Savage Divinity

A full home was a happy home, and Baatar’s home could not be any happier.

As much as he loved the Northern Province and the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains, there was something to be said for Central’s summers. The heat was almost oppressive during the day, to the point where labourers were given two hours to rest at noon, but the cool evenings were a pleasant delight, with twilight sometimes lingering until just before midnight. This afforded Baatar the opportunity to put work and war out of mind for a few precious hours and spend time with his beloved family, hours he cherished with all his heart.

They were all present tonight, a rare occasion these days, what with the girl and her children gone to live on the boy’s farm. It had not been an easy decision for any of them, but the girl needed her own space and the twins had more friends to play with out at the farm. There were plenty of children here in the Citadel, but nobles bringing their children to play with Tali and Tate almost always had ulterior motives, and low-born children were often kept away by their parents for fear of offending Baatar or the boy. A needless concern of course, but he could not fault them for it, not with how most nobles behaved, so Tali and Tate were much happier out at the farm, surrounded by their own people and better insulated from Imperial prejudices against Demi-humans.

To make matters worse, Mother also spent most of her time at the farms these days, engrossed with seeking Insight in the fabled Bamboo grove. Baatar went inside once to look in on Taduk’s garden, and somehow the mysterious grove left more of an impact than the sight of over a dozen different flourishing Spiritual Plants all gathered in one place. An area of natural Balance, the grove was truly a marvel to behold, but he stepped away almost immediately because he could not afford to lose himself to Insight and introspection. Not that Insight was guaranteed there, but the grove possessed an ineffable quality about it that made it feel so tranquil and soothing, as if the Mother Herself had graced it with Her Divine, everlasting presence.

Truly a miracle of the Heavens, which made it difficult for Baatar to resent the bamboo grove for stealing his mother and grandchildren away from him, and now the boy would soon strike out on his own as well, but these were concerns for another time. Tonight was a joyous night, for four generations had gathered here under his roof to celebrate Little Sister Mila’s newly achieved milestone and her admission onto the Empire’s Roll of Experts. The news had yet to be announced to the world at large, and not even their close friends were aware of Mila’s incredible accomplishment yet, because they were saving the announcement for Mila and Rain’s wedding banquet on midsummer’s eve.

Thus, tonight was a private, impromptu celebration full of mirth and good cheer. After a sumptuous feast cooked up by the boy and Charok, Baatar sat outside on his new wicker couch swing with his beloved rose curled up in his arms. Together with Banjo sprawled out across their laps, they settled in to watch the children play in the courtyard. Tali and Tate chased quin Kishi about while she played with her rubber ball, and the girl laughed at Baloo who was trying and failing to convince Princess to share the hammock. Off to the side, Charok worked on turning a plain wooden post into an exquisite work of art, while Zheng Luo played a quiet melody to accompany Taduk’s cheerful, improvisational humming. Seated in the grass, the boy and Li Song brushed and played with the wildcats while his wives and rabbits lounged around him, all of which took place under the ever-vigilant eyes of Comrade Du, Kyung, and the fearsome, dagger-tongued matron, Eun.

This was his family, one lacking in any and all ties of blood save for Kyung and Li Song, but a family nonetheless. If only Baatar could come home to this every single day, because there was no better balm for his weary soul.

Even the Laughing Bird chicks scattered throughout the courtyard were a delight to behold, hopping about to explore every nook and cranny while their protective parents strutted about the grass with wings spread and beaks pointed in naked threat at anyone and everyone who dared slink too close.

“You seem contented,” Mother Sent, curled up with Father and a handful of Laughing Bird chicks on the other couch swing. The outdoor furniture was a gift from the boy, who had the frames made from something he called ‘wrought iron’, a new discovery which differed from regular or cast iron in ways Baatar did not entirely understand, but it held firm under father’s prodigious weight, and could even hold him and Sister Mila at the same time. “Happiness suits you well, pup. Hard to remember the last time I saw you without a scowl on your face.”

Even after adopting him, Mother still used the familiar appellation, and while Baatar had once resented it, he now cherished it more than ever. “You would scowl too, Mother, if beset on all sides by merchants, politicians and all their venomous ilk. Tonight is a much needed respite from the constant deluge of sycophants and opportunists stepping upon my heels.”

A thinly veiled call for help he hoped would go ignored, and Mother answered as he expected while stroking the little nestling perched in the palm of her hand. “Call for me when you have enemies to kill, pup. Your Mother is too old to waste her time on pandering fools. You must bear this burden alone, but such is the price of success. Should it grow too tiresome, then remember, as unpleasant as it might seem, suffering these fools is far more palatable than the alternatives.” Always the mentor, Mother was, telling Baatar what he already knew, but she Sent it with a smile. “If you are truly being overwhelmed, I could always ask your Father to lend a hand.”

“Thank you Mother, but no.” Struggling not to look at Father and laugh, Baatar Sent, “Much as I would enjoy seeing Father dangle fools over the wall, it would do little to change things. The boy is a true Imperial now, with a title and property in the East if he should so choose to claim it, which makes him a tempting prize well worth the risk.”

Besides, Comrade Du was doing a passable job running interference for him, though Baatar was loath to admit he went to Du Min Gyu before even considering asking Mother for help. Better if she believed he offered to help and Baatar merely accepted, lest her prickly pride rear its ugly head and she feel compelled to force her way into the mess. Mother’s patience was limited even in the best of times, and while her belligerent approach to politics might have proved useful before, circumstances had changed now that the boy’s star was once again on the rise, and matters required a... softer touch.

It still felt so surreal to Baatar, who only a few months ago had been making plans to rebel if his son should come to harm. Now, the boy stood first above all others in the outer Provinces, save for his Patron the Legate himself, truly a reversal of fortunes no one had anticipated. Even Baatar’s beloved rose, who’d watched things unfold firsthand, had been taken aback when the boy stuck his head out of the window and shouted for her to join his meeting with the Legate, for she had her bow drawn and arrow ready to take the Imperial Scion through the throat. Instead of fighting their way north to the mountains to withstand an Imperial assault, he found himself besieged by merchants and nobles alike who thought it too far above them to approach ‘the esteemed Minister of Finance’ themselves and thought the boy’s Lieutenant General of a father more approachable.

Yes, Lieutenant General. Before the boy even made it back to the citadel, Baatar was promoted sight unseen by Imperial Mandate and given his pick of ten-thousand Imperial soldiers to place under his personal command. Thankfully the Legate had held back and didn’t promote him directly to Colonel General, else Baatar would have no face left to him after riding his son’s coattails to obtain a rank he did not deserve, not to mention what would happen if he ever had the misfortune to outrank his mother. Martial Warriors were a prideful bunch, which meant it was always a contentious moment when the student surpassed the teacher, and while motherhood had dulled her edge, Akanai was still the Herald of the Storm who brought chaos and bloodshed to Central, and she was as fierce and prideful as ever.

At least she had exercised restraint and waited until after his celebratory dinner before calling him out to exchange pointers in private. It would not have done for the newest Lieutenant General to be seen getting beaten black and blue by his mother. Luckily, Father was there to keep things from getting out of hand and felt no need to prove his strength as well. Little Sister Mila wasn’t the only one who had trouble controlling their strength...

Truth be told, despite suffering a ruthless beating at the hands of his mother, Baatar found the exchange reassuring and encouraging. At eighty-two years old, not many people his age could say they still had a parent with shoulders strong enough to prop up the Heavens, much less two, and though he’d travelled far along the Martial Path, he still had a long way to go before matching his peerless Mentor and loving mother.

Conversely, he himself was in danger of being surpassed by his son and Disciple, who was so talented calling him a dragon among men seemed somehow lacking. Once the hour grew late and everyone shuffled off to their beds, Baatar found another pleasant surprise in wait when the boy stopped him to ask if they could spar, which was how they found themselves trading blows by moonlight in the courtyard. Their practice swords and shields rang out in a slow symphony of metallic notes, which were kept contained inside a sizable Sound Barrier put up using the concentrated efforts of Naaran, Kuang Biao, and Baatar to cover enough ground. There were dozens of more Peak Experts positioned around the manor, extending their shaped Domains to keep nosy Scryers from looking in, but for all intents and purposes, this was a private exchange between Mentor and Disciple.

A shame Baatar couldn’t share this moment with every single Sentinel stationed here in Central, and a good number of his allies to boot. Most Martial Warriors would see Rain’s laborious movements and sweat-soaked collar after mere minutes of effort and write him off as a broken cripple, but Baatar was filled with pride at his son’s magnificent accomplishments. “Good,” he exclaimed, overcome with delight at Rain’s brilliant riposte, one made possible by flawless precision and impeccable timing. “Watch your feet.” The boy scowled, showing that he already knew he’d made a poor choice of steps, but had no other choice either due to fatigue or being physically outmatched. Even holding back as he was, Baatar was easily four or five times stronger than the boy, so it took everything he had just to keep up.

Which was a complete shame. If he had the physique of a Martial Warrior, the boy would be well deserving of his title as Number One Talent in the Empire, though it was difficult to say if Little Sister Mila was stronger without trading blows. He had this way of seeing and executing the Forms which belied common sense, or at least what the Martial Warriors of the Empire considered common sense. Where most sought to maximize force and killing potential, the boy focused on efficiency above all else, his movements flowing seamlessly from one to the next without a wasted scrap of effort to be found.

Take their current recent exchange, which began with the boy catching Baatar’s thrust at the tip using the base of his sword, giving him the maximum leverage possible in the uneven trade. Next, he reversed momentum and slammed his shield rim-first into Baatar’s sword, only to transition into a backwards pivot to position himself on Baatar’s exposed flank. Keeping his shield readied to guard his back while in transit, the boy unexpectedly leapt aside at the end of the pivot and lashed out with two blows that would have taken Baatar in the right shoulder and left hip, targets that were difficult for him to defend against in his current predicament.

Sadly, the boy was sorely lacking in speed and power, and Baatar easily avoided both attacks, but against an equally matched opponent, this would have been a beautiful victory on his crippled son’s part. More to the point, the newfangled combination wasn’t the only one of its kind, as the boy unveiled seven more ingenious combination attacks, all of which he likely came up with on the spot. This was a far cry from the Falling Rain of old, who liked to practise a single movement or combination of movements over and over again until he had it nailed down to perfection. Not that that was a mistake, but it was much too early for him to start this sort of specialized practice, since he had yet to even touch upon mastery of the Forms.

Technically, the boy still hadn’t, since he rarely Demonstrated them anymore, because he couldn’t go more than five minutes without collapsing from exhaustion. He was also still terrified of running out of his Heavenly Energy ‘reserves’, though thus far, there’d been no discernible sign of depletion. That wasn’t to say he was fine, because even sparring at this slow and sedate spar was taking its toll, and Baatar soon stepped back to let the boy rest. “Are you feeling weak or lightheaded?” he asked, unable to steel his heart in the face of the boy’s obvious distress. “Do you need Taduk?”

“No... I’m... fine,” the boy gasped, squeezing out a small smile as he panted in the grass. “Just... a little... out of... breath.”

The small wince the boy just tried to hide was the last straw, so Baatar put aside his training equipment and sent the attending Peak Experts on their way. He half expected the boy to argue, but instead he quietly surrendered his gear and let Baatar help him to the swinging couch. Truth be told, Baatar loved the swings more than a man of his age should, as they’d helped him rediscover a long-forgotten sense of whimsy. Cloud-Stepping was a thrilling experience, but Baatar was not talented enough to relax and enjoy himself while hurtling at high speeds through the skies. This was hardly comparable, but there was something magical about sitting here with the wind in his hair as he swung his feet back and forth to see how high the couch could take him. It was doubly fun with his beautiful rose at his side, who was more radiant than ever now that she’d found her good health and confidence again. Gone were the veils, scarves, and gloves meant to hide herself from the world, and she’d even taken to a few Central fashions such as adding a splash of colour to her outfits and wearing local flowers in her hair.

More than sixty years later, and Sarnai was still as beautiful as the day they’d wed, and every morning, Baatar thanked the Mother Above for bringing them together.

But now was not the time to pine for his wife waiting in their bed. This was Baatar’s time to make up for his failings as a Mentor, though it would take many decades of hard work before that particular debt was repaid. “You fought well today,” he said, pulling the boy close in to a one-armed embrace, while gently rocking the couch beneath them and belatedly putting up a Sound Barrier to silence the creaking chains.

“Well enough for a cripple, you mean.”

This was rare. The boy almost never gave voice to his frustrations, and for a moment, Baatar wasn’t sure how to respond to his surly petulance. “Do not speak for me, boy, or presume to call me a liar,” he growled, though in truth, he was delighted to see the boy finally acting his age. “I said you fought well, and I meant it.”

“Sorry Dad.” Bah. There was fire in the boy, but he was too quick to apologize, and others would mistake this for weakness. Taking a moment to steady his breathing, the boy exhaled slowly and said, “It’s just so discouraging to see what’s happening and know what to do, but fail to follow through because my body is too slow and weak. There’s been no improvement these past three months, or at least nothing worth talking about.”

Indeed, this would be frustrating to the extreme. Despite his inability to find Balance, the boy could still enter the State of Enlightenment, which gave him ample time to act and react accordingly with Baatar moving so slowly. “I cannot claim to know what you are experiencing,” he began, picking his words carefully so as not to make things worse, “But you are mistaken if you think there has been no improvements. Aside from your gradually improving health and physique, tonight, you demonstrated a high understanding of momentum and positioning, as well as a passable grasp of opposing forces, all subjects you were sorely lacking in before taking injury.”

“...The first two I understand,” the boy said, completely overlooking the attempt to cheer him up as he often did. “But what do you mean by opposing forces? Like my counterattacks?”

“No. It is what it sounds like. A push-pull interaction, if you will.” Pointing at his legs as he swung them higher and higher, Baatar explained, “They exist in almost everything we do. Even something as simple as lifting your leg requires different muscles working in opposing directions. Your movements show you are learning to carry out these interactions in a more optimal fashion and minimizing the amount of wasted effort and energy.”

“Really? I’m not doing anything differently though.”

“Incorrect. You are doing almost everything differently, only it feels so natural you have yet to notice.” One issue was that this usually meant a young Martial Warrior had reached the end of their physical growth, since their bodies had stopped changing long enough for them to finally acclimate, but Baatar kept this piece of information to himself since it was clear the boy still hoped he would be taller. There was still a chance, but a slim one at best, and one could hardly fault him for his stunted growth considering what he went through. “You stand taller and no longer slouch or slump. You move confidently without hesitation, and you no longer fumble your steps or look at your hands when adjusting your grip. You speak clearer, your gaze is sharper, your mind quicker and so much more. All of this is a form of knowing without knowing, of being more in tune with yourself and the world around you, and these minor improvements will continue to add up over time.”

No doubt all of this could be attributed to the boy’s nightly adventures in Pong Pong’s Natal Palace. Though he thought their games of chase merely for fun, Baatar had long since recognized it for what it was: training for predator and prey alike, training which had honed the boy’s instincts to a razor-sharp edge. Falling Rain was no mere boy or even a simple warrior, not anymore, for he was now a predator in mind and spirit, albeit one lacking in physical prowess.

No matter. His strength would return in good time, according to Broken Blade Pichai. The way he put it, the boy’s Core was shattered, but not gone, and would eventually recover some small measure of functionality. Leaking Chi would be a constant issue, and the Southern Living Legend claimed his Core was still not whole even decades after the fact. He also warned that his own recovery might well have been a miracle of the Mother, but still... where there was life, there was hope, and even if the boy never became a Martial Warrior again, Baatar was already more than happy with things as they were.

Granted, Broken Blade Pichai never experienced a period of extreme frailty like Rain had, during those long, arduous months immediately after shattering his Core, but not even the greatest Healers of the Empire could figure out why Rain’s physique so frightfully fragile, or why he miraculously recovered after Devouring three Demons worth of Ichor...

“Huh.” The boy had gone quiet while musing over the explanation, so quiet Baatar thought he’d fallen asleep. “Push and pull,” he muttered, musing over the words as if tasting them for the first time. “I wonder if this has anything to do with Yan’s whole... heavy-but-light, slow-but-fast shtick.” While the boy briefly explained Yan’s Martial dilemma, Baatar considered reprimanding his Disciple for discussing the Dao with his betrothed, but one might as well ask the sun to stop rising in the east. Baatar and Sarnai had been the same, freely exchanging observations and insights without caring or understanding the possible harm it could do, and they were neither the first couple, nor the last to do the same. “So I was thinking,” the boy concluded, “Is the answer to Yan’s problem another push-pull thing? Make the wind fast at one end and slow at the other, or heavy versus light?”

“Difficult to say, especially in matters of Elemental Blessings, nor is it my place to offer advice to another man’s Disciple.” Seeing the boy’s disappointment, Baatar couldn’t help but add, “However, it is possible you are right and wrong at the same time. Your muscles stretch and contract to lift your leg, so instead of trying to making wind heavy and light at the same time, try to envision what the end result of such an interaction might be. Perhaps this might help, but keep in mind, your Mentor is speaking purely from conjecture.”

“Aren’t we all.” Frowning as he mulled the problem over, the boy voiced his thoughts out loud. “So heavy and light wind at the same time gives me... what? Hmm... then again, is wind ever heavy or light? If the wind is against you, it’s heavy, and if it’s with you it’s light, so maybe we just treat wind as directed forces, and have Yan try pushing and pulling at the same time. But without something to push and pull against, that seems kind of worthless. Then again, wind is just the movement of air, so what if you... restricted it somehow, then... push-pulled on it? Would it... condense? concentrated? No, those aren’t the right words...”

“Enough. This train of thought will do you no good, my boy.” Gently clutching him a little closer, Baatar whispered, “Better to focus on your own problems first, before trying to solve Yan’s, because even if you gave her the answer, she would not thank you for it. Each must walk their own path, and you are not yet far enough to give advice without risk. I cannot stop you from discussing this, but remember to tread lightly, if only to keep your future Grandfather-in-Law from tanning your hide.”

“Good point.” The boy still had a mind to share his musings with Yan, but nothing would stop him, and perhaps his unique perspective might actually help.

After a moment of shared silence, Baatar asked the question which had been eating at him the whole time. “Boy... why this sudden interest in the Martial Path? Has there been a change in your health?”

“Nope. Still broken as ever, with no Chi to be found.” Gesturing at his bedroom, the boy added, “Aurie bumped into the wall and another chunk fell off of Unity. Can’t even call it a staff anymore. It’s barely even a cane.” Though he kept his tone light, his pain was evident, because in his eyes, those broken Spiritual Weapons were physical representations of hope, when they were simply tattered remains of the past. Broken Blade Pichai had kept his for as long as he could, but he advised the boy to get rid of them as soon as possible, for they were simply a reminder of a past best forgotten.

In response, the boy politely nodded and ignored any and all advice he found unpalatable, which was true to character.

Settling into Baatar’s embrace, the boy sighed and said, “I wanted to check my progress because I’m worried about what’s to come.”

“Worried? You are the Imperial Minister of Finance, the first ever independent Imperial Scion to hail from the outer provinces. Socially, you stand first above all others save for true-born Imperial Scions, and with your Office, you stand higher than a good number of them as well. What do you have to worry about?”

Truth be told, Baatar wasn’t as convinced as he might sound, especially since it could all be easily taken away, and the boy knew it. “That’s the problem,” he said, flashing a wry smile while looking up at the sky. “Now, my enemies will all hail from the Imperial Clan, which means all the allies I’ve gathered and the defence I’ve built up will be of no use against them.”

“The Supreme Families are back again?”

Their influence had all but disappeared following the boy’s appointment to office, but it seemed he feared their return soon enough. “I’ve caught wind of their agents sniffing around, but they’ve made no moves against me. Not because they can’t do anything, but because I’m not worth the effort. Problem is, if things go well, then we’ll be ready to sell War Bonds by the end of the month, possibly even sooner, and once everyone sees how valuable they are, it’ll bring a whole host of Imperial scavengers crawling out of the woodwork. Then I’m stuck with nothing but the Legate’s good graces to protect me, and we both know how much that’s worth.”

Baatar could see why that would be disconcerting, but the boy was overreacting, and not just because the War Bonds were likely to be far less successful than expected. From what he could tell, this was a good idea to raise coin for immediate use, but each War Bond would have an absolute of ten-thousand gold to be paid out after one year, so why would anyone pay more than ten-thousand gold to acquire one? It made no sense whatsoever, and Mother, Father, and even his beautiful rose agreed, but the boy was never one to give up without trying, and Baatar would support him the entire way. “You underestimate your influence, boy, and the influence of your allies. True, your enemies will likely hail from the Five Supreme Families, but even a powerful dragon cannot repress a local snake. A modest tribute is expected, but the outer provinces will not sit idly by if all the funds raised by your War Bonds go directly into some Imperial Noble’s pocket, nor will they continue purchasing them.”

“...Huh. I never thought about it like that.”

Straightening from the boy’s look of respect, Baatar swung them a little higher, until the couch was almost parallel to the ground at its peak. “Most importantly boy, you have won the respect of the people, and not only those you work with. Do you know how I know this?” Grinning as the boy shook his head, Baatar said, “Because these past few months, I have noticed a growing fashion trend in the youths of the Citadel. They have all taken to wearing plain, short-sleeved and short-hemmed shirts, loose pants which are rolled up at the cuffs, and sturdy military boots instead of the cloth shoes which were once so prevalent.”

“...You think I’ll be okay because some people dress like me?”

“Yes. They emulate you to feel closer to you, and in doing so, take some small measure of satisfaction from your success. Conversely, they will also commiserate with your failures, so long as they are within reason, and as such will not stand idle if they see you bullied by the Supreme Families. They might not die for you, boy, but as your mother always says, one grumbling idiot spoils the village.”

“...Isn’t is supposed to be ‘one bad apple spoils the bunch’?”

“Yes, but your mother is not one to mince words.” Worried the couch would soon overturn if he kept swinging, Baatar stilled his feet and let their momentum play out. “But remember, even if all of the Empire turns against you, your mother and I never will. This I swear, son.”

An Oath he’d swear upon the Heavens if need be, but the boy was already terrified of Charok’s Oath to never let any enemy take him away. As if any of them would stand idle if he was captured, but the boy had an irrational aversion to Heavenly Oaths and thought them all monstrous to the extreme. True, some were, like poor little sister Song’s slave Oaths, but some were beautiful, such as the Oath Baatar made to Sarnai during their wedding ceremony, and the Oath she gave him, to always cherish and support one another no matter what might come.

Speaking of which... “Your wedding is fast arriving,” he said, grinning as the boy froze in alarm. “How goes the planning?”

“Well enough, I guess. Mom wants a list of people you need to invite, excluding friends and such. Officers under your command, work related acquaintances, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” There was so much of Sarnai in the boy now, for his beloved rose had reminded him no less than five times already, twice out loud, and here he was doing the same. “How are you feeling?”

“...Nervous. Terrified actually.” Craning his neck back to look up at Baatar, the boy matched his grin at the apex of the swing’s rotation, father and son hanging weightless for all of an instant. “But excited too. I’m finally marrying Mila.” Sadly, the smile disappeared before the swing reached the mid-point in its arc. “And Yan, and Lin-Lin, and probably Luo-Luo too.”

The boy was still in denial about little sister Li Song, much like Mother and Father, but Baatar was smart enough to say nothing. “This worries you?”

“No, no. It’s just... Well, yes. I’m worried.” Snuggling in against Baatar’s shoulder, the boy slumped down as if the weight of the world were pressing down on him. “I mean, at first, I was like ‘woo multiple wives, awesome’, but now it’s like... I’m going to have Multiple. Wives. That’s... kinda a big deal. I never really thought about it until now, but being a husband is not easy, and I’ll be a husband four or five times over.”

Five. Definitely five times, if not more, because the boy loved pushing his limits. “Such is the price of having eyes larger than your head,” Baatar said, trying his best not to laugh at the boy’s plight. “What is it you always say? Happy wife, happy life, and you will have your hands full keeping five women under one roof happy.”

“Yea, that’s what I’m freaking out about. How am I supposed to keep them all happy?” Spotting the flash of panic in Baatar’s eyes, the boy awkwardly laughed and said, “No, not... don’t worry, I don’t mean... in the bedroom happy, but happy in general.” Thank the Mother for small favours. Sarnai had handled this conversation with the girl, and Baatar had no idea what to say, though he was game to try. Pausing for long, awkward seconds, the boy lowered his voice and said, “I mean, I’m worried I’m not being fair and that I’m robbing them of the chance to find someone who loves them and only them, you know? Like I somehow... tricked each of them into sharing me with four other women.” Ha, even the boy subconsciously believed he would eventually have five wives, though it still wasn’t clear if he was aware of his feelings for little sister Li Song. “So... I’ve been thinking about telling them that it’s okay if they want to... you know... find another husband? Not like... leave me for them, but you know... bring another guy to join our... err... multi-partner relationship.”

Baatar laughed. There was no helping it, for the boy was playing the fool. “Terrible idea, my son. Just terrible.”

“Why? Is that... frowned upon?”

“No. Multi-partner relationships exist, but they are rare, for humans are jealous creatures, and you are more jealous than most.” Shaking his head to forestall an argument, he smiled at the boy and said, “Boy, I have seen you scowl when your pets greet someone else before greeting you. No, you would not be able to stomach sharing your wives with another man, not in this life, and they all know it.” Happy to have some advice to give, Baatar smiled at his son, who looked so confused and out of his depth. “Do you love Sumila?”

“Yes?”

“And Du Min Yan?”

“Also yes.”

“What of Mei Lin?”

“Still yes.” There it was, the certainty and conviction, for the boy truly loved his three betrotheds. “Good. Once you are married, then it becomes your responsibility to ensure your wife knows the depths of your love, and is reassured of this each and every day. Remember this last part boy, for it is of the utmost importance, because women are capricious by nature and will grow suspicious if your love is not made known. Most men think it a simple matter of declaring their love every full moon, but most women expect far more than simple reassurances.”

“...Seems a bit sexist, but okay.”

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Baatar pulled the boy in close and mussed his hair. “What I mean is that so long as you love them and remember to show them you love them, then there is no sense in worrying about the future. If despite your best efforts, one of your wives changes her mind and believes herself better off with another husband, then you must either win her back or accept that you have lost her heart. That is all you can do, that and cherish what you have while you can.” Sighing, he added, “So stop playing the fool and accept Zheng Luo into your heart, else you might find yourself with a belly full of regret for waiting too long.”

It was the boy’s turn to hug Baatar tight, having read the undercurrents in his tone. “Mom’s been doing what I asked her to, right?” Channelling Panacea every day even though she had no injuries to speak of. A strange request, but the boy thought it might do her aching bones some good, and Sarnai was always one to indulge her children. Seeing Baatar’s nod, the boy continued, “Then maybe there’s hope for her yet. It doesn’t make sense that animals can live thousands of years but humans are limited to a mere hundred and twenty, or five hundred for demi-humans.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Sarnai was livelier these days, and more radiant than ever, though she still constantly complained about her barely visible wrinkles and whatnot. Still, some hope was better than none, and Baatar meant to learn from his mistakes and cherish his beloved rose for as long as he had her.

So much was changing lately, first with the girl moving away with the grandchildren, then the boy getting married to Mila and possibly moving out. Time passed so quickly now, for it felt like just yesterday when he came home to a bouncing baby daughter, and now his grandchildren were getting too old to want to play with him.

Such was life, but Baatar would not trade his for the world.

Chapter Meme