"I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons."
-Daenerys Targaryen
PART ONE. "He who returns from a journey…
Yin, Capital City of Yi Ti
314 AC
The yiji called 'Beautiful Flower' or Shen Xiuying had knelt down on her knees beside Duncan Mormont, leaned forward at the waist, and chastely kissed him on the right cheek.
"That's cheating," said Duncan sharply. "We agreed that if I won the last round, it would be a full kiss on the lips."
'Clever Always' or Hu Qiaolian, the madame with almost porcelain white skin, and mirthful dark blue eyes, had translated Duncan's brazen statement in the Common Tongue back to YiTish. A fresh round of excited giggles erupted from around them. Cries of encouragement soon came from the other singing girls. Beautiful Flower had blushed profusely upon hearing their chants and had hidden her pretty heart-shaped face behind her dainty hands as if she had been asked to commit some sort of ultimate sin.
Yet, Duncan soon noticed that her fingers cracked apart to reveal her attractive hazel eyes, which had locked onto his mouth with the precision of a Shadowcat. And, as if she had taken aim, the girl had shot forward and planted her soft lips onto his own.
They lingered there for a few moments, perhaps for a moment too long. Was it an invitation? A promise of things soon to come?
Mormont remembered what he'd been told of 'singing girls' or what the YiTish often called Yiji, or Geji. They were perhaps the closest comparison to whores back in Westeros. Yet unlike their Western counterparts, Yiji were more so meant to act as entertainers who called upon singing and dancing as their profession. Though it was possible that yiji among the lower castes would perform more… lusty services.
Beautiful Flower, however, was among the higher caste, it seemed. She was likely proficient in the arts of her calling-she would be able to dance like flowing water, and would know perhaps over nine dozen different songs down to the last syllable. And she had already shared with him several YiTish poems that she herself had found enlightening and entertaining in her own time. But of course, such things were of no use to Duncan Mormont, who, as a brazen and coarse laowai, a foreigner, at the bright age of nine-and-ten, had more base tastes in women than not.
The kiss had been met with animated applause, which had died quickly and respectfully. Across the squat and square ivory table from Duncan Mormont, sat a powerful, chunky man in opulent scarlet-red robes adorned with ivory and sapphire gems. He had taken the bamboo smoking pipe out from his mouth and had rested it gently on the table in front of him. "Zūnjià," said Xi Mao, of the YiTish Banking Clan. "We will now play this hysterical game again, and I promise you in advance, that you will not win." The large brown face carved from stone which Duncan had gotten to know so well over the past moon had split into a wide grin. Yet the jet-brown eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits. He meant business.
Duncan laughed uproariously. "Alright, Mao. But first, more baijiu! And not in these absurd portions fit for a mouse. I've already had seven shots of the stuff and it's as ineffective at getting me drunk as it reeks of poison. I shall be needing a full flagon of baijiu if I'm to continue demonstrating the superiority of Westerosi instinct over that of the inhabitants of the Far East. Say, is there perhaps a neat wooden tankard among all the cabinets of Ming back there?"
"Zūnjià. Tankards are not respected in higher society. Your knowledge of our social classes after being here for over a moon is as nonexistent as your drinking habits are atrocious." Mao turned to the madame and shared a few spirited sentences in YiTish with her, which Duncan merely assumed was at his own expense and his own abnormal appetites.
Finally, the madame turned to Beautiful Flower and said a few unintelligible words in YiTish. The girl bowed low and left the room. Mao turned back to Duncan and grinned eagerly. "You have earned much respect, Zūnjià. The madame says that in the history of this famed establishment, only warriors of great fortitude and strength have demanded such quantities of baijiu. She says you are undoubtedly a nine-flask man." The eager grin then turned sly. "But she also says that you will prove to be a poor companion for Beautiful Flower once the evening comes to an end."
"In that case, I shan't need Beautiful Flower! Perhaps I might wish to indulge in the gracious madame's own more mature appeal. She will certainly make up for any sort of underperformance on my part, as unlikely as it is to happen."
His intoxicated boldness had gotten exactly what it deserved. After giving the older woman a wink, Duncan heard the subsequent eruption of spirited YiTish come from between her lips.
Mao translated. "Zūnjià. This is a woman of humility. She has a husband whom she is happy with and politely declines your advances. She fully admits that she would be unable to keep up with you in bed as she would with drinks. However, she also says that one day soon, you will find your desire for both to be snuffed out permanently."
"Hah! As unlikely as it is, I'll accept the old hag's warning. She's clearly never hosted an Umber in this place, much less a Northman." Said Duncan with an unaffected grin.
The dinner party had been going on for the last two hours or so, and Duncan felt compelled to simply continue with the reserved politeness as was called upon a guest, especially one being hosted by a man as prominent as Mao, who was perhaps one of the most powerful men in Yi Ti, below the Azure Emperor himself, of course.
Still, Duncan had been attempting to make the party go. And he knew that with each obstacle sent his way, Mao was watching him with an almost sadistic pleasure and perhaps childlike curiosity to see how he would maneuver it. After all, the party had likely cost Mao a small fortune, either from his own pockets or the funds raised from his clan or wherever the man seemed to get his silver. And that the gesture of a private dinner party of seventeen courses, along with a slew of yiji to top it all off, was itself a great honor. So much an honor, that Duncan knew he simply had to put on a good face every step of the way.
Beautiful Flower had returned to their table, now with a much larger porcelain flask containing the colorless transparent fluid with a smell so potent it reminded Duncan of Old Torwyn's shelf of toxic substances, and of the Braavosi Firebrand that his father kept tucked in the stone cellars beneath Bear Keep. There was a look of beaming adoration in the quiet girl's hazel eyes as she offered up the flask to him. He took it with his right paw, downed it in two tremendous gulps, and then handed it back to the girl so more baijiu had to be fetched from the kitchens. It was then that he looked down at the two small perfectly cut cubes made of jade on the white ivory table.
Apparently, the YiTish had a far more varied, and perhaps even more studious collection of games to pass the time, yet Mao, much like Duncan, had been raised on dice. Duncan had initially wished to play Chess, but he soon discovered that the YiTish did not play Chess, but instead played a more abstract variation called Go. Learning how to play Go after dinner would've been hell. As such, dice had sufficed.
Duncan slammed his closed right fist down on the table and said with determined belligerence, "Alright, Mao! Let's do this!"
It was the regular game of dice played by both common people and nobles alike all over the Seven Kingdoms, and apparently Yi Ti as well. There were two dice, and each of the sides held a number of circles ranging from one to six. One of the players would scoop up the dice in one hand, slam his fist twice against the table, and then release the dice, letting them roll out onto the board. His number would be revealed, and then the next player would roll. Whoever rolled the highest number would win. It was a game of pure chance.
Mao gently rested his fist opposite Duncan's and nodded accordingly. The two men looked carefully into each other's eyes. There was complete and absolute silence in the box-like wood and paper-screened room.
To stare into another man's eyes in Yi Ti was strangely enough, almost akin to an insult, and supposedly the easiest way to make enemies. Yet Mao had done business with those in the Free Cities, the Summer Islands, and even in Slavers' Bay. He was accustomed to the foreign and had been in his fair shake of staredowns.
Yet that itself wasn't the present matter. Mao had said that he would win, and he was the host. A man's word in Yi Ti was one of the most sacred things he could give to those in his care, definitely more so than in Westeros. How else could he be trustworthy if his word couldn't be taken seriously? If Mao were to lose, it might even result in a loss of business, and he would have to apologize to Duncan. Word of it might spread from the yiji, the YiTish courtesans, and out to those who knew Mao personally. And Duncan, ever mindful of the well-being of those he called friends, thought that it might be better to lose this time around.
But to lose would require the same amount of effort as it would take to win. Dice was a game of chance, of pure luck. And so, Duncan merely shrugged. What did it matter, anyway? It wasn't really the end of the world. Perhaps then, the man across from him might bring up some problem in his bonnet that Duncan could solve, and perhaps a prize which he might be able to take back home to Robb Stark.
Mao, perhaps with the insight blessed upon him by his ancestors, had also seen the problem. "Zūnjià!" He laughed harshly, making it sound more like a shout. "Of course, at a party such as this, with myself as the host and you as my honored guest, it would be excellent manners for me to let you win this trivial game. It would even be required of me. This is why I must apologize in advance for beating you at it!"
Duncan erased any guilt he might've felt upon hearing the courageous boast. "Well, in that case, Mao, I will have no problem erasing my conscience before I handily destroy you. It would, of course, be a great insult if you played to lose, and there's no point in playing if you are not playing to win. But please, by all means, tell our distinguished audience your provocative declaration in YiTish. And also tell them that I shall proceed with shoving your nose in the ground at this absurd game and prove the superiority of Westeros, and particularly the North, over that of your precious Golden Empire."
Had Duncan paired up with any other man from Yi Ti, they would have been insulted by the back-and-forth trade of insults and japes at one another's line of country. Of course, back in the North, taking the piss out of one another during social occasions was practically mandatory, yet here in the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, the locals considered themselves far more sophisticated and elevated above younger civilizations, all of which had been unsurprisingly labeled as barbaric and heathen.
Mao, however, had merely adopted his usual wicked smirk. "We shall see if you can back up your strong words, Zūnjià. As my guest, it is your go first." He nodded to the two jade dice. "Three games of three?"
"Right," said Duncan belligerently. He took the large porcelain flask offered again by Beautiful Flower, now refilled with baijiu, downed it all once more, and handed it back to the girl. Then he crashed his right fist down on the ivory table and took the two jade cubes into his palm. The vertices and points of each side felt like pinpricks against his skin.
Two times he crashed his closed fist down on the table, and on the third he released the dice, letting them fall onto the smooth ivory surface.
Facing up, the first die had shown three white dots in a diagonal line. The second had shown five in the usual x formation. A total of eight.
Now it was Mao's turn. He took up the dice and repeated Duncan's motion of crashing his fist against the table. And just before the third strike, he opened his closed fist and let the dice fall. They clicked hard against the ivory and settled. A four and a two. Equaling six. One to Duncan.
Once more the ritual began and the moment of truth ensued. Duncan had rolled a five and a one, while Mao had rolled a six and a five. One all.
Mao closed his eyes and smiled, as if deep in thought. "I have you now, Zūnjià. You will not get away this time."
"We'll see about that, Mao," Duncan smirked as he picked up the dice again.
He repeated the drunken ritual. When the dice rested on the table, he smiled. Two sixes, making out twelve. Mao proceeded to roll a four and a three. First game to Duncan.
The second game was far more of a mix-up. Immediately they had both rolled doubles, and of the same numbers, which meant that they both needed to reroll. It allowed them both time to get a sense of the other's psychology, however ineffective it was, considering that the results of the game were purely by chance. Mao had won the second game. One for both of them.
Last game! Both men had looked at one another with the intensity of two knights at a grand tourney. They locked eyes and stared. Was there a small flash of red within those dark brown eyes that Duncan had seen?
Duncan won in two straight games. Blunting Mao's six with a nine, and destroying his ten with an eleven.
Mao had bowed low, and Duncan, out of respect, had bowed even lower. He searched for some sort of remark to break the usual aftergame tensions. He found it. "We really ought to get your fellow bankers in on this sort of game. Supposedly this is what the Iron Bank does with other people's money."
Mao laughed graciously, and Duncan noted, with controlled courtesy. "You play well, Zūnjià. What was the method to your strategy?"
"Oh, I'm simply a gambling man. It's all or nothing for me."
His throwaway fact about himself had gotten by. Mao bowed again, and Duncan drank more baijiu from the offered flask, toasting Mao as his host.
Now that the tension between the two men had been broken, the yiji girls sitting around them had all given a round of applause, and the madame had instructed Beautiful Flower to give Duncan another full kiss on the lips. She did so, this time more eagerly than the last. Oh, how soft the lips of YiTish women were! Practically weightless, too. There seemed a certain grace that their Western counterparts lacked altogether.
He soon got to imagining the sort of things he'd do to this girl later that evening when Mao had said, "Duncan," his voice was firm, and Duncan had instantly taken note of the serious usage of his first name, and not the honorific 'Zūnjià' that he'd been given. "We have matters to discuss, you and I. Will you do me the honor of having a private drink at my home?"
Duncan had immediately put aside the unworthy thoughts he'd been having about the girl. Supposedly, to be invited to the private home of a noble, of an aristocrat, meant that great favor had been shown upon the guest. Perhaps he'd done right to win this childish game after all! This might even mean some sort of lead for him to follow, a way to obtain a prize for Robb Stark, and to appease his father.
Duncan bowed. "The honor would be all mine, Mao."
Precisely an hour later they were both sitting cross-legged and on either side of a thin table made of bamboo wood and a large tray of drinks between them.
Beyond the opened partitioned window, Duncan could clearly see the long line of pointed rooftops that made up the harbor district below the hill where Mao's private home sat. Far beyond the harbor was the Jade Sea itself, and the sky above was turning into a dark purplish blue, while deep in the west, the sun still burned a bright crimson and orange as it began to set below the edge of the horizon.
Mao's home had been surprisingly simple, especially for a man who counted among the aristocracy. Yet Duncan knew that such men had many private homes they could go to any time they liked. This place likely had been designed so as to get away from the hustle and bustle that came with courtly intrigue and the stresses of business. Even from inside the square-box room they now sat, there were about four other partitions opened to reveal a bedroom, an office, a dining room, and a passage leading out to the garden.
Mao had opened each of the screens before they sat down. He said, "In Westeros, your people close all doors and windows before divulging secrets. Well, in Yi Ti, we open our doors and our windows so that no secrets can be held from the gods. And what you and I shall be discussing is of most divine importance." He let out a deep sigh and fixed his gaze once more on Duncan. "There is enough baijiu for you? You have the smoking leaf you prefer? Good. Listen to what I am about to share with you and swear on your honor that you shall not divulge it to anyone."
It was then that Mao narrowed his brown-black eyes dangerously at Duncan, and it seemed as if he were suddenly an entirely different man. "If you were to break your oath, I would have no choice but to remove you from the face of the earth."
