Savage Divinity

Sitting alone in the courtyard of their new manor, Mila ate her breakfast and tried her best not to pout.

It wasn’t her meal which had soured her mood, a delectable plate of egg-wrapped scallion pancakes, reheated fried rice with shredded pork and cabbage, as well as a healthy serving of stir-fried vegetables prepared by Sorya and Anrhi. Nor was the luxurious manor itself the reason for her low spirits. The colossal bedrooms and grand dining and sitting rooms were a welcome change from the cozy conditions of Mama’s suite, and Mila adored the stately bath house and indoor privies Rain had installed soon after moving in. Then there was the beautiful courtyard itself, sporting no less than four white-jade fountains, which ingeniously kept water flowing all day through what Rain called a ‘Heron’s system’, though what the various pipes and empty basins had to do with herons, he couldn’t say. Carved to depict dragons floating amidst the clouds, these beautiful fountains were probably the most ornate and expensive bird baths in the Empire, with one sitting in each corner of the courtyard and packed to the brim with Laughing Birds.

Beautiful as the fountains were, they were too fabricated for Mila’s tastes, and she much preferred the view afforded by their beautiful cherry tree, which served as the centrepiece of the courtyard. Lush leaves and ripe fruit hung heavy from its branches, as well as a ‘tire’ swing from the bough. Mila wasn’t sure what made the round, rubber ring a tire, but it was large enough for four people to sit on, or two bears if they hung on really tight, just like they were at this very moment while the tire swing rotated lazily through the air. It was a scene which should have put a smile on Mila’s face, especially since the rabbits and Laughing Birds had long since learned to avoid the area around the tree while the swing was in use, but amusing as Banjo and Baloo’s antics might be, Mila’s eyes were repeatedly drawn to poor, neglected Tawny One, who sat by the corner and stared at the manor walls all morning, every morning, just waiting for her beloved Blackjack to arrive.

Oh pitiful, sweet Tawny One, the only solitary bunny of the bunch. All of her siblings had paired up, not in a romantic sense, but a supportive one, as bunnies needed a friend to cuddle and groom with, for that was simply how the Mother made them. Mama Bun had bonded with Rain, but Tawny One bonded with little Blackjack, back when the Cloud Chaser Hare was only marginally smaller than she was. Now, Tawny One was easily five times longer than Blackjack, and perhaps ten to twelve times heavier, and the little hare was no longer so receptive to the golden bunny’s company. No, stupid Blackjack would rather sleep in with Lin-Lin before scurrying over to steal scraps from the kitchen and bring it up into the tree, where he would scarf down his meal as quickly as possible before bouncing about the branches to ‘play’ with the wildcats and Laughing Birds, all while Tawny One watched on.

It wasn’t so much playing as it was practising to hunt, but Blackjack was too lazy and well-fed, so all he could do was startle the birds a bit, and barely even that. The fledglings were already larger than he was, and the little hare was a faint-hearted predator, with a callous black heart to match his dark, satiny fur.

In a brief moment of honest introspection, Mila admitted she might be projecting her own feelings onto Tawny One and Blackjack, but the sweet rabbit looked so miserable all the time, and the scoundrel hare rarely came down to see her. Tawny One would do her best to follow Blackjack about, even braving the danger zone around the tire swing just so she could be closer to her beloved friend, and it was heartbreaking to watch her patrol the compound in search of a way up the tree or onto the roof to join him. A futile effort, of course, since she was a rabbit who was utterly unequipped to climb, but she yearned to do so anyways to be with the one she loved.

Just like Mila wanted to be with Rain, but he was always away on business lately, with no one but Song to supervise him.

Gathering the prettiest bunny into her arms, Mila snuggled Tawny One close, and the sweet rabbit returned her affection ten-fold. Giggling beneath the storm of bunny kisses and nuzzles, she cradled Tawny One and danced lightly about the courtyard. There was no one here to see her, since Sorya and Anrhi had long since left for the market and the Death Corps stood guard outside the manor doors, so Mila felt free to behave as foolishly as she pleased. “Let Rain and Blackjack do as they please, we don’t need them,” she whispered, planting a kiss on Tawny One’s adorable, twitching nose. “We have each other, don’t we sweet bun?”

Her words felt empty even as she said them aloud, but Tawny One didn’t seem to mind and enjoyed the moment for what it was, a joyous exchange of shared affection. If Mila put her down, Tawny One might immediately go back to moping, but for now, she was loved and contented, and that was all that mattered. Mila envied the sweet rabbit’s simple mindset, because even as she danced and sang with their fluffy golden baby in her arms, all she could think about was how she wished Rain was here to share in this moment.

No one ever warned her that marriage would be so frustrating. Though little had changed since their wedding ceremony, Mila’s perception coloured everything differently, and she had yet to adjust to this altered perspective. Gone was the young, independent woman she’d once been, and in her place was a familiar stranger, so oddly similar in so many ways save for one singular detail.

Mila had a husband now, and by the Mother, it was so wonderfully aggravating.

Like she said, little had changed. Everything went back to normal a few days after their marriage, except instead of going back to her room in Mama’s suite, she retired to her room here in their manor. Ugh, ‘their’ manor, that form of address came so naturally to her now, yet it still caught her off guard whenever she noticed it. ‘Their’ manor, ‘their’ wedding ceremony, ‘their’ fluffy golden baby, everything was ‘theirs’ now. Rarely did she think in terms of herself anymore, not without tying it back to Rain, and while there was nothing wrong with this, she felt a distinct sense of loss that had nothing to do with her incessant desire to hold her husband close and never let him out of her sight. That’s what made things particularly difficult, for even as she mourned her lost independence, she desperately yearned for his constant company.

Not just in her bedroom, which was ‘hers’ and not ‘theirs’, another contentious point Mila set aside for now. No, she wanted him by her side at all hours of the day, to hold his hand and see him smile for no reason than because the sight, smell, sound, taste, and feel of him filled her with inexplicable joy. This was all his fault, because he ruined her somehow, filled her mind with thoughts of him and nothing else. A few days after their wedding, he accompanied her back to the bamboo grove so she could meditate and seek Insight, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand and kept thinking about what Rain was up to. Making medicine, flying kites, and unsuccessfully searching for groundhogs, apparently, and as silly and unimportant as all that information was, Mila asked him about every last detail, just because.

The worst part was, she knew he felt the same way, because she saw her craziness reflected in his actions as well. During meals, they sat with chairs touching and limbs entwined, taking forever to eat because this meant one of them couldn’t use their dominant hand and needed the other to feed them. At night, they would lie in each others’ arms and have meaningless conversations about nothing at all, because neither one wanted to fall asleep first. Even her dreams featured him more often than not, simple, uneventful dreams of going for a stroll through the market or riding out into the fields together, and she would wake happier than ever before.

In short, they had become that gushy, infatuated couple who everyone loved to hate, and Mila wanted them to be like this forever.

Except they couldn’t, because Rain’s stupid responsibilities had forced him to visit the stupid Central Citadel for a week, and now he was at the stupid Southern Citadel. Soon, she will have spent more time apart from her husband than together since their wedding, and his extended absence weighed heavily on her sanity. These precious few weeks were supposed to belong to her and her alone, because in less than one week’s time, Yan was joining their family as Rain’s second wife, and he couldn’t even make it back home before the ceremony in Central. Even with Luo-Luo living in the room across the hall as a constant reminder of Rain’s lascivious ways, Mila had somehow forgotten she would eventually have to share her husband and spend her nights alone in bed while he whispered about nothing with another woman.

It was ridiculous. Mila loved Yan, and had long since come to terms with this, was even excited about having a Sister-Wife to talk and share with, but now, she didn’t know how to feel. It was true, people turn Defiled for love more than any other emotion, because Mila’s emotions were a tattered mess thanks to her love of Rain. There was no burning rage or crushing depression, just crippling anxieties over issues which would probably never happen, like what she would do if Rain abandoned her to spend all his time with Yan, Luo-Luo, and Lin-Lin instead. He wouldn’t do that, would never treat her so poorly, but then again, he was also a busy man with plenty of work on his plate, so maybe his neglect wouldn’t be intentional, like with poor Tawny One. There was a time when Mila would have simply shrugged her shoulders and asserted that she herself had things to do, and they would find time for one another when they could. For example, right now, she should be riding for the bamboo grove so she could spend the day making corrections to her Natal Palace. She thought herself so clever when she duplicated the bamboo grove eight times to make a larger grove to sit in, but while each separate copy was in natural Balance with itself, when viewed as a whole, Mila’s entire Natal Palace was in complete disarray.

Well, perhaps not disarray, as it was perfectly serviceable as a Natal Palace, but once she knew there were imperfections present and improvements to be made, she couldn’t well let it slide.

Or at least, there was a time she couldn’t, but now she could barely even be bothered to care. It took a lot of effort to modify her Natal Palace to work properly, because every minuscule change set off a chain reaction that affected not just its immediate surroundings, but the rest of the bamboo grove as well. What’s more, she wasn’t even sure what benefits there were to be had from modelling her Natal Palace after a place of natural Balance, though she was certain there would be... something. What that might be didn’t matter though, because now she was too distracted when Rain was around and too despondent when he wasn’t to properly meditate, and thus had made little to no progress with her Natal Palace.

Still, Mila was never one to surrender without a fight, so once Blackjack arrived, she set off for the bamboo grove with all the pets in tow, save for Jimjam who refused to come down from the tree. Normally, Mila wouldn’t bother bringing all the animals with her since they were quite happy to spend time with Luo-Luo, Sorya, and Anrhi, but they made the lonely carriage ride more bearable since she couldn’t ride Atir. It turned out that the sweet quin had not grown fat during Mila’s extended absence, but was pregnant with a clutch of eggs courtesy of fat Mafu. Now, sweet Atir was bedded down in her den, the quin stables outside Mama’s building, being fussed over by Mafu and all the other older, female quins. Come next spring, there would be a new batch of quin pups for Rain to spoil, and truth be told, he already had more quins than he knew what to do with. Add in his cattle and Laughing Birds almost doubling their numbers these last few months, Mila was growing concerned for the future. It was a miracle the rabbits and wildcats had yet to breed, or at least Mila thought it was until Lin-Lin let slip that she’d asked her father to do something about it long ago. Easy to forget that the happy-go-lucky darling was as smart and insightful as any, if not more so considering her keen mastery of herbs and numbers. Lin’s issue was never a lack of talent or intelligence, only a lack of motivation, which wasn’t helped by Taduk, Rain, and everyone else spoiling her rotten.

Just once, Mila would love it if Rain spoiled her rotten, just to see what it was like. She would probably hate it and grow annoyed within the hour, but how could she be sure unless she experienced it herself?

After an hour-long journey, Mila’s carriage arrived at the new district and she overheard a raucous dispute going on in the streets. Calling for her driver to stop, she stepped out of the carriage before it pulled to a stop and sauntered over to see what all the fuss was about. There on the fields outside Orbei’s yurt, Mila found the leather-worker literally butting heads with Cixi, the dour Central merchant woman from the Chun-Qiu Consortium, while a small crowd gathered to watch while pretending to mind their own business.

“My husband, Sentinel Nakhu, owns this land,” Orbei declared, arms crossed and feet planted as if daring someone to bodily move her. “And I have the documents to prove it. What business do you have telling me to pick up my things and leave?”

The merchant smiled, but there was nothing soft or pleasant about it, and the look reminded Mila of a wolf baring its teeth. “Notices were posted throughout the district fifteen days ago,” she said, in the terse, clipped tone of someone on their last nerve, “And I personally visited every household to inform them that work on the walls would begin today. The foundations have been dug, the areas marked, the materials in place, so all that is left is to put up the walls, and we cannot do that with people in the way. I spoke with you yesterday, the day before, and the day before that, and each time, I explained that we are not evicting you. We are merely asking you to vacate the area so we can work unhindered.” Pointing at Orbei’s yurt, Cixi added, “And technically, your domicile isn’t even situated on your land. It’s straddling the border, as evidenced by the marker outside your front door.”

“Bah.” Snorting in disdain, Orbei huffed and said, “My sister owns the land beside mine, and she does not mind, so why do you care?”

Cixi’s smile grew a touch more wolfish, and her eyes turned three shades darker. “Notice how not all borders are marked? Yours is, because that’s where we’re putting up a support strut, so the district walls don’t collapse inwards if someone sneezes on them.”

“Walls, Pei. The People have no need for walls to defend them, nor did we ask you to build them.”

“Perhaps, but Minister Falling Rain ordered every district walled, so walled they will be.” Her smile fading away as she saw Orbei had no intention to move, Cixi’s patience finally came to an end as she snapped, “Move or be moved. Those are your choices.”

A bad move if Mila ever saw one, so she stepped in before someone got hurt, but only because everyone else seemed content to watch. “Enough.” Unsure which woman she just saved from a beating, she glowered at them each in turn. “Orbei, stop making trouble for the sake of trouble. There’s plenty of space nearby to set up your yurt. I notice your sister packed up her things and left, so why can’t you? Or do you expect the workers to lug stone, set timber, and hammer nails with you and your children underfoot?” Turning to an all-too-pleased Cixi, Mila snapped, “And you. Threaten harm against one of the People again, and I’ll hang you by your ankles until you learn some proper manners. Actually harm one of the People, and I’ll just have you hanged. Are we clear?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the crowd and growled, “Where’s your blasted mayor, and why isn’t he here handling this?”

Once pointed in the right direction by the crowd, Mila shot Orbei a look which set her to begrudgingly packing her things and gestured for Cixi to board the carriage. To the woman’s credit, she did so without flinching at Banjo and Baloo, who were all too forward about meeting new people, even ones clearly as terrified as Cixi. “Thank you for your assistance, Imperial Consort Sumila,” she began offering a seated bow while Baloo sniffed her face. “It is much appreciated. This is a lovely carriage.”

“Stop.” Putting an abrupt end to the merchant woman’s lacklustre flattery, Mila dragged the bears away from Cixi while inwardly grumbling about her new title. It was all fun and games laughing at Rain for being known as a Consort, but now it was Mila’s turn and she didn’t much like it. She was also a Senior Captain of the Sentinels, but thanks to Rain’s lofty status, even if she were raised to the rank of Colonel General, she would forever be referred to as her husband’s consort. A problem for another day though, as she had more pressing matters to deal with today. “I understand your need to clear the field,” Mila began, peering out the open windows at the barrels filled with sand, gravel, and what looked to be ash all arranged in small groups, as well as the cast-iron poles and bamboo panels being moved into place, “But what I do not understand is why the entire district must be emptied before beginning work. This is a sizable area, meant to house hundreds of families, so it will take some time before construction is finished.”

“Three days.”

“What?”

“Three days, Imperial Consort,” Cixi repeated, bobbing her head as she added an additional, “Ma’am. My Lady.”

“Sumila will do just fine.” Furrowing her brow, Mila fixed the merchant with an inquisitive gaze and asked, “You mean to tell me you intend to have the district walled off in three short days?”

“Yes Imperial Consort Sumila,” Cixi replied, which apparently was the most informal form of address she felt comfortable with. “Three days, and we move onto the next district. This is just for the walls and guard posts, mind you, as the gates are still a ways away. It’d be five days if we were doing foundation work for the district interior, but the Minister left strict orders to leave it be and let your people decide what goes where.” Pursing her lips in obvious dissent, Cixi added, “Though I suggest you talk to the mayor and have him convince everyone that it’s in their best interest to follow the plans as best they can. Me and mine have had plenty of practice laying out districts, and you don’t want your sewage seeping into the groundwater or your bakeries next to your tanneries. That’s all I’ll say.”

Somehow, Mila doubted everything the woman just said, but she didn’t know enough to comment on the situation. This was all Rain’s fault for being so sneaky and deceptive about his plans. When he offered his lands for Sentinel use some months back, Mila thought her beloved was finally learning to accept the ways of the People, but then, he turned around and imposed all manner of restrictions upon them in the name of ‘urban planning’. Where to dig for wells and latrines was all fine and dandy, but now he wanted to tell them where to raise their yurts, stable their quins, build their cooking fires, and more, after convincing them to take on a loan to purchase land he offered to let them live on for free. The money wasn’t the issue, as everyone understood the need to pay for living space, but between the zoning issues, compliance concerns, and all manner of other rules and regulations, the People had more freedom to do what they pleased before becoming land-owners.

Which made no sense whatsoever, and the People were understandably not handling these changes well.

Worst of all, Rain couldn’t even be bothered to handle it all himself, nor did he think to put a proper member of the People in charge. Instead, he installed his old friend and unrepentant con-man as Mayor of the district, the barely literate Bulat, who was currently standing about in his ridiculously puffy shirt and doing his best to look busy while labourers and tradesmen puttered about around him. “Put yer backs into it now,” he bellowed, with thumbs hooked into a silver-buckled belt struggling to hold his growing belly back. “We’re on a schedule, we are, and ain’t none of us getting younger.”

“Mayor Bulat,” Mila snapped, her arrival having gone unnoticed by the portly former soldier. “A word?”

“Eh? Ah, yes of course, Imperial Consort, of course.” Mopping his brow with a handkerchief, Bulat scurried over like a lackey born, showing no sign of the steel she’d seen at new years, when he hurled some Society lackey off stage after Luo-Luo’s first public concert. Then, Rain gave the man a single War Bond at their wedding, which Bulat promptly sold to the highest bidder for close to eighty-thousand gold and immediately retired with Rain’s blessing. Ridiculous is what it was, these nobles fighting tooth and nail to obtain one of those useless scraps of paper, but Rain encouraged it by taking meetings with anyone who showed up with a War Bond in hand.

It didn’t even make sense. Aside from the paltry fifty copper fee he took to register the War Bonds under a new name, Rain didn’t see a single copper from the resale of War Bonds, but he didn’t care. “This is all about optics,” he’d explained, smiling like the most handsome idiot in the world. “If it encourages others to bid even higher for the next batch of War Bonds, then it’s well worth the effort ten times over. Plus, the more coin they spend, the less coin they’ll have on hand, the sooner they’ll start using War Bonds as hard currency, and the sooner my plan for Treasure Notes can come into effect.”

There was so much about Rain’s new ventures which Mila didn’t understand, and Mother knows she tried. Treasure Notes were one thing she’d all but given up on, but why did he feel compelled to plan out every district down to the last detail? His reasoning was that it was easier than leaving each district to figure it out on their own, especially with so many people involved. Efficiency, he called it, letting professionals do what they trained for, but Mila felt it lacked a true sense of community. Homes staggered out in groups of four along the farms, instead of gathered in one common living area for example, or having the district divided into separate regions and forcing tradesmen to live apart from their work areas. How were those tradesmen supposed to watch the children and work at the same time? Or have a midday meal with their families without wasting time? What’s more, this was Central, where there were many strangers about, so how were they supposed to guard their tools, products supplies, and workrooms from thieves or vandals?

Putting aside those concerns for now, Mila faced Bulat and said, “Cixi says the work will be done in three days. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, far too quickly for Mila’s tastes. “Saw the walls go up on the next district over, and old Bulat ain’t ever seen anything like it.”

Frowning as she took in the labourers around her, she saw smiles and determination a plenty, but that had to mean they were fresh, new workers. If Rain and Cixi were pushing their labourers so hard, then there was bound to be plenty of injuries, casualties, and burn out, so these poor fools probably only knew about the high wages they were here to earn, and had no idea what sort of torturous hell they were in for. A curious oversight on Rain’s part, since he would never allow good men to be pushed beyond their limits. No doubt because he trusted Cixi and her Chun-Qiu consortium too much, which meant Mila would have to ensure they stayed true to his wishes. Narrowing her eyes at the Central merchant, she said, “I will remain behind to watch and report what I see to my husband.”

“Wonderful, Imperial Consort Sumila.” Homely features lighting up in unmitigated delight, Cixi seemed genuinely pleased by Mila’s declaration. “I’ve been sending reports everyday and doing everything I can to keep us on track, but I heard Gwangjong is operating almost 25% faster, so I worried the Minister might think I was slacking. It’s the soil here, it’s looser and grainier, so it takes longer to settle than it does in the more central regions. It’s all bedrock over there, while this here is old sediment, on account of the Azure Sea once having stretched this far out. Thousands upon thousands of years ago, of course, which is what makes all this such great farmland, but it makes a big difference in construction. You’ll see.”

Again, Mila didn’t understand most of what Cixi was talking about, and from the looks of things, neither did Bulat, so she simply nodded and re-boarded her carriage to get out from under the glaring sun. With the windows open and the breeze in full force, the carriage was quite comfortable despite the oppressive Central heat, and she idled away the time with the animals while watching the labourers get to work. As she saw earlier, they were busy moving the cast-iron pole into place, merely sliding it into furrows which had already been dug all around the district. To her eyes, it looked like the start to some shoddy, half-assed fencing which, after sliding into the furrow, leaned heavily at an angle and barely stood over a meter tall.

Already, Mila sensed a disaster in the making, but instead of demanding answers from Cixi or Bulat, she took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. Logically, Rain would have seen his district walls by now, and would know if the people he hired were doing shoddy, sub-par work. What’s more, Bulat also said he’d seen the walls go up at another district, so he would not look so confident if this was all a disaster in the making. Thus, it stood to reason that Cixi knew what she was doing, and what Mila saw here was merely preparation, rather than anything indicative of the final work. And most importantly, although she’d seen a lot of materials, she had yet to lay eyes on a sizable stockpile of stone or timber in place, which meant Rain was either building the flimsiest wall in existence, or he had come up with yet another odd and miraculous idea.

And Mila would bet good money on the latter. At this point, she’d be more surprised if her husband did something conventionally, rather than in some strange, whimsical, and frighteningly effective way.

With this in mind, she looked around again and picked up on a few key details. The bamboo panels, which she thought were building materials, were in fact parts to a wooden scaffold, which had been laid out flat on the ground in an inter-connecting pattern of rectangular boxes. That was a mould if Mila had ever seen one, but there were no forges smelting iron or steel nearby, nor would a wooden mould be suitable if there were. Clay or mud bricks perhaps, but again, there were no forges to be seen, unless they intended to light a fire under their giant steel cooking pot after it was full, but that didn’t make sense. The pot was so large, even Mila would have trouble lifting it on her own, and she didn’t think Papa could carry it while full of sand, gravel, ash, and water, like it currently was. One labourer was constantly stirring the pot while Cixi watched the proceedings like a hawk, snapping off orders the other labourers obeyed with military precision, adding measured cups of ash, sand, water, and gravel until the mixture was finally to her tastes.

After a copious amount of stirring, Cixi waved seven soldiers over, ones Mila recognized as members of Rain’s old retinue, though she couldn’t put a name to any of them. Two carried long, iron poles, which they locked into place on either side of the pot before coordinating to lift the whole thing with four of their comrades to help. The seventh and final soldier used a bamboo prod to tip the pot ever so slightly until the greyish, granular sludge seeped out of the pot and into the mould. On Cixi’s instructions, the seven Martial Warriors filled the first mould and moved onto the next, while labourers behind them smoothed out the sludge with a flat, wooden stick, drove flat, wooden slats into each filled box, and scraped the excess sludge back into the pot, only to repeat the process once again as soon as the next mould was complete.

If Mila didn’t know any better, she would say they were making bricks, but then they made no move to fire, bake, or otherwise process them, save to let them dry out under the sun.

Elsewhere, one of Cixi’s subordinates was watching another group of labourers prepare a second, smaller batch of grey sludge, which they promptly poured into the furrows which housed the cast iron poles. Then, working with the speed of practised efficiency, they straightened the poles, brought out these curious, horseshoe shaped spikes, slid them through a slot in the poles, and them in place with hammers at the ready, but waited for Cixi’s subordinate to finish fussing with his odd, semi-circular measuring device and give the okay before securing the poles in place by hammering the horseshoe spikes into the dirt.

In less than an hour, the entire district was fenced in by cast-iron poles, and then came the biggest surprise of the day. After dismantling the bamboo mould and moving it to the next area, all that was left behind were hundreds of large, greyish stone blocks, each one sized at half a metre long and tall, as well as thirty centimetres thick. There were gaps in each block’s smooth surface, too small to fit a hand into, but spaced in intervals which allowed the blocks to be slid over the cast iron poles. Working in pairs, labourers carefully laid each block in place around the cast iron poles and used more of that miraculous, grey goo to plaster them together in a quickly rising interlocking pattern, while Cixi and her subordinates ran around taking measurements with all manner of strange tools and making small adjustments here and there.

Unable to resist, Mila wandered over and hefted one into her arms, amazed at how heavy and solid it felt and how many blocks they had in place. Already, the next batch of blocks were being poured out, and would be ready by the time the first batch were fixed in place, and even without the supports in place, this quickly rising wall seemed more liable to break than topple.

“This is how they built the Walls,” Cixi said, shocking Mila out of her stupor. Though sweating from the midday heat, the rugged woman beamed with pride and delight, a smile which took almost a decade off her appearance. “The old Walls that is, the wondrous Kang Shen, the impenetrable barriers of the Azure Empire. Knowledge of how they were made was long since lost to time, but the good Minister has revived it, or brought us one step closer, at least.” Seeing Mila’s confusion, Cixi continued, “With our mixture, if the blocks are over a certain size, the cement won’t harden and the bricks will crumble under their own weight. The Kang Shen obviously didn’t have this problem, but we have yet to agree on how. The Minister believes it may have been because the Kang Shen was built in layers, each one perhaps only a hand-span high, which explains how they accounted for windows, doors, and the like. Cao Cuo even says the Kang Shen once had an outer layer of brick or wood, but it crumbled or rotted away over time and was all but forgotten, leaving only the concrete shell behind. Incredible isn’t it?”

So this was concrete, liquid material which hardened into stone, a concept Mila once called ridiculous, yet Rain made come to life before her very eyes.

Too shocked to go meditate, Mila spent the rest of the day watching the labourers at work. At some point, Lin-Lin joined her with boxed lunches, and eventually ran off to play on her own, but Mila sat entranced as she watched the district walls go up brick by concrete brick. Once the base was finished, they installed a second set of iron poles over top the previous ones and set to hauling bricks up, using clever little block and tackle devices no doubt supplied by Rain. The support struts turned out to be more concrete bricks, arranged in a pleasing, pyramid-shaped arrangement to help shore up the wall, and by the end of the day, the work looked more than half complete, leaving Mila in complete and utter awe.

“That was incredible,” she gushed, speaking with a pleased Cixi and a bored Lin-Lin. “These walls went up so quickly, and with so few people working too. How durable is this wall? How much did all this cost? How did you come up with such an efficient system to make and set the blocks?”

Cixi gave Mila a strange look, and Lin-Lin giggled quietly at the side. “Your pardon, Imperial Consort Sumila, but I didn’t come up with any of it. The good Minister did, everything from start to finish. He showed me how to mix concrete, what steps to take, how to divide labour and train skilled workers to carry out certain tasks to perfection, and even what problems to account for, like cracks and structural integrity. Don’t be fooled by how solid it looks, it’ll be almost an entire month before the cement fully finishes hardening, but it’s good enough for our purposes for now.” Shaking her head, Cixi continued, “He had a few other ideas I couldn’t make work, like making hollow cement bricks we can just pack with dirt, or reinforcing each section with separate horizontal iron rods, but personally, I don’t see the point. Cement is cheaper than dirt right now, and will be that way for some time since he had us buy up the rights to more sand, gravel, and limestone than we know what to do with.” Shrugging as she patted the smooth, cement brick wall, she added, “As for the wall’s strength, well... I reckon a few Martial Warriors with Spiritual Weapons would make short work of it, but you could say the same for any sort of wall. This isn’t anywhere as thick as the Citadel Walls, but we’ll be putting down a second layer of bricks, angled outwards with a jutting overhang at the top. This way, if anyone breaks through the first layer, the overhang will fall and crush anyone standing underneath. Took some real work to figure out, and requires even more cast iron to keep it from crumbling under its own weight, but so far, our test models have held. Same can’t be said about our concrete buildings though, especially the roofs, so we still got a lot to learn.”

The woman had several more ideas, including uniquely shaped, interlocking bricks which would make the building process more labour and time intensive, but result in a stronger, more durable finish. This had staggering implications if Mila could apply the concept in other matters, so she sat down and chatted with the woman until it was long past time to head home. When Lin-Lin finally pried her away, Mila spent the entire trip back musing over new discoveries, pondering the aftereffects of this concrete, and wondering if the People were wrong to ask Rain not to design the rest of the district. Her mind made up, she resolved to talk to Mother-in-Law and bring her out to see the district herself, so she could rope her into convincing the People to be more accepting of change.

Specifically, change suggested by Rain, because it would be shameful to live in the past while he brought the Empire into the future. It was wrong to ignore his suggestions just because it was different from how they traditionally did things, and their lives were already much improved because they had yurts instead of tents, so Rain had more than earned the benefit of a doubt...

Much to her surprise, upon her arrival, she found her beloved husband waiting at the citadel gates with Ping Ping looming overhead. Oh how he looked so handsome, even in his bland, black shirt and pants, with his hair slicked back and his smile in full force as he leaned against the Guardian Turtle and waited. Granted, he would look much better in proper clothes and ornamented hair, but it wouldn’t take much, merely a longer shirt and perhaps a tasteful, understated circlet to hold back his lengthening hair. While putting on weight had done wonders for his health and appearance, so much of his allure stemmed from his demeanour alone. There was a time when he knew how to appear confident, but now, he had become confident, and it showed in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. This wasn’t the cocksure arrogance of ignorance and youth, but the calm assurance of honour, integrity, and intelligence, a look which suited him greatly.

Perhaps she should have some clothes made for him, with her name sewn into the design, so he would never forgot his beloved wife no matter how many other women he had...

“Hello my loves,” he said as he slipped into the carriage and greeted them both with a kiss. A chaste one on the cheek for Lin-Lin, but Mila’s mind blanked as her lips touched his and were overwhelmed by his passion and hunger.

It was so wonderful, it took some time for her to regain her faculties. He had that effect on her now, and a small part of her hated it so much, but she was too weak to ever resist. “I thought you were stuck in the Southern Citadel,” she said, her arms tightening around him as if afraid he would up and disappear.

“I thought so too, but then I decided I was being dumb and left things in Xuande’s capable hands.”

“Why didn’t you send word in your last letter?” One she received last night and had been written the morning of. Being Minister of Finance meant he could seal his letters with his turtle stamp, and they would immediately become priority, sometimes arriving in Mila’s hand only a few hours after being penned. “I would have told your sister and invited them back for dinner.”

“Because I only decided to come home after lunch today.” With a grin that made her knees weak and heart flutter, Rain gestured at the lively Divine Turtle and said, “All this time I’ve been travelling by ship while Ping Ping swims behind me, and never once did I think to just hitch a ride on her shell. Even with all the traffic in her way, she made the trip from the Southern Citadel in record time while carrying me, Song, Kuang Biao, and the pets on her back.”

Melting into his arms, Mila basked in his presence and savoured his company for as long as she had him, unwilling to let go through all of dinner even with Mama and Papa there with her. Mila remembered them being far more open with their affections in front of her, so now it was their turn to squirm in discomfort, because Mila had her monstrously talented husband to herself for at least one more night, and she intended to make the most of it.

Chapter Meme

Bear and Tire swing