Letter to the Editor
Dear Editor,
I've heard that you're writing a book about the history of Asia, and that you're asking Allen about details on his past, his childhood. I suggest you don't.
There are certain things he does not wish to remember.
You say his childhood was lonely. They all say so, anyways.
But there was a person.
A person he chose to forget.
Perhaps she simply hadn't been as unforgettable as Rome, or as close to him as Gray and you guys were. Allen's always seen family as more important, right?
Who knows… Perhaps it was because of the wars. Countless wars. He's told you about those, right?
She came from the north. One of the nomads.
They met when the both were still young children.
They became friends, for no particular reason. Children don't need reasons to make friends.
They played together.
He took her to the forests, the lakes, the villages… She took him to the open plains, the wild grasslands, the mountains.
They told each other stories.
His were of the people. His people. What they did, what they invented, their artifacts, their words, what legends they created. The tales of fantasy and imagination.
Hers were of the colors of the sky, how they'd change from day to day, the clouds, the sun, the moon.
The wolves.
Running with the wolves.
The wind in her hair.
Every time she spoke of such things, her eyes would light up, and he'd catch a glimpse of something deep within those pupils, something both sharp and gentle, kind and cruel, ancient… and young.
Something wild.
He was fascinated by it.
He'd stare into her eyes long after she'd finished the story.
And she'd stare back in silence.
He wondered what she saw in his eyes.
Once, she asked if he wanted to start an Empire together.
"I think we'd be brilliant." She said with a smile, as they lay side by side on the grass.
"I…don't think so, we're too different." He replied,
"Really? We're the same species and we both walk this earth, how are we different?" She asked,
"We're…not the same race." He said.
"Hmm. I see."
She fell silent, and he suddenly felt as if there was something he, in turn, could not see.
Time passed by and they stopped seeing each-other.
They stopped being children.
There were conflicts. But nothing big. He had other things to worry about. She had other places to visit.
Sometimes she'd push at his border and he'd push her back. Battles. Lives lost. The usual.
Their war would never truly be over, because she could attack again at any moment.
Other times they'd share technologies, or crafts. Or a letter, written in his language or hers. They've learnt to read both.
Normal, for two neighboring countries.
Thirteenth Century C.E. The Mongols from the north started their conquering again, and overran most of Eurasia.
She returned, and this time, she was dead serious about taking over.
They fought.
She won. No need to elaborate on that. She won fair and square.
But he would not let himself be ruled so easily. His population outnumbered hers, it would be hard…
They reached an agreement in the end.
They'd rule. Together. Nobody takes over anything.
The Mongol invasion of China spanned six decades in the 13th century. In 1279, the Mongol leader Kublai Khan established the Yuan dynasty in China and crushed the last Song resistance, which marked the onset of all of China under the Mongol Yuan rule.
The Yuan dynasty is considered both a successor to the Mongol Empire and an imperial Chinese dynasty.
They ruled just fine. They shared the tech. They shared some of the language, and some of the culture.
Even though there were things they constantly disagreed on, life with her wasn't so bad.
"See? I told you we'd make a great Empire." She'd tell him.
But he was right, in the end, they were still different.
To be precise, she was different. She was changed. Not the child he knew.
She stopped respecting his literature, his art. Stopped caring.
He thought back to when he'd first shown her his poems, and she'd marveled at the many emotions a few short syllables could express. She'd shown him, in turn, some of her folk-songs and rhymes.
They used to love doing that.
She was also different in the sense that she was greedy.
He thought back to some of their past wars. Once, she'd called a truce, only to ask him a question.
"Who taught you to fight?" She asked,
"I taught myself." He replied, defiant.
"That's nice, but not enough." She smiled,
"What do you mean? None of us had teachers." He frowned,
"You didn't seek out a teacher," She leaned forwards and stared right into his eyes,
"Nature taught me everything I need to know. You run with the wolves, you become one of the pack." She said, slowly.
Surely, she couldn't have gotten her greed from nature's ways. In his eyes, nature had always been cruel. Cruel, but fair.
Then what had changed her?
He never found out the answer to that question. Never got around to asking. Never got the chance to.
Flames always rise to their peak before fading into the darkness.
In time, Kublai Khan's successors lost all influence on other Mongol lands across Asia, while the Mongols beyond the Middle Kingdom saw them as too Chinese. Gradually, they lost influence in China as well.
The Yuan remnants retreated to Mongolia after the fall of its army to the Ming in 1370, where the name Great Yuan (大元) was formally carried on, and is known as the Northern Yuan dynasty.
She left, and refused the rest of the world from that moment on.
As if she'd finally understood something.
As if it all of it suddenly made sense.
And he thought back to the first day they'd ruled together. When they'd sat side by side, and she'd laughed, and looked across at him, and for a moment he felt as if they were children again, sitting side by side on the grass…
"So, this is what it feels like to rule a huge Empire," she'd shrugged,
"Not a lot different from when I only had my own world."
Her words echoed in his mind.
After having ruled one of the biggest Empires ever to exist, she cared no more for the 'rules' of this world, the way we pretended to trust, the way we started wars for the 'people', the so-called political talk, the way we took from nature and never gave anything back. She'd seen enough. She was done.
Of all the countries who said they wouldn't stop until they had their way, she was the only one who actually got her way.
She built her own world.
A small world. Between the borders of China and Russia.
But it was big enough for her.
To the rest of the world, she became a story. A symbol, perhaps. A once-upon-a-time-I-was-also-like-that.
To him, she was simply a memory he ended up letting go of.
Perhaps because… she reminds him of a time. A time when he still had a choice.
She got by just fine on her own, like she had done for thousands of years.
She took out the old legends.
She lives her own legend.
An eternal song of the wild grasslands, the plains, the clouds, the sun, the moon.
And the wolves.
Of all the countries who have wanted to last forever, I can say she is the only one who succeeded.
...
Okay, that's all I've got.
I do hope you'll stop asking Allen about her, you know how he is.
Contact me if you need any more info.
DO NOT GIVE THIS EMAIL ADDRESS TO ANYONE ELSE.
-Anonymous
Re-Letter to the Editor
Dear Anonymous,
Thank you so much for all the details, it's been a great help.
One quick question: You don't happen to be Mongolia, do you?
-Taiwan (Editor)
Nope
Dear Editor,
I am not, in fact, Mongolia.
But I was also very close with your brother once.
The three of us… were inseparable.
I'll tell you more if you wish, however, there is only so much I am at liberty to say.
-Anonymous