to use. With this in mind, I hold Peace horizontally before me and focus on the flat of the blade. If I want to wield Water Chi in battle, I can’t be popping into my Natal Palace to prepare, so I’ll need to learn how to materialize it with eyes wide open and it’s best to start now. Time passes as I picture the cold metal drawing moisture from the warm air to form beads of dew across its shiny surface, but reality is not so kind. My first attempt is a failure, as is the second, and the third, but then I stop counting. Try, fail, repeat, until finally, I succeed, my focus sharp as the blade I hope to forge. The Water Chi pools across the flat of my blade and I command it to Hone, envisioning the water churning about in a whirling chain of jagged edges. When the time feels right, I flick my wrist and launch the stream of water at the striking post, where it splashes across the metal and does little else.

A failure, but again, this is nothing new. How many times did I fail in front of my first iron striking post? A thousand? Ten-thousand? It doesn’t matter, because eventually, I succeeded, as I will eventually succeed with this.

Eventually.

Maybe.

I hope.

Fuck, there goes my focus.

Chapter Meme