I am not dead.
To those of you who are still persevering in following this story, I am truly grateful. I'll be honest, the chapters are getting harder and harder to write as the story starts moving. But no matter how long I take, I promise I am not dead and this story is not dead. I will absolutely finish it, no matter what or how long it takes or how annoyed I become with it. Not to mention, school is a lot harder this year than last year so an increased workload combined with decreased motivation means I write a lot slower.
I don't have much to say about this chapter except that you get to see an interesting side of Shen. I tried to keep all the scenarios as realistic as possible, but since I am posting this as I go, it's not going to be perfect, no matter how hard I try. Feel free to make commentary, but also please bear with me in that regard.
Again, all reviews, alerts and favorites are noticed and go a long way in making me feel motivated to continue writing. Thank you very much for your patience and encouragement.
Summary: The paths Shen took in the past seem only to lead deeper into darkness. But through the eyes of those who have woven themselves into his life, a new story unfolds-one leading away from old misery and guilt-that may yet bring him redemption. Slight AU. Chapter 8-Shen and Min, both tense after the dinner incident take turns calling each other out on key flaws.
Chapter 8
Shen.
Shen had fumed for days following the dinner with the peahen. A good portion of his anger was dedicated to her audacity, but the other portion was aimed at the peafowl nobles she claimed to represent. To think that they would go so far as to send a spy to him, and that they thought they could blackmail him! He had no need of their support. They had never been there in the past, and he didn't need them now. Truly, it was in their best interests to comply with him, lest he blast their fancy manors to smithereens, those foul hypocrites.
They have only ever tried to usurp me, he thought acidly. They put on a pretty face for show, but I could always hear what they said of me. How dare they treat me like a petty obstacle?
That peahen may have thought she had the upper hand, may have interpreted his inaction as resignation, but Shen had other ideas. Admittedly, her sudden transformation from awkward, suspicious peasant to blatantly insolent noblewoman had thrown him for a moment. Shen felt his train flatten against the floor in cold fury at the memory of her smirk as she excused herself from the table. Eventually, she would have to make contact with whichever family she represented, and then he would know where and how to strike. Either that, or Shen would allow no word of his business to leave the city by her hand, and a silent spy was a useless one as far as Shen was concerned.
However, there were several things that continued to bother him about her. She was not being reticent only about where she came from. There was something more in her eyes, particularly when her appearance was in question. Normally, it would not strike Shen as odd that one of noble birth would be offended if their appearance were insulted, but it was not that typical, superficial indignation that he had grown accustomed to seeing in his youth. With this peahen, he could see other emotions driving forward like a knife thrust from her bright eyes—emotions akin to resentment, bitterness, and even a touch of resignation to an ugly truth. It was odd how much her eyes reminded him of his own, staring scornfully at his own reflection, at all the aspects of himself that he hated.
Shen was aware of the tenuous balance he would have to maintain with a spy in his midst. Simply executing her was always a consideration, but there was little benefit he could gain from that, considering how little information she had offered.
I could extract information by force. The idea of torture left a bad taste in his mouth. He wasn't that desperate. Besides, there was no guarantee she would succumb to it. From his observations, it was evident why she had been chosen for this sort of mission. Vexing and audacious as she was, she was not a sniveling weakling who would give up without a fight. It was hard to believe she had any noble blood in her for that matter. In any case, patience was likely his best option for getting what he wanted—patience and clever prying.
What mattered most to him at the moment was revitalizing his army as quickly as possible before any rebellions managed to gain footing in the conquered provinces. Shen had holed himself up in his war room for days on end after the dinner, reliving the battle with the barbarian hoard that had brought him some renown among his citizens.
He sat examining the blue prints for his cannons, drumming his feathered fingers on the table. The cannons had been infinitely useful in the battle—at a long distance. Once the barbarians had closed in, everything fell into hand-to-hand combat again and the advantage of firearms dissipated quickly. There had to be improvements he could make—but what?
"What is it about war that gives you so much joy?"
Shen whipped around at the grating, familiar voice. The peahen stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She was dressed in pale lavender robes lined with prominent violet stitching—royal colors. It was as though she meant to offend just by her choice of wardrobe.
"Who let you in here?" Shen demanded, his hands clenching. "Do you think you have free reign in this house?"
"You had no guards," she replied, her face a mask.
"Perhaps I shall assign some if you continue to assume you can go snooping wherever you please. Now get out."
"Maybe you forgot why I'm here. Certainly not to sit in my room and observe furniture," said the peahen, folding her arms and stepping farther into the room.
Shen swept his tail into her path, forcing her to stop. "You. Out. Now," he spat. The last thing he wanted was for her to get a good look at his war plans. The main reason for his dominance was the fact that no one else knew how to replicate his cannons yet.
"You could just answer my question," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Why should you care about my motives?" he retorted, turning away and returning to his place at the table. He pulled some of his more important papers toward him and turned them over. If the peahen was going to be obstinate, he would at least take the time to draw some answers out of her.
"I simply don't understand how you could possibly be so excited by the idea of causing death and destruction. You've been sitting in this room for days. It's as though you enjoy being here," she said, and Shen's eyes narrowed at the way her beak curled in disgust.
"Do not give me that look," he said in a low, dangerous voice. She straightened up in alarm at his sudden change in tone. "That look on your face is one I never want to see again, and if you do that ever again, I will cut your face open. I can't believe I couldn't tell you were of high birth from the start. Nobles are all the same, all judging me as though they are better than me. You are all a bunch of scavengers, hovering around me and my family like crows, searching for a weak point, waiting to usurp us. Maybe you thought I was the weak point you had been waiting for, but you thought wrong. It is not war that brings me joy, peahen," Shen snarled, "it is the power—the power to sweep the ground from underneath your conniving little feet and power to clip your wings when you try to fly from me. Does that answer satisfy you?"
The peahen looked appropriately stricken, and Shen turned away and allowed himself a smug smile at having successfully silenced her.
She was only quiet for a moment, however. Instead of leaving, she replied, "That doesn't justify waging war on everyone else. Some of the provinces you invaded had not even heard of you, much less tried to usurp you. What does conquering China have anything to do with exacting revenge on scheming vassals?"
"Who would underestimate the one who united the provinces under and iron fist? Who would dare talk back to an emperor and invade his personal space without permission?" Shen glared at the peahen for good measure. "How often have I been discounted as weak because of my color? Surely you of all people could understand what it means to be judged based on appearance," he said sardonically. The peahen blushed with anger, and Shen grinned at her indignation. "But enough of that. I refuse to play anyone else's game but my own. From now on, I make my own rules, and those who won't follow them shall be crushed beneath my feet."
"That's it then?" she said, trembling with fury. "Everything is just a game to you? It is fun to you to play with other people's lives just so you can feel better about yourself, just because people judged you in the past. Get over yourself."
He could feel an old anger rising—not a fiery anger as in his temper tantrums, but one that ran deep inside him, cold in his heart. It was a feeling of being barely on the verge of snapping, yet somehow he was able to contain himself, and he felt the venom of resentment and hatred channel itself into a singular point. Of course everything was a game to him. How stupid of her to be so surprised. He looked at her and saw the exact same person as anyone he had ever met. He saw his advisors, his tutors, his subjects, even his own parents—all looking back at him with that same self-righteous knowing. Everything was a game because that's all his life had ever been to anyone else. Play by these rules, Shen. You can't do this. You can't do that. That is wrong. That is immoral, not right, evil. What ever gave them the right to say what was good or evil, as though they were simple matters of black and white?
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or do you admit that I'm right about you?" the peahen snapped at his long silence.
The knife flew from his hand before either of them realized what was happening. The silver blade whizzed across the room and the peahen let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Shen numbly gazed down at his hand, still extended where he had loosed the knife. He looked at the peahen, sprawled on the floor, holding her cheek where the knife had grazed her, blood flowing down her arm and neck. She stared up at him accusingly, breathing heavily.
The peahen's eyes always told him everything he needed to know. They told him when she was uncomfortable or lying or angry. Right now her eyes challenged him. She was not afraid, even though he could continue to hurt her. She was surprised that she had been able to goad him that far. What Shen fixated on, though, was the triumph. She had been judging him, and despite the fact that she never knew his whole story, she believed she had judged him correctly, and he had just proved everything she needed to know the instant he had thrown that knife.
"No," Shen murmured. "You're wrong. You think you know everything, but you know nothing—nothing at all. I hate your judgment, and I hate you. You think you are better than me, but you and I are really so alike. Everyone is so alike and none of you are better than me! The only difference between us is that my weapons are made of metal and gunpowder while yours are made of words! You are all hypocrites, and I hate you the way you hate me. Now, for the last time, peahen, get out before I make you bleed even more."
This time, slowly, she stood and obeyed, backing out the door. Just before she vanished from sight, Shen heard her mutter, "I'm sorry." He sat, statuesque, as he listened to her footfalls fade as she hurried down the hall. Shen closed his eyes slowly, feeling a headache pounding to life.
Sorry. He let out a disbelieving laugh that came out shaky. "Who's sorry?" he said, chuckling like a madman. He felt as though he had recently come out of a great battle and was giddy with adrenaline. But who won? he wondered.
It was true. Life was a game. There were always winners and losers, but how could one tell which was which? It all depended on the rules one played by. Either way, it was a vicious, gory game-every animal for himself. Shen knew, in the end, the only one he could count on was himself. Sorry, he thought, recalling the peahen's barely audible words. What did "sorry" matter in the end? It was only a word, and compared to tangible weapons like swords and cannons, words were merely wind. Words were nothing. Words did nothing. They were so foggy and useless. Yet he could not shake the feeling that in all the battles he had ever fought, in and out of war, the weapons made of words were the most poisonous, painful, lethal sort of them all.
Min is not guiltless herself. She's got a lot of her own act to clean up before she can really start criticizing Shen. Next chapter will either be her or Lang (Boss Wolf).
I'll be getting the KFP2 dvd for Christmas so that should help motivate me! Yay!