Savage Divinity

After sitting in a sealed box on wheels for the entire day, I wholeheartedly believe that anyone who claims to enjoy long carriage rides is either a liar or a masochist.

Aesthetically designed by Luo-Luo and decorated with lifelike carvings by Charok, calling it a box on wheels is being a little disingenuous, but it’s all flash and no substance. The curved undercarriage hosts a set of inadequate shocks, the seats aren’t deep enough to settle back into, the satin cushions are too hard, and the octagonal windows are set in the centre of the cabin, meaning I’d have to lean forward to look out even if they hadn’t been closed and shuttered for the entire ride. The interior lacks much needed comfort and safety features, like headrests, armrests, hand holds, or seat belts, topped off with a cushioned bench which is too shallow to rest in, too upright to lean on, and too slippery to comfortably sit on. Given how bumpy the ride was going at a sedate pace over smooth, military roads, I’d hate to find out first-hand what it’ll be like travelling at breakneck speeds over dirt and grass. It’s all too easy to imagine me biting my tongue off, impaling myself on my sword, or crashing into the other passengers and breaking all my fragile, non-Martial Warrior bones while our carriage breaks through a blockade or flees from an assassination attempt, assuming the pretty golden-yellow wood (which tastelessly screams ‘faux-Imperial’) even holds up beneath the initial attack.

All in all, this opulent monstrosity is pleasing to the eye and hazardous to one’s health, which essentially makes it Luo-Luo in vehicle form.

That’s not entirely fair, because it’s hardly her fault she’s as popular as she is, but I can’t help but resent her for being the source of so many woes. Taking a deep breath and reminding myself to be nicer to Luo-Luo, I sit alone in the dim carriage interior and continue listing off its flaws and inadequacies, because there isn’t much else to do while waiting for Binesi to give me the all clear. Everyone else ditched me and disembarked as soon as the carriage came to a stop, even sweet Aurie and loyal Mama Bun, but I’m stuck in the carriage until ‘the camp is secured’. I can’t just call my guards over and head out, noooo. Scouts need to comb through the surroundings and report back on areas of interest, patrols routes have to be drawn up and scheduled, defences dug in, checkpoints reinforced, passwords and confirmation codes exchanged, and a whole slew of minor details to handle and go over before I can step out into the open air, because Binesi’s safety measures makes my schizophrenic paranoia look like minor anxiety.

Then again, if I’m assassinated, it’ll probably spark off a civil war which will doom the Empire, so I guess better safe than sorry.

...The carriage needs more ventilation. It reeks of unwashed bunnies, aromatic wildcats, and heavily-perfumed courtesan, but probably because all the windows are shut. Ooh!, I should install bunbun receptacles. Small, cushioned boxes for them to rest in, like how they used to sleep in saddlebags when they were babies. There’s plenty of room under the future armrest, and over it too, so long as they’re padded on the outside just in case of impact. Gotta make sure we have one for every bunbun, so I won’t have to worry about squishing someone every time I shift in my seat. This’ll mean more room to stretch out once I rip out the seats and replace them with more comfortable couches, ones deep enough for my wildcats to curl up on. Seriously, why do we need all this empty space and bare walls in the carriage? It’s not like there’s a fold-out table to work on, or a lantern to provide enough light to read by. There isn’t even a cup holder or weapons receptacle, though to be fair, Mom, Alsantset, and Charok all seemed pretty blase about holding their spears all day, and even Luo-Luo didn’t seem to mind cradling her sceptre and silly George at the same time.

...It’s this god-damned mundane sword. I hate it. No matter how I wear it, it doesn’t feel right, and I still can’t get the hang of swinging it around. Ugh. Besides, this is really my fault anyways. I knew Luo-Luo was light on practical experience, so I should’ve paid more attention during the whole carriage creation process, but in my defence, I never expected to actually sit in this rolling coffin. I figured this would be Luo-Luo’s carriage, and I’d ride Zabu everywhere or sit on a rickshaw with Lin-Lin, but man proposes, and Heaven disposes.

Or more aptly, shit happens, and real shit’s going to happen right here in this carriage if I’m stuck waiting much longer...

By some miracle of the Mother, a knock sounds at the carriage door only moments before I call for my chamber pot once again, and Binesi’s voice sounds out. “Ready and waiting,” he intones, and I all but leap out of my seat to charge the door. Catching myself at the last moment, I take a second to compose myself before cracking the door open just a hair, ready to head out to use the latrines but not so eager to die just yet. Seriously, usually I’m agonizing over the lack of safety measures, but even with Baby-Sitter Binesi here to dot the I’s and cross the T’s, I’m still not entirely at ease.

Then again, that’s probably normal, given my current situation. Five Supreme Families are gunning for my head, and while Yuzhen and MuYang have done a passable job fending off all the Imperial lackeys in the Northern Citadel, we’re on the road now and Dad’s back at the citadel along with his many, many soldiers. It’s just me and ten-thousand Sentinels and soldiers against the world.

Fun, fun, fun.

A half-second later, biology wins out over uncertainty and I march out the carriage, hoping I look suitably calm and collected for my waiting friends and family. Alas, even if I do, they’re not around to appreciate it, as the only people waiting to receive me are my Death Corps guards and loyal, ever-present Ping Ping, with my caring family, sweet betrotheds, and lovable floofs all nowhere to be found. Heartbreaking, but I’ll live, so I smile and hug the sweet turtle before turning to Green One to whisper, “Escort me to my tent please. Not my yurt.” Which is set up less than ten meters away and makes me suspect Binesi’s bullshit about securing the camp was probably just an excuse to keep me miserable. Then again, maybe not, since Binesi was stuck standing outside the carriage the entire time instead of leaving me to my personal protectors. “I need to go. To my tent.”

Picking up on my none-too-subtle hints, Green One salutes, bows, and replies, “Mercy, Imperial Consort. This one has failed you. Your tent was not set up, as per Major Binesi’s orders.”

“Shit in a pot like a proper noble, private.” Though delivered in the same neutral monotone as always, there’s a hint of satisfaction in Binesi’s inflection as he scans our surroundings for danger. “Move. Too exposed out here.” After a short jaunt to the yurt, Binesi puts his hand on my chest to stop me from going in and heads up the stairs to check the interior, then all but tosses me inside. Nodding at the chamber pot, he adds, “Enjoy.”

With the conversation finished as far as he’s concerned, Binesi moves to shut the door, but I raise an arm to block it. “Hang on.” Bad move considering the difference in strength, but he magnanimously holds back from breaking my hand and glowers instead. Weak. If Akanai’s glower is a ten, and Mila’s an eight, then Binesi’s is barely a tepid four, but I still shoot a nervous glance at the shadows to my left. “Major, if you would be so kind as to raise a Sound Barrier please,” I say, and after a long pause, he rolls his eyes and complies. Or at least I assume he does, since he gestures at me to go on, so I nod in thanks and continue. “Am I right to assume we have uninvited guests lurking about?” Binesi nods, but I knew as much thanks to Pong Pong’s astute senses alerting me to Scrying eyes all day. While we weren’t travelling at top speeds, we covered close to fifty kilometres today, which means we’re well out of range from spies situated inside the Northern Citadel, so any lingering eyes still with us are somewhere nearby. “Considering the losses they’ve already incurred, I doubt these shadowy presences are of Eastern origin.” Dad and Charok slaughtered almost a hundred well-trained and well-equipped Imperial assassins during their heroic ride back from the farm, and I doubt the Supreme Families have hundreds more hanging around Central. “We’re probably looking at locals, either hired knives under contract or personal killers of influential families.”

“Local blades kill just as well as Imperial ones.”

“Well, unlike Imperials, these killers might not have any qualms about keeping things quiet.” The corpses of the Imperial assassins had all been neatly removed and disposed of by the time I rode back to the Citadel a few hours later, which I thought was kinda weird. Every civilian from here to the farthest reaches of the Empire can see I’m not a welcome addition to the Imperial Clan, but I guess the Legate’s enemies would prefer it if no one knew they were actively trying to have me murdered.

Latching on to my train of thought, Binesi frowns and scratches his chin, mulling over the possibilities. “You’re worried they’ll strike regardless of the consequences.”

“Yes. Chances are, they’ve been given orders or made assurances to their Imperial backers, and desperate people do stupid things.” Like launch a suicidal attack on a military camp of ten-thousand soldiers in the hopes of assassinating an upstart Imperial Consort. I’m not too too worried about that, mostly because there really isn’t anything I can do about it. If their forces are strong enough to kill me here, with Nian Zu’s Famous Fifty, the Marshal’s veteran honour guard, and my mother watching over me, well then I guess I’ll die. “What I’m concerned about is what our enemies might do if they think they have no chance of success, because I doubt they’ll just slink home and say, ‘sorry boss, we couldn’t do it’. If it were up to me, I’d do my best to introduce new variables by spoiling the food supply, blocking the road, killing someone else of importance, or most effectively of all, kidnapping a cute and lovable niece or nephew to force me into a vulnerable position.”

Hell, if someone demanded my death in exchange for Tali or Tate’s life, I’d slit my throat myself.

“And what sort of idiocy are you planning?”

Swallowing a snappy retort, I smile and say, “To give our enemies hope, so they don’t do anything too too smart or too stupid.” Ignoring his grimace, I push on and explain, “We’ve left them no chance to strike at me, which means we can’t predict where or when they will attack, but if we leave a flaw in my defences, an opening in my routine, then we can be ready and waiting when they inevitably strike.”

“So you want to play the sacrificial goat and lure the tigers down from their mountains.” Eyeing me in doubt, Binesi asks “You know usually what happens to the goat, right? Much as I would enjoy being relieved of my duties, my job here is to keep you alive and prevent a doomed rebellion from plunging the front lines into chaos and giving the united Defiled an opportunity to break through.” Curling his lip in a sneer, Binesi shuts the door and adds, “Remain inside until we are ready to set out tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not asking for permission,” I yell, hoping he can still hear me. “Only for your cooperation.”

Faster than I can blink an eye, the door rips open and Binesi marches in, prodding at my chest even as he slams the door shut behind him. “Step outside without my permission,” he snarls, looming over me like a spectre of death, “And I will have you drawn up on military charges and whipped within an inch of your life. This is no game, foundling. This is the fate of the Empire, the lives of hundreds of millions of people at stake here, so you will obey, or you will be made to – ”

“It’s alright Naaran.” Straightening in surprise as he finds a spear at his throat, Binesi stands stock still while I address the aged Bannerman holding the weapon in place. “Major Binesi just got a little heated and means me no harm. Besides, he’s well within his rights to have me lashed if I were to disobey direct orders.” Leaving his spear there for a little longer, Naaran grunts and steps back before fading into Concealment once more, as gruff and unsociable as ever. I didn’t know exactly who it was, but I knew someone friendly was hiding in the shadows to the left of the door, and even if that person wasn’t a match for the enraged Major, Kuang Biao is also hiding somewhere nearby. In fact, I think Binesi knew Kuang Biao was hiding behind me and was ready to fight him off, but Naaran’s presence on his left caught him completely off-guard.

This just goes to show that not all hidden mountain ninjas are created equal. I don’t know much about Naaran, except that he’s got amber eyes and Akanai once used him as an example to belittle Dad’s skills. It’s nice knowing the Bannermen are still looking out for me, even though three of them already lost their lives keeping me safe. Khagati, Mengu, and Kharnate, three of latest names added to the tally of Falling Rain’s folly. More will die before all this is done, and I hope brooding old Naaran isn’t one of them. He should be living out his twilight years in peace and comfort, or if that’s not his thing, fighting in battles of his own choosing. Instead, he’s lurking in the corner of a young idiot’s yurt and threatening a fellow mountain warrior whose only sin is trying to do his damned job.

Focus. Pity parties are for later. “Sorry Major, but you left so abruptly I had to say that to get you back here.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Binesi growls, shooting a dark look at where Naaran disappeared to, but the old spearman is already on the other side of the room. Or maybe that’s Kuang Biao, and I’ve lost sight of Naaran. It’s hard to tell who’s who when they’re all in Concealment. “You go against orders, and it’s the lash.”

Even if it costs him his life, Binesi’s glare implies, but I wave off his grumpy dramatics. “Yes, I am a soldier of the Empire and beholden to your commands, but I’ve other duties to attend to, duties you have no right to interfere with.”

“What duties?”

Puffing up my chest with a smile, I point at myself and say, “I am Falling Rain, the Divine Turtle’s Attendant, a duty bestowed upon me by the Legate himself through Imperial Decree. Specifically, I was given free rein within the Empire to carry out my Holy Duty, and any parties caught hindering said Duty are to be executed without trial.”

Check and mate. If only my Imperial enemies were so easy to beat. After a long silence, Binesi sighs and rubs his forehead, no doubt stressed and frustrated to the extreme. “So you go and get yourself killed. Then your blood-thirsty father rebels, his blood-thirsty Mentor backs him, and the Sentinels are left with no choice but to follow because they’re already guilty by association.” He’s the first person I’ve heard use the common word for Sentinel, which is nice because now I know what it is. More language woes, but that’s neither here nor there. “Is this your goal then, boy? To use your death to deliver the Empire to the Defiled?”

“First off, if the Imperials have me killed, then I don’t give a shit what happens to their Empire.” Dangerous words to utter, but it’s the truth. “Secondly, I don’t want the People or the Sentinels to rebel, because that means all my loved ones will probably die. Third of all,” I growl, poking Binesi in the chest and immediately regretting it as I jam my finger on his armour, “I have fought, bled, and suffered for this shit-hole of an Empire. I haven’t served as many years as you have, but I’ve given more than my fair share of time, blood, sweat, and coin to this war effort, so I’ll thank you not to question my fucking motives, Major.”

After a long silence and strenuous struggle, Binesi swallows his anger and nods in assent. “Fair enough. Your motives are good, but your reasoning is still shit.”

Ignoring the jibe, I ask, “Is the Sound Barrier still up?” He nods, so I explain, “Between here and Central, there will be at least one attempt on my life. There is no question of that. However, if I’m under strict guard at all times, then it’s anybody’s guess as to when, where, and how our enemies will strike. Give them an opening, and we can seize the initiative.” Shrugging, I add, “I even have the beginnings of a plan, or at least a suitable excuse.”

“The Guardian Turtle.” Eyeing me skeptically, Binesi asks, “You meant to bring her out on a jaunt to the river or something. Is there any more to your grand scheme, or is that it?”

Exactly that, but the way he says it makes it sound stupid, so I shrug and reply, “Said I had a plan. Never claimed it was a good one.”

After hashing it out for a few minutes longer, Binesi heads out to make arrangements and I scurry over to the chamber pot to do my business. Stopping in place with my hands on my belt, I look around for Naaran and settle on a weird shadow situated at the foot of my bed. “Erm, sorry, but you guys might want to step outside for a few minutes or something.” Or yanno, at least turn around and not look please. God this is humiliating. How can anyone live like this? Can’t a man just shit in peace?

The weird shadow disappears and Naaran stands in its place, the change so sudden and subtle it feels like he was always there and my memory is playing tricks. “How can you spot me, boy?” he asks, his grizzled frown deeper than usual as he tries to figure it out. “Not even Khagati could find me so easily.”

“I can’t actually see you, just signs of your presence.” Shrugging, I explain, “Sometimes it’s a shadow that stands out from the others, and other times it’s a blur in the air that’s only visible from certain angles. Once, I noticed a blind spot because someone was hiding in front of something I was looking for, and another time it was like someone took a realistic painting of the world, cut it in half with a Honed scalpel, then put the two pieces back together slightly off. There’s always a subtle... wrongness which goes with Concealment, but it’d be hard to spot outside of familiar surroundings.”

Plus I’ve had a lot of practice lately trying to spot stupid, adorable Kukku. I noticed that sometimes when I go to visit Ping Ping, he’s roosting atop her head, which is just the cutest thing ever except I can’t actually see it and he leaves whenever I draw close. Dumb cowardly chicken, let me love you...

Or... at least I hope it’s Kukku, and not Monk Happy himself. That would be weird.

“And this time?”

“Your shadow was wrong,” I reply, gesturing at the single lit candle in the yurt. “The other shadows flicker and move with the firelight, but not where you were standing, or up in that corner over there either. Nothing magical, just the mundane powers of paranoid observation.”

Instead of Kuang Biao as expected, one of MuYang’s silent, Oath-Bound comrades drops down from the area of roof I just pointed at and offers a respectful salute. I should salute him, for hanging up there in the first place. All there is to hold onto is the roof struts, which means he had to Lighten like crazy and cling on by his fingertips. Nodding in reply, I glance around one last time and find nothing out of place, which leads me to wonder where Kuang Biao is, but I have more pressing matters to attend to. “So err... your efforts are much appreciated, but my pants are coming off soon and then things are only gonna get more unpleasant from there, so uh... yea.”

In response, Naaran plants his feet and tosses me a blanket before disappearing from sight, and this time I make no effort to find him, or the silent Adherent who is no doubt still lurking about. At least this way, I can hide my head under the blanket and pretend they’re gone, even though the door clearly didn’t open and there’s no other way out of the yurt...

One long, humiliating ordeal later, I head out with the stinky pot in hand and pass it over to a Death Corps guard with all the grace and dignity I can muster. “Sorry. Thanks. Also, there’s a blanket by the door inside. Please have it taken away and washed.” I only had it draped over my head for privacy, but the smell alone was enough to convince me it’ll never be clean again. No idea why it was so bad today, I barely ate half a lunch. Stupid Fung, BoShui, and Zian came to visit and I had nothing else besides my lunch box to offer, but they didn’t hold back at all. They split my dumplings, spiced meat, pickled veggies, and steamed dessert bun between the three of them, and only left the cold noodles, fried rice, and empty box behind. Heartless is what they are, but I suppose I deserve it for not reaching out since I came back from Sinuji. Truth be told, I didn’t even know they were coming to the banquet as Nian Zu’s guests until they showed up outside the carriage, conveniently standing behind the Death Corps guard with my chamber pot.

Note to self: add some sound proofing or something, so people can’t hear me peeing from outside, or better yet, so I can’t hear their choked laughter. Stupid metal piss pot, so god damned loud and echo-ey. Also, what’s so funny about a man using a chamber pot inside the privacy of his carriage? It’s completely natural...

With Binesi and an entire contingent of Death Corps at my side, I lead Ping Ping down to the man-made river which is only a short jaunt from our camp. Granted, our camp fits ten-thousand soldiers, so the river is still awhile away, but I’m fine with taking things nice and easy instead of hurrying the big girl along. Tired from her full day of running, she ambles happily beside me and nudges me every so often, excited to see me after a full day apart. I’m happy to see her too, and she gets hugs a plenty, which help sell the story that I’m out here because of her. I’m fairly certain we won’t come under attack today, but I remain on full alert for all the good it’ll do me, nervously looking around and keeping one hand close to my sword.

At least I don’t have to worry about having my act seen through. This is genuine anxiety right here folks, and my would-be assassins are probably eating it up.

With so many ships and barges pulling ashore for the night, it takes a little effort to find a place Ping Ping can slip in from, but the sweet girl refuses to go for a swim and stays on dry land instead. Daintily stretching her neck to slurp water from the river, she keeps a close eye on her surroundings while insisting I stand in the crook of her shoulder. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but it feels like she’s been more alert these past few days, maybe blaming herself for letting those assassins almost kill me. Also, I think she really misses her red panda friends, because every time I duck in to visit her in her Natal Palace, she brings me over to see them and squeaks in distress next to the chunkiest of chonkers. It’s heartbreaking, and I’m almost ready to tell the Legate that Ping Ping needs to go home for a spell. I could spin it as part of my most important Turtle Attendant duties, which is how I came up with this whole idea in the first place.

Please let that giant red panda still be there. I wanna hug him sooooooo bad...

After drinking enough water to fill a backyard pool, we head back to camp with a noticeable spring in Ping Ping’s step. Making a note to have the Death Corps bring her water to drink during lunch, I discuss the logistics with Green One until Binesi chimes in to tell us there are whole wagons filled with barrels of water, just for soldiers to drink. Since they’re filled every night, there’s no harm in giving Ping Ping two or three during lunch, and we make it back to camp in high spirits thanks to the noticeable lack of bloody holes in my chest. After feeding her a few treats, I say farewell to the sleepy big turtle and leave her to rest, though it pains me to walk away from her mournful squeaks which tell me she still wants to play.

I wish she were small and cute like inside her Natal Palace, then I could bring her into my yurt and carriage where we would cuddle all the time...

I hate living like this, under strict guard at all times, and as I head into my yurt, I stop to watch my friends and family enjoying themselves after a long day’s ride. Lin-Lin and the twins busy themselves running around with the animals, while Mila, Yan, and Alsantset sit around in a distracted daze, wholly conscious and responsive, but not really entirely there. Mom is more or less in the same fugue state, though at least she’s aware of her surroundings, and she responds to my gaze with a carefree smile and a sympathetic tilt of her head, though not sympathetic enough to come over and join me in incarceration.

Grandpa Du claims they’re all like this because a part of their minds are still ruminating on the mysteries of Insight. He followed up the statement with a look like he expected me to jump for joy and praise the Mother Above or something, but I mean it’s cool and all that they’re receiving an upload from the universe, but that’s not proof of anything. It only proves there’s something strange but beneficial afoot, which I already knew because Chi. Maybe it’s the Mother Above, or maybe we’re all living in a simulation and our overseers are downloading kung-fu moves straight into our brains for shits and giggles. Who knows?

Seriously though, c’mon Mother in Heaven. Is this really how it’s gonna be? I’m crippled here, and you’re gonna taunt me by giving my family and loved ones casual power-ups? Totally not cool. Napping with turtles and playing in their Natal Palaces is nice and all, but I'd like something more tangible please.

As Luo-Luo picks up the pear-shaped guitar-thing she calls a pipa, I spot Song heading off with a bucket of raw meat in hand. Going to check if her weasel-bear friend followed us all the way out here, no doubt. She’s been feeding him for days now, or feeding some animal, because even though she leaves meat out twice a day, she has yet to lay eyes on him since she first set him free. I doubt it followed our convoy fifty kilometres south, but I hope she finds him again, and not just because I want more floofs. She deserves to have a friend all of her own, and I’m rooting for her to be happy.

But I still want to pet it, so she better be okay with sharing. No matter how I imagine the combination, a weasel-bear just sounds so adorable and floofy.

Clearing his throat from beside me, Binesi nudges me back into the yurt with only mildly less force than a boot to the ass. Grumbling about the indignity of it all, I look around and greet Naaran and the shadow guard with a slight nod, to which the former responds with a disgruntled Sending. “Difficult to secretly guard you when you give away our presence,” he admonishes, and I wince at my own stupidity. I can’t help it, it’s just... manners, you know? If someone’s there, you greet them, that’s just how it is. “Your man came by with some documents and placed them on the table. Stop nodding and do not answer. I will stand guard, and you will go about your business as usual.”

Almost nodding in agreement despite the warning, I head over to the table and glance over the documents with a smile. It’s a stack of correspondences with various people representing various interests, most of which are business related and entirely genuine, but strategically placed towards the bottom with a corner poking out is a letter from Situ Chi Gan, who according to Zian, is one of Patriarch Rang Min’s strongest supporters. Apparently, Chi Gan’s son, Chi Lok, was a part of the group who chased us off after the Society Contests, and ended up deader than dirt, so Chi Gan swore to have his vengeance upon the Bekhai, which means my enemies should find it strange to see a letter from him in my possession. Less than a quarter of the letter is visible, but there’s enough there for any spying Scryers to determine that I’ve come to an agreement with Situ Chi Gan and we’re plotting to work together.

The letter’s a forgery, of course, because not only did I not know the man existed until a few days ago, even if I knew who killed his son, I’d never hand the person over like the letter implies, but it’s enough if my enemies believe it. Once word of this reaches Situ Rang Min, it should be enough to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind, but even if Rang Min has complete trust in Chi Gan, which I sincerely doubt, then it’s not like I invested a whole lot into the wasted scheme.

Technically, MuYang did all the work, with Junior’s help. There’s also a folder of forged documents I’ll peruse later tonight, once Pong Pong alerts me to Scrying again, just in case leaving incriminating letters around is too obvious a bait. Honestly, it would’ve never occurred to me that the little turtle could sense Scrying of all things, but it explains why he glares at nothing so often, and stops when I go and investigate. According to Mom, Scrying is like shaving off a slice of your Domain, attaching it to your eye with Chi, and sending it out to look through. While the mechanics don’t make much sense, I know that any external Chi construct will rapidly fall apart if it comes in contact with a living body, which means I was probably walking straight through their Scrying eyeballs while heading over to see what Pong Pong was staring at, and thereby ruining their little peep show.

Even going by the few times I can confidently say someone was Scrying, I feel like way too many people have seen me walking around naked. I absolutely hate it, but unless I can teach Roc to sense Scying and ram his feathery ass into them, then I’m shit out of luck.

Settling down to wait for dinner, I open up the folder of forged letters in case someone is Scrying right now, while inwardly reviewing my lessons from Luo-Luo. I’d ask her to come help review in person, but I had a difficult enough time keeping my hands to myself when she was sitting across from me in the carriage, and that was with Mom right there beside me. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about Luo-Luo today which is so... alluring. Normally, she’s so prim and proper all the time, with her flawlessly arranged hair, pristine posture, and perfectly smoothed skirts, but today, she looked a little out of sorts and less, I dunno, intimidating. I mean, she could still show up at a formal ball and fit right in, but there were minor imperfections which stuck out and somehow made her more appealing, approachable, and... vulnerable. A stray lock of hair out of place, the shoulder of her dress slipping slightly to one side, her seated posture laid-back and inviting, and her lips parted ever so slightly while she watched me with a wide-eyed, adoring stare... it sounds horrible to say, but she seemed so relaxed and defenceless, I had this primal urge to go over there and...

I didn’t though, and wouldn’t have, even if Mom wasn’t there, but I wanted to, even after her constant humming was starting to grate on my nerves. The animals loved it though, along with her impromptu performance from Alsantset’s carriage, and I kinda wish I knew more about how it works. Ping Ping loves it when I hum to her, in real life and in her Natal Palace, but I don’t feel anything different about it. Pong Pong on the other hand couldn’t care less, and the rest of my floofs just love the attention, so I need to do more testing before I can come to a definitive conclusion on whether my humming has the same effect as Luo-Luo’s strumming.

But all that is for another time, along with figuring out how to use Chi, repair a shattered Core, and how I can Devour Demon Ichor through touch. Right now, I have a much more difficult lesson to learn, which is how to fucking be polite. This means sitting down and reviewing my lessons in decorum until everything becomes second nature. No more wild, manner-less savage and foreigner Falling Rain, I must become a noble, respectable young man worthy of my lofty new station. It sounds easy, but the people here are so backwards when it comes to social interaction, and it’s all because of face. It’s a stupid concept, and I still don’t understand it, which is terrifying because even though everyone knows I don’t understand face, no one can really offer a proper explanation. As far as I can tell, face is linked to dignity and prestige, but is a separate concept from both. Dad tried explaining it once and said, “Face can be given, fought for, or lost, but it cannot be taken, and to demand face is to surrender all face you possess.”

Which is like... what does any of that even mean?

The way I see it, face is about ego. People strut around with their giant heads, and lose their temper when they’re inevitably taken down a notch. Except it’s not inevitable, because everyone else tiptoes around their ego and say they’re ‘giving face’, which is stupid because why should I be responsible for coddling someone else’s sense of self-worth? If you don’t want to feel stupid, then don’t do stupid things, which is a perfectly logical way to go through life, except everyone I’ve ever brought this up with has been horrified by my take on face.

“It’s not about the individual,” Dad explained, “Nor is it merely personal pride. It is more than that. It is respect earned by generations before, the dignity afforded to noble heroes of times gone by, or prestige earned by the community as a whole. Face is given to an individual, but it is shared as a whole.”

Which still doesn’t really explain the concept, because there isn’t a proper explanation for face. It’s just this intangible currency we’re all supposed to take pride in accruing and feel ashamed if ever lost, but no one can tell how much face they have or really compare it with anyone else, so it becomes this endless contest of oneupsmanship where people compete with their exploits, wallets, heirs, and whatever else might come to mind.

In other words, it’s all complete bullshit.

No, thinking like this is why I keep getting into trouble all the time. There’s no point complaining about the broken system, because nothing will change, so like Nian Zu said, I need to learn from my mistakes and stay inside the lines. I just... gotta give face, and need to save face, because people will try to make me lose face. Can’t act without regards for face, because that would be shameless, but I also can’t appear to want face too much, because that would also be shameless. If I’m too thick-skinned, I’ll appear rude and unsociable, but being too thin-skinned will turn me into a laughing stock, because again, I’ll seem desperate for face. There are no hard rules when it comes to face, which is disastrous because that means I only have my own judgment to rely on, which history has proven is complete and utter shit.

So I guess I’m doomed. Or not. Who knows. Not me. Definitely not me.

Chapter Meme