Savage Divinity

You know how I know face is bullshit?

Because rich people aren’t allowed to haggle. How is this not bullshit?

Okay, allowed might be too strong of a word, but buying things without asking the price is apparently some big dick energy move, showing off how much money you have and how little you care about spending it. That’s some grade-A blasphemous bullshit if you ask me, because it is a verifiable fact that prices fluctuate based on the perceived wealth of the shopper. Now I don’t mind merchants trying to scam me by raising prices every time I walk through the door, but it’s infuriating to know I can’t haggle or walk away from a deal lest I ‘lose face’. As soon as I exhibit interest, I’m locked into buying whatever it is, because to do otherwise would imply I’m either a copper-pinching tight-wad or I’m borderline destitute as far as the rumour mills are concerned.

Which makes going to market a complete nightmare. Yea I have money, but I still don’t wanna buy things at full price, much less an inflated price meant to gouge me for all I’m worth. Who pays full price for anything? Face is the worst.

There are exceptions to the rule of course. When merchants sit down to discuss business, it’s bargaining, not haggling, and most wealthy people have servants to do their haggling for them. What’s more, many higher end stores, like the instrument shop I’m currently standing in while waiting for Luo-Luo to pick a replacement pipa, tend to have their rates and prices openly displayed, so as to show sincerity and assure their wealthy patrons that they’re not getting screwed. There are more workarounds I’ve yet to encounter, but it’s annoying going through all the familiar motions only to run afoul of unfamiliar customs. That’s the part that trips me up the most while trying to blend in, the ordinary turned foreign. Bizarre and exotic customs are generally easy to remember, because they’re new and different like all-white mourning clothes instead of black, but when something seems familiar, my brain just defaults to normal, like feigning interest in products so shopkeepers don’t kick me out for loitering.

Long story short, during this lengthy, two-hour trip to the market, I’ve spent a lot of money on things I don’t want, like complicated hair-pins, a big-ass shoulder bag, some ugly animal carvings, and the most uncomfortable looking belt I have ever laid eyes on. The expense won’t break the bank, and I can always gift this junk away, but I hate frivolous purchases with a vehement passion, and Mom keeps lecturing me on my poor spending habits through Sending, while also constantly asking if I need to borrow money. I’m starting to think the problem is on my end though, because every time I so much as look at something, the shop attendants rush over to extol its virtues and praise me for making such a fine purchase. On the other hand, Zian can pick something up, inspect it, and put it back down without being mobbed by greedy sales people, and it’s like fucking magic. I have no idea what I’m doing wrong, but I’m guessing it has to do with his cold air of casual disdain, or that slight, contemptuous sneer he wears all the time.

Still, he’s better dressed than I am, so why don’t the merchants bother him? I’m wearing standard Sentinel leathers over a plain shirt and pants, while he has fancy teal embroidery all over his fluttery white robes, not to mention an expensive decorative hair-clip that I will never see as anything besides the tiniest of shiny hats. The look suits him, but I’ll be damned if I ever wear robes like those or grow my hair long in Imperial fashion, no matter how many times Luo-Luo insinuates how nice it would look. My hair is already longer than I like, meaning I can see my bangs whenever I look up, but crew cuts are for soldiers who need to worry about lice, and I need to elevate my image to something beyond ‘just’ a mere warrior.

Whatever. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Long hair is girly and will always be girly.

Things would be so much easier without my past life’s memories, and I wouldn’t be giving up much either. My preconceived notions are more likely to get in the way rather than offer any tangible benefits, though they are good for a laugh every now and then, even if I’m not entirely sure what I’m laughing at. Turning my attention to Zian and Da’in, I marvel at how easily they fall into their roles. Standing far enough apart so as not to seem scandalous, yet close enough to hint at a possible pairing, the two noble warriors make casual small-talk with effortless ease, while I stand a little off to the side like a silent third-wheel. They make noble life look so easy, and watching them handle the earlier public dispute was like watching a crash course on proper Noble decorum. It was a delight seeing Zian arrogantly dismiss his younger cousins and bait them into making a direct insult, which gave Da’in all the reason she needed to step in and handle things for him. Then once things looked like they were about to get out of hand, the so-called traitor to Clan and Society stepped forward to defend his idiot cousins, giving off the perfect impression of a dignified member of the older generation responsibly looking out for his juniors.

Such flawless cooperation and lively back and forth, with Da’in mentioning her little brother’s defeat to remind everyone that Zian was on par with the former co-leader of the Hwarang, and her blunt question regarding Zian’s motives setting him up for that perfect, nonchalant non-answer, it was just... sublime. Now in the eyes of the people, Zian appears humble and loyal, not only because he stood up for two idiot cousins who slandered him, but also because he refused to air his Clan’s dirty laundry out in public, unlike the aforementioned idiots. The story will be told and retold a thousand times before we sit down for lunch, and ten-thousand times over before it comes time for dinner, with each listener asking the same questions again and again.

This Situ Jia Zian is a dragon among men, so why was he stripped of his position as Young Patriarch?

Seriously, how does he make it look so easy? The more I learn about manners and politics, the more lost I get, but everything just comes so naturally to Zian. I’m just glad I went against my instincts and kept my mouth shut, else things might’ve escalated into a duel to the death. I have no idea why that might be the case, but it happens more often than not when I’m involved, so I can only assume the problem lies with me.

“Imperial Consort,” Da’in drawls, in that shy and almost seductive manner all women know too well. “If you keep staring at Da’in like that, then others might accuse you of ungentlemanly thoughts.”

“I’m not staring.” Don’t sound so defensive. Smile a bit too. “I’m monitoring the situation. My friend here has a reputation after all, and I’m just making sure nothing untoward takes place on my watch.” Sorry Zian. Just joking. He gets it, he’s smiling too, as much as he normally does. “Besides, it’s not as if you don’t have a reputation of your own, Lady Da’in. Mila and Yan told me all about your tea-time discussions.” Which I am incredibly grateful for, because they encouraged Mila’s methodical interest in bondage and emboldened Yan’s sexual curiosity. Fun times.

Our brief bout of banter buys me several more minutes of silence as Zian and Da’in pick up where they left off, and this time I make sure not to stare so much. Don’t get me wrong, Da’in is a lovely woman with an air of girlish maturity about her that gives off a ‘stern-but-sexy teacher’ vibe, but that’s not why I was staring. It sounds stupid, but until she showed up this morning with her Colonel General father in tow, it never crossed my mind that Ryo Da’in might be working for the Legate. I mean, I should’ve expected as much, because like Yong-Jin, the Legate’s prized pawn, Da’in also placed first in her age group during the Imperial Grand Conference. What’s more, she comes from a powerful family with two Peak Expert parents and two promising younger siblings, so why wouldn’t the Legate offer her the same deal he offered me?

Shit, if anything, she probably got a better offer...

With this in mind, it makes today’s events feel... manufactured in some way, as if the Legate had somehow deftly manipulated everything to fall perfectly into place. Not just my public appearance and predictably reckless spending, but I’m also reasonably certain he had something to do with Chiang and Shirong showing up to slander Zian in public. Why else would they pop up out of nowhere to make a big stink when the rest of the Situ Clan has gone quiet? And why else would Da’in be perfectly positioned to appear unnoticed just as Chiang overstepped himself? I’m guessing the Situ idiots were goaded into coming out, which wouldn’t have been too hard considering how much they hate me. Not only did I humiliate them both during the Society’s Contests, but I’m also responsible for the deaths of their fathers. I’ve looked into it, and it doesn’t make sense, because while Shirong’s dad was a low-ranking Warrior of no renown who was killed early on in our chaotic escape, Chiang’s father, Chi Lok, was a Guardian of the Clan, meaning he was a Peak Expert at the minimum.

Now, this was before I Formed a Natal Palace and had perfect memory, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember killing a Peak Expert. This means there’s something afoot with Chi Lok’s death, because there’s no way our little group could’ve quietly killed a Peak Expert without noticing, not unless we got super lucky with a bow-shot, and even that’s a stretch. Massed arrows can bring down even the strongest of Martial Warriors, but between Domain, Healing, and enhanced reflexes and coordination, I doubt any Peak Expert worth their salt would fall to a handful of arrows directed their way. Personally, my best guess is that Guardian Chi Lok died to some internal squabble, and the Bekhai took the blame, so if I can figure out who killed him, then I can clear our name and maybe even drive another wedge between Rang Min and his number two, Chi Lok’s revenge-hungry father Chi Gan.

So far, I’ve got nothing, but a man can hope...

Almost an eternity later, Luo-Luo finally makes her choice and I head over to pay far too much for an instrument that I will undoubtedly hate listening to. Upon hearing the price however, I stop and frown at the shop owner, who came out to scam me personally as a sign of respect. “Eighty five gold? That’s it?” I’d seen the fancy wooden placards sitting in front of the pipas, and this is much lower than expected. Turning to Luo-Luo, I take a look at the plain, wooden, pear-shaped instrument she holds lovingly in her arms and ask, “You sure that’s the one you want? There’s nothing...” More expensive that the shop owner can brag about, and thereby indirectly earn me more face? “Better?”

Honestly, I feel really bad about her almost getting kidnapped when she went out on a stroll with Song, so I would love to just... buy her forgiveness, if at all possible. Clutching the pipa close like a favoured pet, Luo-Luo’s actions do interesting things to the shape of her chest, but I resist the urge to stare and settle for a brief glance instead. “Absolutely, Lord Husband,” she says, with a pleading, wide-eyed stare. “This is the instrument for Luo-Luo, and no others will do.”

Before the owner can think to jack up the price, I count out nine gold bars and slap them into his waiting hand. Technically, I should get five gold back, but asking for change also results in a loss of face, and I’m all out of coins. Fucking bullshit face scams. “Alright, we’re done here,” I announce, speaking over the owner’s lengthy thanks. “Done shopping in fact. We have just enough time for a light lunch before the opera show, so let’s head on out.”

And not a moment too soon either. There is nothing worse than following women around while they shop, except when they stop to ask for your opinion on two identical articles of clothing...

“Thank you Lord Husband,” Luo-Luo says, taking her place at my side once more. Plucking lightly at the strings, she stares lovingly at her new pipa and says, “You hear the soft tones and echoing vibrations? That’s the sound you get from baitong wood, marking this as truly a marvellous find.”

“Baitong wood?” All but shrieking the words, the shop owner rushes over to examine the pipa, but stops short of ripping it right out of Luo-Luo’s hands. “The appraiser told me it was made of wutong wood!”

“Then you should find yourself a new appraiser, good sir,” Luo-Luo replies, beaming beautifully at having pulled one over on him. “For he cost you a fair amount of coin today, as this instrument is worth almost ten times what you charged us. As thanks, Luo-Luo suggests you have someone come in to appraise the zither over there too, as well as the pan flute behind the counter you’re using as a decorative piece.”

Bolting away to remove the price tag from the aforementioned zither, the shop owner shouts a belated apology for not seeing us out, but I’m hesitant to turn around and leave. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I lean closer to Luo-Luo, ignore how nice her perfume smells, and ask, “Is this... okay? I mean, if the instrument is worth ten times more, then shouldn’t we...” God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. “Pay him what it’s worth? You know, so I don’t lose face?”

“No face will be lost, Lord Husband,” Luo-Luo explains, gently guiding me into leading her out of the store. “The mistake was his, and we merely capitalized on it, so if anything, we have gained face with our actions, for our actions speak of a keen eye. A shame the instrument will not fare well in the cold clime of the north, but the price was too good to pass up on.” Seeing my continued uncertainty, Luo-Luo sniffs and purses her pouty lips into a mesmerizing glower. “If you still feel like you’ve taken advantage, Lord Husband, then worry not. He grossly overcharged us for what he thought was a wutong wood instrument, so he’s lucky I mentioned the zither and flute at all.”

Yea, I don’t get face at all. Haggling is no good, but exploitation is fine? Underpaying for a mislabelled product feels scummy to me, but since Luo-Luo sees no reason to care, I default to her expertise and join Zian and Da’in outside, along with my mother and Zian’s who have become the best of friends and Jing Fei who looks lovely and miserable at the same time. Greeting me with a happy squeak, Ping Ping clambers to her feet and stretches her beak out for a nuzzle, so I hug the big girl as tight as I can. Another thing I don’t get. Cuddling rabbits, bears, and wildcats is embarrassing, but cuddling giant Ping Ping is perfectly alright, which is just crazy, but I’ve given up trying to understand the logic behind face and learned to just go with the flow. The more I learn, the more I understand. Face is ineffable, because it literally makes no sense. Some random person just arbitrarily decided action A is face positive and another decided action B is face negative without any collaboration whatsoever, and the rest of the world just went along with their decisions.

Probably because they were giving face.

I don’t think I’ll ever learn to mesh in with Imperial society, but maybe if I fake it long enough, then the act will become second nature. Mostly, I’ve stuck to keeping quiet, and it’s working for me so far, but I’ve barely made it through half the day and there’s still whatever opera show and tea-shop shenanigans the Legate has in store ahead of us, plus two more days before the banquet. Which is a dinner banquet, I might add, so there’s another day as well, and I can’t help but hope the Legate’s plans end there so I can beat a hasty retreat back home. All this vigilance and good behaviour is exhausting, and I’m already suffering from floof withdrawal. At least I’ve got Ping Ping, who is floofy in spirit, and Roc comes down every now and then for a treat and a skritch, so it’s still manageable. I’m just glad everyone else stayed at the manor, else I’d be out here playing with Lin-Lin’s hare ears or Mila’s floofy red-panda tail.

I swear on my life, with the Mother Above as my witness, I will return to Ping Yao and find that chubby chonker of a red-panda...

After a short, uneventful lunch, I say goodbye to mom because even though Da’in has enough extra opera tickets on hand, the Legate only gave me two, so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me bringing anyone besides Luo-Luo. I only invited Zian because Da’in suggested it, meaning the Legate suggested it, so being the good wingman I’m supposed to be, I left him no room to refuse. It has nothing to do with also dragging Vichear into the mix and feeling safer with more visible Martial Warriors around to defend me. “Be on your guard at the opera,” Mom Sends, adjusting my collar as all mothers are wont to do. “The Legate’s note implies the danger will be at the tea-house, but he is not all-knowing.”

“Yes Mom.” That’s really all I can say, because I still can’t Send, despite my near constant attempts during the last five days of travel. Aside from the incident with the Vast Distance and the attempted kidnapping and or murder of Luo-Luo and Song, not really much of note happened, aside from a few captured spies who all but committed suicide before we could catch them. A shame too, because one of those spies almost made it out with my folder of forged letters, but alas, the People are too good at what they do.

After a handful more Sent reminders, Mom finally heads off to scout out the tea-house and prepare for my arrival, leaving me free to join Zian and Da’in to head off to the opera. Magistrate Situ Jia Ying is likewise nowhere to be found, which is good because while she may well be the sexiest milf ever, she is also downright terrifying. I can almost feel the daggers boring into my heart when she glances in my direction, no doubt remembering those terrible things I said during my duel with Zian, and I do everything I can to remain invisible whilst standing in her presence. I’m not the only one who feels this way either, as gone is the silent and dutiful concubine Jing Fei, standing with head down two steps behind Zian’s mother. In her place is the bright and cheery ‘Fei-Fei’, as she so intimately calls herself, clinging so tightly to Zian’s arm she all but melts into him. “How cruel, oh husband mine,” she croons, her cheek pressed against his shoulder while staring up at his with doe eyes. “Why must you treat your Fei-Fei so coldly? I know mother-in-law is displeased with Fei-Fei, but must you be so cold as well?”

I’m ninety-nine percent sure the act is for Da’in’s benefit, showing her she has nothing to fear from Zian’s big-breasted, empty-headed twit of a concubine. Barren too, as the implication goes, because why else would a mother-in-law be displeased with her son’s child-less concubine? That’s also an act, I’m guessing, because Zian came to me in private to ask if Taduk could do anything about Jing Fei’s ‘condition’. Apparently, she thinks her infertility is due to the poisons she works with, and has since stopped using them in hopes of eventually bearing his children. She told Zian it would take time for the poisons to work their way out of her system, and while it makes sense on the surface, I think it’s all bullshit. Jing Fei learned her craft from her mother, the infamous Ong Ruo Mei, a master of poisons who bore three children from three different husbands, all of whom eventually died unexplained deaths and left everything to the lovely Ruo Mei. Since she obviously had no issues conceiving while working with poisons, that throws Jing Fei’s theory out the window, which leaves...

Well... I think Jing Fei is purposely avoiding pregnancy so her child doesn’t become a point of contention for Zian’s future wife. Usually, the eldest son of a legal wife inherits his father’s titles and properties, but not always, so an older son from a concubine would be a threat to guard against. Between this, Jing Fei’s feigned, harmless behaviour, and the way she’s been eyeing Da’in like a heifer for sale at market when she thinks no one is looking, I think Zian’s concubine is doing her best to set him up for a successful marriage with a prominent woman.

She loves him, and from the way he looked when he came to me for help, Zian obviously loves her too. It warms my heart knowing they’ve found each other, and gives me hope that my friend won’t one day choke to death on his tongue while fast asleep.

Not much hope since Jing Fei is almost as terrifying as her mother-in-law, but it’s better than nothing.

Oddly enough, Luo-Luo seems perfectly at ease chatting with both Jing Fei and Da’in, able to seamlessly natter on about nothing with one or both of the women with ease. In contrast, Zian and I mostly keep silent during our long stroll to the opera house, because that’s how friendships between men work. We don’t need to talk or share our feelings, we’re just friends who look out for one another, and despite their lively conversation, I get the feeling that Luo-Luo, Jing Fei, and Da’in are all still verbally fencing in an attempt to sound one another out.

It’s small things like this that makes me glad I transmigrated into a male body. Face is incomprehensible enough, but learning how to think like a woman? I doubt even Insight could help with that.

Once outside the opera house, I bid Ping Ping farewell, leaving Rustram’s lady love Sai Chou to guard the sweet turtle alongside my cumbersome Death Corps and army escorts. It’s an opera house, so I can hardly bring a hundred plus guards in with me, and after a couple rounds of silent jousting, Binesi, Kuang Biao, Naaran, and a nameless, mute Aspirant guard take their places at my sides, indicating that I have no choice but to bring them all along. Ignoring their silly games of pride, I let loose with a piercing whistle and look around until I spot Roc land overhead, perched on a rooftop to see what I want. Holding my arm out with a piece of snake jerky in hand, I entice Roc over and pray he follows the command, because now everyone is watching to see what I do. Honestly, it’s fifty-fifty when it comes to Roc, because he’s a free spirit who does what he pleases, but after thinking things through for the longest second of my life, he stretches his wings and sails over to land on my arm.

It’s easy to take for granted how effortless Roc makes flight look, but seeing him in action makes me appreciate how complex nature can be. With one single flap of his wings, Roc lifts off and sets himself on a direct course to land on my arm. He doesn’t meander about, but heads directly towards his target in a straight, unerring line, his wings fluttering ever so slightly to make minor corrections in his course. Then, as he swoops in to land, he flaps his wings to slow his descent, using the perfect amount of force to come to a complete stop just above my arm, and then gravity does the rest. To him, it’s as easy as a flick of his wings, all perfectly natural and instinctive despite a long winter’s rest, and I see within them the basis of the Movements of the Oriole Form. Raising the Winds, Gliding Wing, Fluttering Raindrops, Roc’s motions perfectly encapsulate the essence of the Movements, and it tickles a part of my brain which feels like this revelation is important, but I cannot for the life of me see how.

It’s impossible for me to emulate Roc’s movements perfectly, because I’m a person and he’s a bird. What’s more, he’s not using his Movements to fight, to him it’s just... natural. He doesn’t calculate angles, distance, and wind speed whilst in flight, he simply thinks ‘I want to fly there’, and he does it, the same way a baseball player sees a ball in flight and can approximate where it’ll eventually land. It’s complex mathematics done without any of the math, knowing without knowing, understanding without comprehending, and somehow, this feels...

Significant.

“Problem?” Moving to my side, Zian covertly scans our surroundings as he mistakenly believes I’ve spotted something important. I tried to keep my anti-Concealment eyesight quiet, but there can only be so many fortunate coincidences before people start seeing a pattern, and Zian has always been quick on the uptake.

“No, nothing like that.” Shrugging as I stroke Roc’s head, I hold him close and head inside the opera house so as not to leave the thieving bird unsupervised outside. “It’s just... It’s silly, but I was just thinking about the intricacies of flight. Roc here makes it look so easy, but it’s a complicated mechanical problem which has eluded human-kind for millennia, and I suspect will plague us for centuries ahead.”

Controlled flight at least. I could probably make a working hang-glider or something, but I always felt like that was falling with style, rather than actually flying.

After reiterating my whole ‘knowing without knowing’ bit, Zian smiles and Sends, “Such are the mysteries of the world.” Why he emphasized the last bit, I can’t say, but it feels... right, like it makes sense somehow, without knowing why. “Good to see you still making progress along the Martial Path, my friend. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the opera later. I’ve heard rumours of the lead performer’s phenomenal skills, so perhaps you’ll see more of what you sensed in Roc.”

Refusing to explain what he means, we head up several flights of stairs and down a lush, carpeted hallway before arriving at our private balcony room. Inside, Da’in and Jing Fei await us, alongside Fung, Seoyoon, BoShui, Ji Yeon, and Vichear who arrived on their own. Rather than individual chairs, the roomy balcony has four love-seat sofas instead, and while Fung and Seoyoon seem quite comfortable together, BoShui and Ji Yeon are also getting along quite well. Naturally, I make a point to tease them both, and although they both go red in the face, their shared glances tell me they’re both pretty pleased with how the seating arrangements worked out.

Not as pleased as Zian though, who settles in beside Da’in and Jing Fei, while Vichear shamelessly sits cross-legged at the edge of the balcony with his chin resting atop the banister in child-like anticipation.

Thankfully, there’s plenty of room left for Naaran and the Aspirant to Conceal themselves behind me, while Binesi and Kuang Biao visibly post themselves outside the doors. Smiling at Luo-Luo as I sink in beside her, we sit shoulder to shoulder despite there being more than enough room to spread out. It’s a small thing, but there was a time when she would’ve been so ready to pounce that I would’ve sat as far away as possible, not only to keep from succumbing to temptation, but also because she seemed so uncomfortably eager to have me there beside her. It sounds really dumb, but it’s weird being wanted, and I’m not used to such intense desire. I saw it as fake and manipulative, but now I understand that she just wanted to be accepted, and she thought sex was the best way to achieve this. She’s not wrong, but not only do I have hangups about forced intimacy, I’m also pretty sure that if I sleep with Luo-Luo before marrying Mila, then she’ll break both my legs.

And not in the fun way either...

With Roc in my lap and Luo-Luo at my side, I finally take a few moments to study the theatre itself. It’s not particularly large, which explains why Zian had so much trouble getting tickets, but it’s beautifully built, with many similar balconies spread out across the walls on all four levels above ground. Our balcony is on the highest level, and faces the stage directly, so I assume that makes them the best seats in the house, but I’d expect no less from the Legate. Opulent silk curtains hang from every beam and banister, and even the stage curtains have that gossamer sheen, meaning these tickets must have been very expensive even without accounting for the increased density of Imperial big-wigs in town. Two candles currently light our balcony, and a multitude of torches do the same on the ground floor, but even as I watch, ushers make their way down the aisles to shutter the lights one by one. Binesi Sends instructions telling me to put out the lights myself, but before I can get up, someone blows out the left most candle, and a few seconds later, the right one as well. “Thanks,” I call, knowing it had to be the nameless Aspirant, earning me another warning from Naaran to keep quiet about Concealed guards and a nudge from Luo-Luo indicating I should keep silent.

As the last light shutters close, the curtains open to reveal the stage, lit up by intensely bright paper lanterns holding something besides candles, made evident by the lack of tell-tale flickers of flame. Some painted idiot strides out onto stage, with his face powdered ghostly white save for his exaggerated black brows and fat red lips, and I cannot for the life of me take this seriously anymore. A silver circlet sits atop his snowy brow, with three, ridiculously long peacock-type feathers sticking out from the back which quiver comically as he bows before the audience, and it’s all I can do not to snicker. Flourishing his swords in a flashy but impractical manner, he strikes a pose and belts out the start to a horrendously high-pitched tune, which makes Roc’s squawking sound almost melodic. Were it not for his serious painted expression, I’d almost think his silly, exaggerated prancing was the start of a circus act, with his long, flappy sleeves snapping as he struts and sashays all about the stage with his swords turning and twirling this way and that.

A sword dance, using the Forms as their base, but it’s so... impractical. Those wide, exaggerated movements waste so much time, and he telegraphs his movements way too much. It takes skill to do what he does, sure, as well as timing and practice, but it’s hardly the enlightening experience Zian suggested it might be unless I wanted to learn how to dance. The only thing I can learn from this painted idiot is how to get myself killed, so I grit my teeth and coddle Roc close to soothe his nerves, while wondering if it’s too late to bring him back outside. Putting the music out of mind, I turn my attention to the lights instead. I wonder what they’re made from? Probably not electric, but they’re so bright and steady I have no idea what else it could be, and I can’t help but disturb Luo-Luo to ask. Frowning, she shakes her head and shrugs to indicate she doesn’t know, before turning her full attention back to the singing, dancing clown on stage, who now has a bunch of partners he’s pretending to fight.

I can’t believe the show got even worse. As if the Defiled would come at you in ones and twos when they’ve obviously got you surrounded. This is a giant waste of time.

Well, at least I might’ve discovered an alternative light source exists. Reading by candlelight strains my eyes, and there are probably a lot of other uses for it as well, so I should remember to ask someone when all this is over. Bored by the opera, I tune out the singing and sink back into my couch, while Roc relaxes against my chest and tucks his head under a wing for a snooze. Not the worst idea, so I stifle a yawn and close my eyes, just for a bit. I’ve been so stressed lately, I can barely sleep at night, and the lack of... release isn’t helping things. Am I addicted to sex and masturbation? Maybe, but I swear it’s not my fault. Martial Warriors probably produce a lot more hormones than your average person, which might explain what so many of us are angry, over-aggressive idiots. Whatever the reason, I’m exhausted beyond belief. Not the best condition to approach a possible death-trap, so I might as well sneak in a little shut eye before heading out to the tea-house of doom.

The world goes silent for all of second before a pointed elbow jostles me awake, and I bolt upright in my seat. “Sorry,” I whisper. “Was I snoring?”

Annoyed by the sudden movements, Roc lets loose with an ear-piercing mocking laugh to exclaim his displeasure, and my heart skips a beat from panic. Scrambling to keep him quiet, I stuff some jerky into his beak and soothe my sweet bird to silence before sheepishly peering over the balcony, only to find every shadowy head turned in my direction while Fung, BoShui, and Zian quietly and unsuccessfully stifle their laughter.

Worst of all? The painted idiot of a lead singer/dancer is also glaring at me from stage, and from the looks of things, he seems pretty damn pissed. Then again, it’s hard to tell if he’s actually angry or it’s just the comically exaggerated eyebrows and face-paint...

Baring a set of teeth whiter than his alabaster makeup, the dancer lets loose with a Chi-infused screech of, “You dare?!”

...Great. Just great. I guess today’s just one of those days.

Chapter Meme