Lee Chaolan swept into the police station in a white pinstripe suit over a pink silk shirt. He tossed his head to flick hair out of his face. He surveyed the room through mirror black lenses.

"Mr Lee," an officer leaned over the reception desk. "We've been expecting you. The prisoner is in interrogation room two, if you'd like to step this way."

Chaolan made no immediate move to follow. Instead he pulled a cigarette pack out of his top pocket and selected one.

"There's no smoking in the precinct, Mr Lee," the officer informed him.

Chaolan took out a lighter and lit the cigarette. He took a long draw on it, then blew out the smoke in the officer's face. The officer waved away the smoke in distaste.

"Lead the way," Chaolan said.

The officer hesitated for a moment, then did as they were bidden. Chaolan was lead through desks and past the gazes he drew until they stopped before a door. An armed guard waited beside it. On seeing Chaolan, the door was unlocked. He was shown into a windowless room. A single table was before him. A chair stood before it. Opposite was another, occupied by Lei Wulong. He was chained with handcuffs to the table. He sported a split lip with dried blood cracked onto it, and had the shadow of a black eye going down, a bruise on his chin, and a cut near an eyebrow.

Chaolan paused, smoking as the door shut behind him. Wulong's face was stubborn and dark and sullen. He gradually lifted his gaze, and a flash of surprise crossed his features. A dim light of hope entered his eyes.

"Lee Chaolan," he murmured, more to himself than by way of greeting. He sat straighter, rattling the chains as he did so.

Chaolan moved to the spare chair, dragged it out, sat on it, leaned back, then put his legs up on the table and crossed them. He blew out another plume of smoke.

"Mr Lee," Wulong started, "I'm glad you're here. They haven't charged me with anything and aren't letting me have a lawyer, and I'm not sure Interpol have even been informed about my situation."

Chaolan pulled a slim A4 folder out of his inside jacket pocket and set it on the desk. He lazily unwound a tie on it, then flicked the folder open. He breathed out another furl of smoke.

"You're being charged with breaking and entering, trespass, attempted murder, and kidnapping."

Wulong paused,

"I never attempted to commit murder."

"I have an hour's worth of CCTV footage of you creeping around a Mishima Industries lab with a loaded gun in your hand, and five minutes' worth where that gun is pointed at Officer Kazama's head."

"That was for protection. The attempted murder charge won't stick, it-"

"Charges Mr Mishima makes always stick." Wulong went silent. Chaolan took his feet off the desk and pulled his chair closer to the desk. He flicked through the file. "Now, we can make this all go away with just a couple of pen strokes. I have here a-"

"I'm not signing a non-disclosure agreement."

Chaolan's lip curled slightly. He continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"I have here a non-disclosure agreement. Keep what you saw to yourself, and your gross acts of misconduct will be considered as nothing. Mr Mishima is happy to let you walk free, so long as you sign this paperwork swearing never to breathe a word about what you saw in those labs to a soul." Chaolan ploughed on through the outrage starting to bloom on Wulong's face. "I know you're a proud man and you believe yourself to be fighting some just fight against the Zaibatsu, but think realistically. Nothing you saw is admissible in court anyway. Any information you think you gained was obtained illegally. This is a generous offer."

"Any information I think I gained?" Wulong's face was thunderstruck. "I know what I saw, Mr Lee. I know Mr Mishima kidnapped Dr Bosconovitch. I know he's trading illegally in animals and various stolen artefacts of cultural significance from around the world. I know he's testing on animals illegally. I know he killed an employee last month, and I know he's responsible for more. And I'm fairly certain he killed your father." Wulong sat forward, eyes sharp. "And I know that your heart is not in the work he makes you do. I know you entered that tournament hoping to win the Mishima Zaibatsu for yourself, and I know you hate that secretary job he makes you do." Chaolan sat mildly through all this, fingers interlocked, thumbs tapping one another idly. "I know that you're a better man than your brother, and that no one's given you the opportunity to prove that yet." Wulong shifted in his handcuffs, twisting in the chafing metal. "Help me. Help me expose the Zaibatsu for what it really is. In exchange for your testimony, you'll be granted immunity." Wulong fixed him with bright, hopeful eyes.

Chaolan's lip twitched. He hated that genuine sincerity in Wulong's gaze. It reminded him of the way Jae-suk would look at him whenever he whispered affections in his ear, pulling his heart toward impossibilities that could not be. He tapped cigarette ash onto the table.

"You have your story wrong. Kazuya didn't kidnap Bosconovitch. I did."

Wulong's expression flickered, but it cleared up quickly.

"Under his orders. I can still grant you immunity. Or at least a reduced sentence."

"Mr Lei," Chaolan said slowly. Wulong fixed him with that desperate, urgent look. "You paint me like some victim of the Mishima family, waiting to jump on the opportunity to sell the Mishimas out to the police in exchange for some small trifle. But let me let you in on a secret." Chaolan leaned forward. He blew smoke into Wulong's face. "Kazuya is the victim of the Mishima family, not me. He's the one who could never escape. Me? Every day I was threatened with being ejected from the family. 'Punch harder or I'll return those adoption papers, Chaolan'. 'Sort your footwork out or you'll be back on the streets of Shanghai, Chaolan'. I fought tooth and nail for my place in this family. And you think I'd just toss that away? Kazuya made me a secretary, and yes, I fucking hate that. But he can give me more with a lift of his little finger than you can with all the International Police on your side. Expose the Zaibatsu? Here's what the Zaibatsu looks like exposed: sign these papers, or I will bury you in the worst prison I can, and make sure every inmate in there knows you're a cop." Wulong stared at him. Chaolan fixed him with hard eyes. "Now, sign it." He put his cigarette out on the back of Wulong's hand. Wulong let out a surprised gasp. He quickly smothered the sound and writhed under the burning touch, breath shuddering through his teeth as he hissed in pain. Chaolan twisted the cigarette end against his skin harder, then flicked the stub away. A dark red circular patch of burned flesh stood out sharp on Wulong's hand.

The hope finally died in Wulong's eyes and something like fear started to edge into its place. He stayed silent. Chaolan raised one hand in the air. Wulong flinched away from him, chains rattling as he pulled back as far as he could. Chaolan gave him a cold smile, and only clicked a few times impatiently. The guard outside the door put his head in.

"Mr Lee? You called?"

"Turn the cameras off in here."

A pause.

"As you wish, Mr Lee."

The door closed again.

Chaolan watched as Wulong's eyes widened. The red dot on a CCTV camera above them dimmed and winked out.

"Think-… Think about what I said, Mr Lee. You don't have to be the same as them. You could do the right thing." Wulong's voice had lost some of its confidence and there was a slight waver in it.

"Or, you could sign this non-disclosure agreement, which I have asked you to do nicely a number of times now, Mr Lei."

"Working for your brother is making you a worse person! I know you're not the same as him! Trust me, someone as reckless and sadistic as him is going to come crashing down. Don't let him drag you down with him!"

Chaolan stood abruptly. Wulong flinched again.

"What the fuck do you know about me and my brother? Nothing. You're here bad mouthing Kazuya, trying to make me out as innocent in all this. Kazuya's the one that wants you let free. You can thank your old buddy Kazama Jun for that. But guess what, Mr Lei. Kazuya's not here. And I'm not in love with Kazama Jun. I don't give a fuck about you." He came round the other side of the desk. Wulong shuffled his chair away from him, real fear in his face now. Chaolan kicked the chair out from under him. Wulong half fell to the ground, but his handcuffs prevented him from hitting the floor. He struggled up with difficulty, the metal about his wrists cutting into his skin. He backed up against the wall as best he could, with the chain linking his handcuffs to the desk pulled taught. Chaolan moved lightening fast, and suddenly his foot was pressed against Wulong's throat, pinning him to the cell wall.

Wulong choked around the shoe on his neck.

"Got something to say?" Chaolan asked. He lifted his toe a little.

"Mr Lee, if y-" The shoe returned with more force than before and Wulong's answer was choked off.

"What I want to hear is 'Yes, Mr Lee, I'll sign the non-disclosure agreement that Mr Mishima kindly offered me'."

"F-fuck off!" Wulong rasped.

"Wrong answer." He increased the pressure. Wulong gasped and writhed, rattling his chained hands, feet scrabbling for purchase as his throat was slowly crushed. His eyes widened with a realisation that Chaolan recognised all too often from his own revelations whilst suffering a similar fate under his brother's hand. He lifted the pressure a little.

"Y-yes," Wulong managed to get out.

"Yes what."

"I'll s-sign."

"Good man." Chaolan pulled his leg back into chamber, holding it hovering in the air to see if he needed to strike again. The fight had gone out of Wulong's eyes though, and was replaced only with bitter wariness. Chaolan set his foot down. "There'll be another day for your justice crusade. Try again with legal means this time." Chaolan was cheery again. He clicked brusquely. The door cracked open. If the guard was concerned by a dishevelled Lei Wulong shrunk into the wall with eyes downcast he did not say so. "Camera rolling again, please. And brighten the lights in here – it's so dingy. Get Wulong here a coffee, he's going to be a free man soon." The guard nodded and departed.

Chaolan pulled out a pen and turned the papers towards Wulong. Wulong reached for his chair to sit on, but it had been kicked too far out of reach. He had to kneel next to the table to relieve the taut bite of the hand cuffs and push them further up his wrists. He reached a hand out unsteadily for the pen. He winced in pain as a handcuff scraped over the cigarette burn on the back of his hand. Chaolan watched him emotionlessly. Wulong signed the agreement. Chaolan took back his pen.

"That wasn't so hard, was it," he said softly. "Now, I hope I don't have to explain to you how serious breaking this agreement will be."

Wulong shook his head, finally quiet and out of words. He regarded Chaolan with a new, silent contempt. There was fear mixed in with his anger.

"Good." Chaolan brushed his cheek with a finger. Wulong jerked away from him. Chaolan laughed. "Someone will be here shortly to process the termination of your arrest. Here's some pocket money for playing so nicely. Go treat yourself to some real food, instead of that greasy cafe I know you favour." Chaolan set his file back in his inside pocket and placed a small roll of cash wrapped in an elastic band on the table. Wulong spat at it. Chaolan laughed again and left.

He informed the officers of the procedures required of them before stepping out into the wan sunshine. The air smelled like the end of summer. The promise of autumn hung on the air, chill, damp, and a little melancholy. A limousine was waiting for him. He stepped in, opened the little partition window to chat amiably with the driver and tell him where to next. When he was done, he shut the window.

It was dark inside the limousine. The one-way blackened glass and the sound-proofed interior gave him some privacy. He leaned over his knees and buried his head in his hands.

Chaolan sat in Kazuya's high back chair. A sparkly blue shirt was open onto his bare chest and his leather trousers were tight enough that they'd taken a good ten minutes to squeeze into this morning. There were upsides to Kazuya not breathing down his neck everyday, and priority number one was making the most of the opportunity to dress outrageously. He threw a leg over the arm rest of the chair, sighing as he propped up his chin and surveyed the organised madness around him. He was overseeing the refurbishment of Kazuya's wrecked apartment, something he didn't dare let anyone else do, since Kazuya was rather particular about what he considered valuable.

Someone brought up a white jade vase still in perfect condition and held it up to him.

"Get rid of it. A gift from a business competitor last year. He hates it."

Someone else brought out a battered pair of trainers, wincing and holding them at a distance.

"Those are worth more than your life," Chaolan informed them. "Package them carefully and set them to one side."

He watched as workmen sized up the windows for new panes of glass and took measurements around shredded furniture being lifted out the apartment. There was a crunch from over on his right as a carpet filled with glass and sporadically burned was pulled up from the floor and rolled up.

Another one of his staff approached him – they all liked him better than Kazuya, and whilst they always showed him respect, they seemed to feel comfortable asking him questions and or voicing disagreement.

"Mr Lee. A few of Mr Mishima's bottles were in good condition, we've packaged them and commissioned the bespoke carpenter you picked out to make a new drinks cabinet. What do you want done with the half finished bottles?"

Chaolan raised an eyebrow when he saw the thirty-year-old Highland Park in the man's hand.

"Is there any crystal wear left?"

"No complete sets, Mr Lee."

"Fetch me a tumbler."

Chaolan sat drinking his brother's whiskey as the sunlight poured through the long windows and the apartment transformed around him. His ears picked up the sound of shoes clacking on floorboards. His expression soured. Black high heels and lace fishnet tights came into view. He swivelled his gaze up, letting it drag just a little slowly as he took in the corset tight high dress clinging to curved hips, a bodice so open he lost sight of the dress for all the cleavage, a leopard fur jacket, and finally a petite face, red lips, a brown bob haircut, and quick blue eyes.

"Ms Williams," he said with reservation that betrayed nothing of the way this woman made his pulse pick up.

"Mr Lee," she returned. When Anna Williams walked she swung her hips like she was on a catwalk. She was capable, intelligent, and a top-rate martial artist: all things that commended her to Kazuya when he hired her. Those weren't the qualities about her that caught Chaolan's eye though. Anna was quick-witted, charming, shared affinities of his for strong coffee and good wine. She had that right dose of sarcasm that cut through a couple of his layers and won sly smiles from him that were truer than most he broadcasted to the world. And it she was hot, of course – that was of crowning importance. She dressed with class and confidence and she always had that assertive look in her eye that made Chaolan wonder what she'd do to him if given free rein in a bedroom.

Chaolan subconsciously chewed at his lower lip. Anna gave a tinkling laugh. He snapped his eyes back to her face from where they'd wandered again. "There's a call for you," she said sweetly, though her eyes were doing that dominant thing again that set his imagination on ice and pushed him away from the safety of steady land.

He unslung his leg and sat straight, fingers tightening on the crystal glass.

"Kazuya?"

"No."

Chaolan breathed a sigh of relief. He cocked his head.

"Jae-suk?"

"Are we going to go through all your acquaintances or can I just tell you?" She raised her eyebrows in amusement. He gestured dully for her to continue. If it wasn't Kazuya or Jae-suk, he wasn't interested. "Someone called Wang Jinrei. Apparently an old family friend? He didn't want to stay on the line. He asked you to meet him at the earliest possible time at the Mishima Estate."

Chaolan frowned. He swilled his whiskey and sipped. The strong peaty flavour hit the back of his throat and burned pleasantly.

"You know him?" she asked.

"Yep." Chaolan stood. He downed the rest of the glass. "Don't let anyone throw anything away without it going through me. Just pile it somewhere and I'll sort through it later."

"You're going now?"

"Earliest possible time is the present."

"Shall I prepare a suit for you, Mr Lee, or are you going like that?" Anna touched a hand to his bare chest. He shivered at the faint pressure of her fingertips. He took a reluctant step back.

"… I'm going like this of course." Their eyes met briefly and Chaolan saw the twinkle in her gaze. He shook his head regally and turned away. He could feel her stare on the back of his neck as he left. He found himself cursing himself for having worn such tight trousers as he took the elevator down to the ground floor.

It felt strange to be driving the winding country roads without Kazuya. Chaolan hadn't been back here without him since before… Before everything. He was trying to recall the last time he'd driven to the estate alone. Probably after the tournament had been announced. He'd flown back from the US with the aim of making his face known around Tokyo again and to focus on his training. His self-discipline had been waning in the States. Parties that continued through to the dawn, alcohol, a few other recreational substances, numerous people sharing his bed and various other hedonistic pleasures – none of those were going to improve his chances of winning the foolish tournament his father had announced. As soon as he heard it though, Chaolan had known he wanted it. In the back of his head, for as long as he had been in the Mishima Family, he knew it would be Kazuya who inherited the world, whilst the most he could hope for were table scraps. But that tournament announcement changed everything. Perhaps Heihachi had really decided that he didn't want Kazuya to inherit and wanted to give Chaolan a chance to take the corporation. Perhaps this was why he'd brought him into the family, perhaps this had been his plan all along. Chaolan knew better now. He'd known then as well, but had somehow deluded himself with that prize dangling before his eyes.

There was no trying to understand Heihachi's motives. He played games within games. And his favourite game had always been taunting his sons and pitching them against each other. Chaolan found himself wondering for the umpteenth time – if he'd refused to participate, if he'd said that tournament was stupid, he'd stuck by Kazuya's side and recognised him as the Zaibatsu heir nomatter what – perhaps things would be different now. Kazuya had had to pummel him to the ground and walk over him to get to where he was today. If Chaolan had always been in his corner, maybe he could have had more now. Maybe Kazuya would have made him Vice-CEO, or at least someone just beneath him with important decisions to make. Ah well, he was making important decisions now. And things weren't so bad.

His mind flicked back to the apartment he'd just left and the faint horror and fear in the eyes of those working silently to fix it. The way they'd looked at the burned walls and raked furniture and shattered glass. He remembered the way Kazuya had sat there in the darkness, like some king lording it over the utter ruin and destruction, like some metaphor for the Zaibatsu itself… or perhaps the world a few years down the line. Chaolan shook his head and concentrated on the road.

Or the way he always came up close in Chaolan's face and said those words Chaolan dreaded to hear: 'make it happen'. With the implication 'by any means necessary'. The way he left blanks that Chaolan had to fill in himself, making him complicit and a partner in all the worst parts of what was done in the Mishima name. Or the way his eyes got when he was angry. And the way the very air became heavy around him until Chaolan felt much, much more frightened than he'd even felt around his adoptive father. And then there was that time in the dojo when-

This is Lei Wulong. He's just been getting inside my head. Kazuya isn't that bad. He even apologised for Takumi and let me take two weeks off. Fuck. An apology and a two week vacation I was already owed. That was fucking murder. He murdered- But Takumi had it coming. He pushed Kazuya to the edge. Kazuya was only trying to protect me and the Zaibatsu. And besides, he sounded different on the phone. He has Kazama Jun now. She can help him. It's going to get better from here on out. Cops are always twisting the truth and trying to snag at your fears. I told Kazuya as much when Jun and Lei first came to the Zaibatsu. I should take my own advice and calm down. And I should watch the fucking road because I had quite a large glass of Kazuya's whiskey. Okay. Shut up, Chaolan. Just drive. Drive to that fucking nightmare house and all its ghosts. This better be important, Jinrei.

He skidded the car into the drive, kicking up a small storm of pebbles as he did. He got out and slammed the door shut. The Mishima Estate stood as it always had. Autumn had come quicker in the countryside. A chill mist was hanging about the rafters and sunk about the wooden platforms and curling paintwork.

"Master Chaolan." One of the serving staff had appeared. They shut the blank, black hole into the house behind them. "We are most honoured. What can we get for you? Will you take supper? Shall we ready your room?"

"Nothing! Nothing." Chaolan waved at them dismissively as he passed. He drew his glittery jacket about him as he walked towards the gardens, shivering in the turn the air had taken. He regretted not dressing more formally. It felt like Mishima Heihachi might leap out from any corner and chastise him for his fashion choices at any moment. "I'm stopping by to see Jinrei, nothing more."

The rock gardens were silent and hung with that same grey mist and cold shadows. Chaolan chewed his lip and couldn't shake the feeling that he was trespassing. His eyes wandered as he walked, picking out places where memories were stirred. If left alone with his thoughts, he tended to mull over the past and overthink things and spiral into an eternal replaying of could-have-beens and should-have-beens. Just over there was the water fountain with tipping buckets. Behind it was a carefully cultivated juniper bush that he'd had to retrieve Kazuya's trainer from. Kazuya had pulled the shoe off his foot and thrown it at him, but missed. He'd told Chaolan if he didn't fetch it, he'd make him pay in the dojo. Chaolan hadn't been too worried – he won almost half the fights against Kazuya when they fought, but he always lost when Kazuya was angry with him. Properly angry. If Kazuya's rage was directed at Heihachi, or if he was just his usual sullen self, then Chaolan had an even chance of winning. But when his brother was out for revenge on him, it never ended well. He'd grumbled and reluctantly picked up the shoe, sorely tempted to dump the prized possession in the fountain before he handed it back. But the punches he'd get in the dojo would be ten times worse from Kazuya if he did, and on top of that he'd have Heihachi's rage to deal with when he lost. He'd handed the offending shoe that had just been thrown at him back in silence, loathing confined to his eyes. Kazuya had laughed at him and put his shoe back on.

And just over there, a stone's throw from the dojo, where the long shadows turned mauve and sunk into mist. That had been the first place he met Kazuya. Many things from back then were hazy, but he could never forget that moment. There hadn't been time to get him any clothes, so they'd dressed him in an old formal kimono of Kazuya's. It was still oversized and not meant at all for such a thin ragged thing as him. His tangled filthy hair had been washed and combed until it was so beautiful it surprised him when he looked in the mirror. He'd touched it and felt it all silky under his fingers. He remembered so vividly the moment Kazuya had seen him, dressed in his clothes and standing next to his father. He still cringed when he remembered the expression. The sheer hate, the anger, and the emptiness in that stare. Chaolan had been excited to meet this new brother he'd heard so much about. Since the moment Heihachi had pulled him out of a Shanghai back alley, all the conversation had been nothing but Kazuya Kazuya Kazuya. Chaolan had been so eager to get along with his new brother, but he knew the moment he was put before him – just here (Chaolan stopped in the spot) – that all was not well. He was in Kazuya's garden, next to Kazuya's house, in Kazuya clothes, next to Kazuya's father, and the imperious cold black eyes that looked down on him were already aged with years of hatred, even at the tender age of nine. Chaolan had bowed low – lower than he'd even been instructed, and tried to make his mouth form the right foreign words of greeting. He'd anxiously waited for a reply, and only received a cold stare in return. Heihachi had snapped at Kazuya, forcing him to return the pleasantry. The hatred in Kazuya's eyes only deepened as he looked to Heihachi, and his first words to Chaolan were spoken under duress and in the midst of a battlefield. Even though it had been frightening and upsetting, Chaolan had come away with a grim but hopeful realisation: Kazuya hated him, but he hated Heihachi more.

Chaolan sighed. There was damp crawling up his tight leather trousers and there was still a walk to get to the hut in the middle of the estate where Wang Jinrei lived. Just as he was schooling his mind and reining in his thoughts, he saw a dent in the woodwork of the dojo exterior. He paused and laid his hand on it.

It was low, about the height of child of maybe ten or eleven. About the height of Kazuya at maybe ten or eleven.

He hadn't cried out. Kazuya never cried out. He never made a sound whenever Heihachi raised a hand against him. He only spoke out when it was Chaolan's turn. I don't even remember what Father was beating me for. What had I done? Maybe I did something wrong. More likely I just displeased him. Chaolan rubbed his chin in recollection. I remember sobbing like a pathetic thing, telling Father I'd do better. Hah. Like anyone could do better in his eyes. And Kazuya just. He just snapped. He was so angry and shouting and talking so fast, I couldn't even understand what he was saying. My Japanese wasn't so good then, and I was even a little worried that it was me Kazuya might be angry at. Father told him to stand aside. But he planted himself between us. He was always doing that… He made it look like just a fight between him and Father and always sneered at my attempts to thank him. But he only ever got angry like that when he stood between us…

The splinters from the place Heihachi had thrown Kazuya into the wall had long since been weathered smooth. Only that dent in the woodwork remained. Chaolan frowned, troubled.

A gust of wind shook the dew heavy garden and Chaolan shivered. He drew his jacket over her bare chest and folded his arms. He put his head down and walked.

Lavish gardens with a hundred different species of ornamental tree turned greyish in the miserable weather. Occasional snapping breezes brought lost, intermittent rains. Carefully kept lawns wound on for miles, broken by rock features, a series of artificial lakes, arched bridges, terraces gardens, poised stone devotional statues, and private shrines. Looming as an indistinct shadow ever in the background was Hon-Maru, the enormous pagoda temple set deep in the Mishima estate. Chaolan had never understood his Father's flirtation with spirituality. If Heihachi wanted balance and peace from the world, Chaolan had always been of the mind that he should have started at home. His father would walk alone every other day to the Hon-Maru without fail. Seeing his proud solitary figure striking out through these gardens was always one of the few times Chaolan felt relieved. The closest he got to faith was thanking the powers that be that Heihachi was devout enough to remove himself from the house and visit that temple. Kazuya always took over the house then, ordering people about or brooding undisturbed in his room, but his rule was always preferable to Heihachi's. …Wasn't it?

Wang Jinrei's house was at an intersection between a wild flower meadow, an orchard, and an allotment. The allotment was divided into numerous rows with muddy footpaths and wooden boards between. Climbing plants on trellises lined the rows, along with an assortment of vegetables that Chaolan sinkingly realised he couldn't identify. When he'd first arrived on this estate from Shanghai he'd been mortified at his own lack knowledge. He couldn't name most of the food before him in his own language let alone in another. He'd always been quick on the uptake, finding ways around his own ignorance, dodging the demeaning contempt in Kazuya's eyes, and finding ways to deflect any specific requests made of him by others. ("Chaolan, finish your sashimi."/ "Yes, Father." And eating everything in front of him as quickly as possible. "How did you find the Nanbanzuke?"/ "Everything in the meal was delicious. Thank you very much for such an excellent meal.") At the first opportunity though, he'd set about educating himself – pouring through books or sneaking off to question the domestic servants. He knew the name of almost every delicacy one could sample now. But he still didn't know what most of it looked like before it got to his plate. He couldn't tell one plant from the next, or tell you if what he was eating came of a bush or a tree or underground. Just looking at Jinrei's simple garden plot caused those old inadequacies and fears to stir in him with hated remembrance.

"Chaolan!" Wang Jinrei leaned out from his hut with a bamboo conical hat clasped to his head. "Come in! Come in!" He waved a hand emphatically. Chaolan stepped distastefully through the mud, still clutching his arms about him. He tugged off his muddy boots and stepped inside the house.

It was small, and looked like it had been lavishly decorated once. The interior décor was fine-wrought with steamed wood and careful carving. The tatami was worn, however, and the walls were dark with smoke and hadn't been cleaned in years. A modern stove was in the corner along with a little fitted kitchen, but Chaolan could see tracks of dust lying on it. Instead, an open fire was blazing in the firepit in the centre of the room. Chaolan knelt before the fire and blew on his fingers.

"You silly boy, what did you come out here in just that for." Jinrei threw a blanket over Chaolan's shoulders.

"It was warm last week!" Chaolan offered in his defence.

"You really do choose the most ridiculous things to wear, Chaolan."

"At least I'm living in the twentieth century. What's with all this?" He gestured to the firepit, and then to a number of gas lamps hanging from the ceiling.

"Hmm. Electricity stopped running to here a long time ago." The old man didn't seem too bothered. He smoothed down a fading silk Chinese tunic and hung his bamboo hat up by the door, replacing it with a square cloth cap, rich but with threadbare gold embroidery. He set a blackened kettle over the fire.

"It did?! Don't you have any heating in the winter? Why didn't you say something?"

"Hmm hmm, I don't mind. This little fire serves me well. And besides, it's always worked best for me not to draw too much attention to myself. I have always been under the impression that your father only tolerated me because I wasn't any trouble. And, well, hmm, your brother gave me the same impression. Sometimes I think maybe I'm only still here because dear Kazuya has forgotten about me."

"He knows you're here," Chaolan shook his wet hair, "though he still doesn't have much polite to say about the matter."

"Hmm, did he say he was waiting for me to die?" Chaolan blushed. Jinrei laughed, "hahah, don't worry about it, Heihachi said the same. But here I am and my peas are still growing strong out there in the field."

Chaolan frowned, wondering which the peas were. He'd go home and immediately rectify this missing knowledge.

"What am I here for, Mr Wang? I have a lot of work. I'm running the Zaibatsu at the moment, if you hadn't heard."

"Hmm, a real big shot, hey? Finally made it to the top, Chaolan?"

Chaolan slumped forward and flopped his chin on his folded fingers.

"No…" he said sullenly, "Kazuya just let me take the reins for a bit whilst he's away."

"Still doing all his dirty work?" Jinrei said nonchalantly as he sifted tea leaves into the hot water.

Chaolan scowled at him.

"I'm doing important work. Which is a significant improvement from what he's had me do in the past."

Chaolan hated the way he reverted to sounding like a sulky child around Wang Jinrei. The old man had been one of the few people in his childhood who Chaolan had felt like he could come to and confide in. Jinrei had always spoken softly to him and in his native tongue. He'd helped Chaolan educate himself, correcting his Japanese and filling him in on traditions that were expected but went unexplained. Chaolan had still always been careful though, unsure of what was reported back to Heihachi, since Jinrei seemed to be on speaking terms with him. He could at least unwind a little around Jinrei though. He'd mostly moan about some injustice Kazuya had done to him, or mutter about something he still hadn't got perfect according to Heihachi. Later he'd bring his interests to Jinrei too, talking animatedly about classes in school he enjoyed (sciences and computer technologies), or people he'd met, or girls that he fancied (he never talked about the boys, for fear Heihachi would find out). Jinrei never really had much to add to Chaolan's chattering, but Chaolan wasn't after much. Someone who listened and didn't hit him was the closest he got to a friendly ear in the Mishima household.

"If you let him dictate your future, things will only get worse."

Chaolan sat back, giving Jinrei a look of incredulity.

"No offence, Mr Wang, but since when have you-…" Actually, there wasn't a way of wording that without being offensive, Chaolan realised, a little too late.

"Since when have I cared about the morality of the actions done in the Zaibatsu's name?" Jinrei asked, eyes still canny despite his advancing years. "Since always, Chaolan. But it takes a Mishima to stand up and solve this problem – to lead the Zaibatsu out of darkness and back towards its honourable origins. You aren't a child any more. Things are different now. There is an ear who will listen when I speak up."

"So the reason you didn't bother to try and stop Father is because he wouldn't listen?"

"You're angry with me, Chaolan, as I know Kazuya is too. But I did try to stop your father a long time ago. Jinpachi and I both did. And as a consequence, Jinpachi vanished. It was more important to stay and be present in Kazuya's life than to vanish like his grandfather did."

"Yeah, very important. You really did him a whole bunch of favours by sticking around."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Chaolan. It's true I wasn't much help to Kazuya, but I like to think perhaps my presence here did some good at least to one Mishima."

Chaolan pulled the blanket about his shoulders and leaned back, warming his toes by the fire.

"I'm not a Mishima," he said bitterly.

"Of course you are," Jinrei replied immediately. "What's in a name? What's in some blood? Nothing. Mishima Jinpachi's spirit is embodied more in you than it ever was in Kazuya or Heihachi. To be a Mishima is to have a good heart, honourable principles, to live an upright life."

Chaolan laughed unhappily and drove his hand back through his hair.

"That's not me at all."

"But it is, my boy. You're losing your way under Kazuya, but it doesn't have to go on like this."

Chaolan's gaze flickered. He looked at the old man guardedly, sipping from a small cup of tea.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you're in charge for now. Well, what if it wasn't just for now. Lock him out of the accounts. Write him out of the paperwork. Denounce him for corruption and sweep aside every black mark he's put to the Zaibatsu name."

Chaolan spat out his tea into the fire. It sputtered and crackled.

"Are you insane?! He'd kill me!"

"Ach ach, stop that nonsense, Chaolan. I've seen you both grow up together. Kazuya is tough, but he's not unbeatable. If anyone can do it, you can."

"He destroyed me in that tournament! And when we last sparred!" Chaolan didn't want to think too hard about that. "What's wrong with you, are you mad?! He won that tournament fair and square! Everything's in his name! I don't even know if he's got a will, and if so, if I'm on it! I have no claim to anything and-"

"You're panicking. Calm down. I'm not suggesting you do this thoughtlessly. Train with me. Hone your martial skills here, and put that clever brain of yours to work to cut him out of the Zaibatsu."

"Oh and I suppose I'll just magically improve under your tutelage in time to stop him coming for my blood?!"

"Don't worry about Kazuya for now, he'll have other things on his mind. I'm talking about you, Chaolan. Think about how much good you could do. Take back the Zaibatsu and restore its honour the way Mishima Jinpachi would have wanted. Think about the future of the company and how you could improve it. Dare to dream a little."

"Mr Wang, I dream in black and white. I dream of realities. And I dream of survival. You of all people should know what that-…" Chaolan cut himself off and his eyes suddenly narrowed as he thought back on Jinrei's words. "What did you mean 'Kazuya will have other things on his mind'?"

"Nevermind that, I'm trying to help you see the bigger picture here, Chaolan. Do you want to be in your brother's shadow forever? You want to keep doing the work of a monster?"

Chaolan hesitated. A third eye opening, curling horns erupting, long talons extending, enormous wings bursting out of Kazuya's back.

"Why would you… call him that?"

"A monster? He is a monster. You've seen what he's done to that company first hand. The terrible, terrible things he does. And while rumours don't leave these grounds, Chaolan, they certainly do circulate within it. I hear he gave you quite the beating when you were last here…"

"Shut up." Chaolan set his cup down and stood, shaking off the blanket. "I've heard enough of your madness."

"Do not be afraid, Chaolan. Do not let your fears lead you into regrets. Into weakness."

"Weakness?" Chaolan snapped, wheeling round. "You don't get to lecture me about fear and weakness! So this was your end game? Watching child abuse for years in the hope that once the children grew up they'd grow the spine you never did? You were someone to talk at, but you never had my back. You have no idea what Kazuya and I fucking went through together! I was weak in the past, yes. Weak like you. Weak for not standing up for him the way he did for me. Well, now I'm making up for lost time. I know who I'm standing with. He may be a monster, but he can change. He is changing. Unlike one sad old man I know."

Chaolan banged open the hut door and plunged his feet into his boots.

"Chaolan, come back inside. It's raining and you're still wearing only that silly jacket. Come in and talk about this."

"I'm done talking," Chaolan strode off down the muddy track, kicking a trellis supporting climbing plants as he did so, "and my jacket is gorgeous, so fuck you!"

The autumnal mist clung close on his drive back. The air hung heavy with moisture and the peaty unknown of a wilder forest country that had always remained an enigma to Chaolan. He belonged in cities. The silent arms of old tree boughs always felt judgemental, as if the old earth around him could see through the careful layers he'd built up over the years to hide himself. The stillness of the world beyond the high life of skyscrapers had a way of showing up his veneer and pretences. It was harder to pretend he belonged in the Mishima's world when there was only the sky, the soil, and the stretches of fields that swayed in low moaning winds, sunken with hidden streams that sung songs of solitude.

He pulled up at the side of the road. The rumble of the engine fell silent. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He lit up a cigarette and got out.

He was nowhere in particular. Dark trees leaned over grey tarmac, pooling cold shadows over his sports car. He felt a chill again. The warm smoke in his mouth couldn't warm him up. He breathed the smoke out through his nose and frowned, chewing his lip.

'Don't worry about Kazuya for now, he'll have other things on his mind'.

Just what did the old man mean by that? Did he know something Chaolan didn't? Uncertainties curled in Chaolan's chest. An ominous pressing sense of foreboding crawled into him and wouldn't be dislodged. He scratched his head and swore slightly. He reached back into the car and brought out his mobile phone. He looked at it, wondering what to do. Eventually he dialled.

"Hey, Shin Jae-suk speaking."

"Hello, Satsuma."

"Chaolan! Ah, it's so good to hear your voice. Everything alright?"

Chaolan's mouth made the shape of a smile and lies bloomed on his lips. He hesitated. The smile slowly faded.

"Yes, yes, everything's alright. You booked your tickets already?"

"Not yet, I was going to do it this evening. The days have been crazy here – we've been doing a photoshoot today."

"Mmm," Chaolan rested his elbows on the car bonnet, letting his imagination run wild. "Are you shirtless and in tight trousers?"

"What?! No! I'm in ski trousers and a duffel jacket with goggles and a hat and sunglasses and-"

"Hahaha, I know, I know. Let a guy dream why don't you."

"The photoshoot's for promotional stuff, you want people seeing me like that?"

"Hmm, I don't care as long as I get a blown up version that I can pin to my ceiling whilst you're away."

"You're such a shameless flirt, Lee Chaolan." There was a comfortable pause, then Jae-suk continued. "Do you want to talk about what's upsetting you?"

Chaolan frowned. He kept his voice light.

"I never said I was upset. Except about not getting racy pictures of you in king size."

"It's okay if you'd rather not. I never want to push you into talking if you don't want to."

"Push me into talking? Hahaha, I'm reliably told I never shut up, Satsuma."

There was silence. Chaolan's face soured. Jae-suk was getting too perceptive, seeing through him to the bitter core within. A fraction of him so badly wanted to reach out and take that lifeline, but another part of him was already shutting down those avenues as quickly as they opened.

"You shouldn't book the flights," Chaolan said.

"What? Why not?! Has something happened?"

"Not yet." Chaolan's heart hurt. He'd been looking forward to Jae-suk coming to stay for nearly two weeks. "But something's going to happen. I don't know what. I just have this feeling. And you shouldn't be here when it does."

"Chaolan, I want to be there for you. Let me in. Let me share a little of your burdens."

"You do not want the shit I'm carrying around." Silence. Chaolan shut his eyes and breathed out another ream of smoke. "Sorry, I'm sorry. This is difficult for me. I'll try to do better, okay?"

"Okay…" Jae-suk said uncertainly. "So… can I still fly out and see you this weekend?"

Chaolan looked up into the gathering gloom beneath the wild twisted tree trunks. The wind snapped at his jacket, sending pimples up over his skin and numbing his fingers. He took another long drag on his cigarette.

"Another time. There are things I have to look into for Kazuya this weekend."

"You give up so much of your time for your brother…" Jae-suk left unsaid the end of that sentence: the implication that such effort went unreciprocated.

"Indeed, I do. You have a problem with that?"

"No, no of course not." Jae-suk sounded unhappy. Chaolan heard him sigh on the other end of the line. "Look after yourself, Chaolan. I know you won't let anyone else do it."

"I'll call you when things have calmed down. I'm probably just being paranoid."

"Alright. I love you. Goodbye."

"… Goodbye." Chaolan hung up.

He sucked on the end of his cigarette and tapped the phone on the car bonnet. He blew smoke slowly out between his teeth. He stayed staring at the dark forest before him for a long while. He tossed the stub and got back into the car, checking his watch. It was getting late, but Anna Williams would probably still be overseeing the work at Kazuya's apartment. If he put his foot to the metal, perhaps he could get there before the day finished. There might be some distractions that would take his attention away from his current dilemmas.

Author Note: Lee storming away from Jinrei's house shouting that his jacket is gorgeous is one of my favourite parts of this story. There are lots of conflicting versions of what Lee did prior to TK2, so I decided to with a nod to one version, and instead to have Lee stay loyal to Kaz. He gets accused of being loyal to him by Heihachi, and in my head it was hard to reconcile that with a choice to go off and join with Jinrei, and it works better for the arc I wanted to tell that he does this this way. Having him slide into the shoes Kazuya left makes for quite bleak reading, I apologise, but I have sort of picked the bleakest part of these characters' lives to retell... It felt important to point out that even though Lee feels like he owes it to Kazuya to stick up for him, he is being pulled into Kazuya's greyer and greyer morality as a consequence. My next story is much shorter and much lighter don't worry- we get lots of Lee fussing over Jin and trying to look after him.

Two more chapters to go, so we'll be done on December 30th, bringing this story to a neat close at the end of the year! It's the third biggish novel I've written this year and I'm pretty excited to have learned so much and to have gotten more efficient at sitting down and writing things from start to finish :)