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Half a Millennium

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SIX/FIFTY

revelations

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He was surprised when he learned from his Emperor that China had assumed a name other than Zhong as well. The Western influence has reached the other first, however, so he doesn't think too much of it, allowing the Emperor to choose a 'real' name for him. Wang Yao; he cannot think of China and that name together (though typically Chinese it may be), but like many changes, he's certain he'll get used to them eventually.

In the coldest sense possible, these changes are not choices so much as they are necessities. He's long known that the secret of immortality lies hidden in the valleys and mountains and rivers and forests of China, but pride compels him to not ask. He's already taken his tongue and his dress and his customs from his elder 'sibling'.

Nihon, he has been forced to acknowledge, does not exist in the changing world. Nihon has become Japan, the name that is recognized by the more powerful group, the country that sent Perry-san and ended his personal loneliness.

Now, the country of Japan trades and begins to flourish with the changes that the Meiji brought along. He learns to button a suit and tie a tie and aim a gun. These are all improvements, and it will all pay off when the Western powers realize that he isn't some helpless Oriental country. Japan may be small and it may be vastly lacking in natural resources, but that does not mean they will lose.

His people; Kiku's people, they have a drive for greatness, for success, for ambition, the likes of which he's never thought possible. Where Korea's people are bold and China's people are hardworking, he sees want and have in his own people.

To a large degree, he's proud of their willingness to adjust and adapt in the face of certain adversary. But a small portion is ashamed of that quick ability (to think that they were so willing and easy of letting go; he wonders: did they ever 'belong' or 'have' anything in the first place?), but he brushes the thought aside. It wouldn't help matters after all.

Needless to say, he's delighted to see the preparations for the New Year celebrations, despite their New Year coming almost two months early. The first is a success, and when they are planning the second, the thought of China-nii (ah, but no, his kind emperor chides, he is to be referred to as 'Wang Yao' now) enters his mind for the first time in years.

Immediately, he thinks to invite the other over, carefully penning a perfectly English letter to his elder brother.

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For China, the one beneficial aftermath of the Opium Wars is that he now remembers the year. Yes, it is the Westerner's year system and yes, its primary purpose is to make him feel a lot older than he rightfully should, but at least now, he can have a marking for the passing of time, rather than simply feeling the thing itself flow by.

It's a rather troublesome feeling, but at least it keeps him in the knowledge what with foreigners flocking here and there and everywhere in his country.

He will clearly remember today; 1873, coming home to find a letter penned to him. It's in English, and his face immediately pales at the thought of Arthur Kirkland writing letters to demand more weights of silver as opposed to knocking down his door and guards and wildly waving around a gun.

But as soon as he reads past his 'name' (Wang Yao he something he thought of in a opium-laden-stupor and even now, he'd rather not attach such a name to his person if he can help it), it becomes obvious that this letter was not from Arthur, despite being in English. The handwriting adorning the Western-styled paper is nothing like Arthur's; where words and punctuations are oddly spaced and hard to make out, the work here is easy to read.

Greetings Yao-nii,

Seeing as how we have not seen each other in a long time, I was wondering if you might like to visit my country on the evening of December 31st, 1874. We have improved greatly, and it would be a pleasure to see you again.

His eyes are quickly scanning the letter, a smile breaking out over his face when he sees the author of said letter.

Sincerely, Honda Kiku

China laughs, a mix of real joy and bittersweetness. Three hundred years, and then some, and the boy still writes with such impeccable neatness and such stiff formalities. Some things never change. Quickly, he digs through the drawers of his imported desk (the ambassadors have insisted, like they always have), finding the spare scrap of paper and pen to scrawl a hasty reply of:

I'd love to! See you on December 31st!

And time passes; except now he is suddenly aware of rising suns and moving clouds and the idea and feeling of impatience. It digs at his being; he's always been one the more patient people (what with Korea and Taiwan and Arthur and Francis and-the list goes on) and he swears it's the West's influence.

There's something else that is echoing the back of his head. A little light that is flashing on and off repeatedly, as if the gods themselves are trying to warn him of something. Great improvements, Japan (now 'Kiku') spoke of. He wonders what they could be, but then passes it off as silly anticipation (the Westerners; he hates them with his people sometimes...) and nothing more.

After all, he knows that the word generally carries a positive connotation.

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All of sudden, he's stepping off the boat, onto Japanese soil for the first time in more than a decade and the lanterns and laughing people and lights and sounds of the New Year surround him.

It it weren't for the West, he might've panicked, thinking that he forgot the New Year's coming (for only what seems like the fiftieth time), but it's because of their steady calendar that he knows New Year will fall in the second month this year. Confusion alights on his brow; this cannot possibly be another Japanese festival, he can see the robes and foods, specially crafted for the New Year.

And yet - it is not the New Year.

"Yao-nii!" a voice calls from the crowd. He turns, ready to embrace the child that was barely up-to-chin, ready to smile in delight and ask of the celebrations and-

The festivities and chatter and in-general joy fade into the background (and become a dull murmur, rather than a delighted roar) as soon as China sees what has become of Japan (what has become of Nihon; his little Nihon, his first and best student).

His hair is still short, his eyes still don't quite catch the light, and his posture is still as rigid and disciplined as ever.

But everything else has changed.

Instead of his simple, clean robe, the other has chosen to wear a white suit. Rather than being held together with intricate threads and folds, the other nation's outfit is adorned with gold buttons and stiffly-starched collars. What really strikes China as change however, is the sword (the boy used to love but never carry) that is sewn next to gun.

A Western gun.

Japan - no, Kiku - has already walked towards him, and he sees that the other is at eye-level with him, and that he would no longer have to bend down to give a farewell kiss. He returns the other's eye-smile with a mouth-smile that feels half-hearted, even to him (Japan either doesn't notice or he doesn't care). He opens his mouth, there are a million questions that he'd like to bombard the other with, but he decides to start with the simplest.

"Is it New Year already-aru?"

Nihon-now-Kiku (yet another thing the West has stolen from him) raises his eyebrows before replying the same manner that the younger boy always has:

"It is for my country. Since last year, our New Year is always on January 1st. We decided as part of the Meiji Ishin that we would conform with the Gregorian Calendar of the West. We feel that this change makes it much easier to communicate and keep in touch with outsiders," 'Kiku' seems to find China's lack of response fitting, and instead motions towards the currently-loading train, "Come; I think you like to see the first sunrise of the New Year,"

China whose-name-is-now-Yao follows.

Improvements.

'Improvements.'

Japan either doesn't catch the furrowing of brows and downturning of mouth, or he chooses to ignore it (like how he's ignoring his own culture and history and heritage).

It's foolish to blame and rage on the West, but Yao does so all the same.

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When he sees the other for the first time in sixteen years and four months (he would probably be able to remember the days as well if he thought about it long enough), he expects many emotions: surprise, delight, amazement, excitement; to name a few. What he registers on Yao-nii's face is a mix of bewilderment, disbelief, and (it might just be the light from the lanterns) anger. Like everything else the other tries to mask, it's as clear as day, and Japan (Kiku, Kiku, Kiku) can read him like a book.

They watched the hatsuhinode together, but China (but Yao) was silent, save for one half-hearted comment about how beautiful the sun was.

Kiku (improved, bettered, more-ready-for-the-world) does not understand why Yao isn't happy. It confuses him, and it is with this in mind in which he knocks politely on the door to room of his elder 'brother'. It is the first reformed diplomatic visit between the nations of Japan and China; he wouldn't mind so much if it were simply 'Kiku' and 'Yao'.

"You can come in-aru!" Yao calls from the interior, and a smile rises from Kiku's heart at the cheerful tone -

Only to have it sink back into the pit of his stomach at the sight before him.

Korea lies, completely clothed (thank God, Kiku thinks) but still sprawled half-on, half-off China. Yao. Who does not seem to mind, notice, or care (as if it were always like this), that the two of them are making an 'X' with their terribly-close position. Yao is propped up against his bed, he turns towards the door, looking expectantly from his transcribed scrolls (a couple of which Korea has managed to steal away) to him. Kiku.

"Hey, Nihon!" Korea says with a wave and a grin, "It's been a really long time, hasn't it da-ze~?"

"Korea, Nihon is Japan now," China says calmly, "How are you, Ja," he pauses, catching himself (since when did Yao-nii act like such a stranger towards him?) and correcting immediately, "How are you Kiku? I'm so glad your ambassadors actually speak Chinese-aru; I'm so tired of having to listen to English!"

Kiku says nothing, only continuing to stand at the doorway.

"A-ah! I don't mean offense-aru! I just prefer Chinese the most, like I'm sure you prefer Japanese, right?"

"Yao-hyung, you're always complaining to me about how much you don't like English, and how even-" Korea starts, only to be cut off by a

"B-Be quiet, Korea! Sheesh-aru; Kiku, do you want to sit down? I'll go get a chair!"

"No that's al - " Kiku tries to begin.

"Hey! No fair, China-hyung! You're going to move again, and then I'll have to move and it'll be such a pain, da-ze~!" Korea whines. Yao-nii rolls his eyes, exaperated, arguing,

(And Kiku thinks: he's so much better than Korea right now.)

"You come here practically everyday to kill my legs!"

(So - why is it that the conversation always misses him?)

"Buuut China-hyung," Korea complains; Japan is annoyed that this one thing has not changed, "You're sooo nice to lie on!" And then he rises up to hug the other in what would be an adoring gesture to everyone else but Japan.

It's one of assertion; of possession. Yao-nii either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

(How is Korea always better than him?)

"Get off," He's not Nihon anymore, he's Japan; and he won't stand by for another two decades. Korea looks impudent, and Kiku gets a better idea (as opposed to trying to yank Korea off of Yao-nii).

In a single swift movement, he grabs Yao-nii's arm (in a manner that would make his filial piety loving emperors roll in their graves) and pulls his elder out from underneath Korea.

"What-aru-?"

"Hey!"

The desired result is achieved: Korea tumbles to the floor, and Yao-nii is 'released' from his place underneath Korea.

It's a single incident and he's sure they'll all be back squabbling withing minutes. But something important reaches into the depths of his mind. An evil, evil thought that he would surely have crushed to pieces were it not for arms Korea continues to drape over China. It continues to echo, even now, and later (much, much much) he'll know he'll regret listening to it.

(It is easier to get what he wants through Yao-nii than Korea.)

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brief history lesson(6) The Meiji Restoration swept through Japan in the 1870's, because they realized that if they continued to keep with their old ways, the West would totally blow them over (as with China). It was incredibly successful, as seen with its rapid modernization (and later industrialization) which led to it winning the first of many Sino-Japanese Wars. "Hatsuhinode" is the first sunrise for the Japanese people of the New Year. Up until the Meiji Restoration, they had been using the Asian (Lunar) calendar, which they changed to January 1st (the most common Gregorian calendar, that is) in order to fit in with the West.

notations - History has made no easily-findable record of Sino-Japanese relations during the time between the Opium Wars and the first Sino-Japanese direct-conflict... which led to the complete independence of Korea. So as the author, I just assumed that, since they were clearly not at each other's throats in the beginning of the Meiji Restoration, they would be maintaining relatively good (albeit strained and possibly faked) relations. Also of note: human names were introduced in these chapters. Although the Western nations (Arthur, Francis) are probably used to them by now, I assume Yao, Kiku, and Im Yong Soo would have a more difficult time adjusting, so I tried to reflect that in their speech.

...so yeah.