The City of Giyara, Yi Ti
314 AC
Just as the shaded blue edges of the sky turned into a pale orange, Duncan Mormont opened his eyes.
Without hesitation, he slung himself out of the double bed that had been assigned to him the evening prior, casually tossing over the silken sheets and feeling his bare feet meet the cool woolen carpet on the floor.
The 'Ruby Quarters' of the Jade Palace, one of the finest establishments in the city of Giuyara, was about as opulent as one could expect judging from its name alone. Duncan had been given a wide-open villa with two adjoining guest rooms, a master bedroom, and a full den which afforded him every utility or amenity that he could ask for.
He did not pay for the villa itself, but neither did that mean it was given to him free of charge.
Precisely a week after Mormont had been invited to Mao's home, where the latter had informed him of the proud murder-happy Cult of Starry Wisdom which was currently terrorizing the lower-class peoples of the YiTish population throughout the Empire, had Duncan been told to pack his meager belongings. They would be making for Giuyara, a fine YiTish sister city, which also served as Mao's personal headquarters.
Mormont knew more or less that he had been conscripted into fighting this sadistic gang of felons-it would be downright impossible for him to acquire his fortune any other way in Yi Ti, and Mao had practically stipulated that this was a 'once in a lifetime opportunity for a laowai'
All of Mormont's objections had been overridden. Naturally, he despised the ill, occultist practices of this Yellow King and his band of cannibal star worshipers. Yet the almost coincidental, and convenient fact that Duncan had been exactly what the Empire needed to put this cult to the sword, had initially discouraged him. Even if Mao had brought up the most recent exploits of House Mormont-it only unnerved Duncan more than it flattered him.
Duncan, of course, had no prior experience with such clandestine operations. It was made clear to him that if after several moons, no actual results came of his involvement, then he'd be turned away and given a ship that would take him anywhere he liked. In any case, Mao had reasoned that Mormont would have been hired to do this in exchange for not only all of the gold, wealth, and social standing he could ask for, but also the favor of the Azure Emperor himself-perhaps even enough to open up relations as well as trade between Westeros and Yi Ti, which it in of itself would be a great boon to Mormont's home country. Was this not enough to will him to act? Mormont had reluctantly agreed that it did, and found himself sourly going along with the older man's orders.
He shook his head, attempting to plunge his doubts to the depths of his mind. There was only one way to kick oneself out of disbelief; to sweat it out.
Mormont jumped off the bed with renewed vigor and got down onto the floor, doing fifty slow press-ups, lingering over each one so that his muscles burned to the point of exhaustion. When his arms could stand the strain no longer, he rolled onto his back, placed his hands behind his head, and did fifty bicycle crunches in sets of five, each in quick succession. His stomach muscles smoldered and tightened under the stress of the back-and-forth cycling of him touching his elbows to his knees again and again.
Once he had finished all of his sets, he stood up and wiped the beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead and into his brows. He went to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, quickly finding his trousers and a clean shirt. He slipped them on, as well as his boots, and made for the door.
The main room in the villa was dark, though the gleam of the sun began to shine through the high windows towards the arched ceiling. The plastered walls were covered in painted tapestries depicting the native YiTish jungles, with great sprawling trees curtained in masses of leaves and shrubs surrounded by a thick mist. The tapestries all seemed to be connected into one great visage of the YiTish countryside, with the jungles eventually leading out into the low grasslands, and then finally, out towards the watercolored blue Jade Sea; with ships and islands also in the distance. It was a collection of various works of art that seamlessly, and effortlessly, fit together.
No matter how many times Duncan passed by it, he always seem to stop for a moment to appreciate its beauty. Even if it was a facsimile of the real thing-it was almost otherworldly how painters and artists could come so very close to capturing the essence of life in their heads. What cards these YiTish are.
Mormont broke away after a few seconds and remembered his purpose. He passed by the dining area; a low and long bamboo table which could seat up to eight, though Mormont knew he wouldn't be needing more than two of the seats at the table. He soon found the main door to his villa and opened it, closing the door shut behind him as he went.
A quiet descent down the flight of stairs, and he passed by the main desk where he'd first checked the night prior with Mao, and went out the entryway. Outside, the sky was just beginning to bloom into a golden orange.
Training took precedence over pretty much everything. Even eating. It was a habit which had been instilled in Duncan since he was old enough to walk. His father had been ruthless in teaching him the essentials; being physically strong would always be of benefit to him, and it would simultaneously help him become mentally tough as well. Later, he could eat or drink whatever he wanted, but only after he trained for the day. That was the rule. And it was one that Duncan had found most advantageous in his life.
There were no immediate emergencies to attend to, and in light of the grand task ahead of him, it was highly likely that he'd get tangled up in some sort of clandestine operation-which also meant he'd be engaging others in open combat. As such, he had to be absolutely fit. Duncan wouldn't personally accept anything less.
Mormont ran five laps around the great market square of Giuyara, which was more of a full-blown bazaar. As shopkeepers were setting up their stalls for the day, they'd occasionally see the tall, strong, white-faced young man running by with sweat running down his brows. The old women among them would shake their heads and mutter a few words of exasperation at the carelessness of the laowai. How rude of him to not mind the chickens and goats! A boy like that ought to be working in the mines and not running about the streets like a no-good vagrant! Likewise, the old men would simply adorn a slight upward turn of their lips in approval. For any young man worth his salt in Yi Ti would be training to the best of his ability. It was a cultural responsibility more than anything.
Once he was finished with his cardio, he made his way back to the Jade Palace. As he stepped inside, he saw the main proprietor of the inn standing by the entry desk; an elderly woman named Yü-lan. She was probably about seventy years old, and had the look of a woman who had long since given up the pretense of being overly interested in her guests. She gave him an appraising look, just as she did the evening prior, and stepped forward to greet him.
"Good morning, Gōng Dun-can," She said in stilted, but refined Common. "You enjoy your stay so far, yes?"
It was evident to him that, while the old woman trusted him since Mao had personally introduced them, she was still trying to place him. It was highly likely that she'd never once hosted a laowai before. So why was this one so important? And especially to Mao of all people?
"Of course," Mormont replied with the same cool politeness. He'd not missed the use of his now third collected honorific, "Gōng". He was told that it meant Duke or Lord in the Common Tongue. "You certainly know how to treat a man right."
Yü-lan dipped her head and gave him a thankful nod. "Gōng Xi Mao left you a message. He would like you to join him for zǎocān in an hour. He would like you to dress well for the occasion. This is acceptable for you?"
"Yes, it is. I'll be there."
The old woman gave him one last bow before she turned on her heels and hobbled back behind the desk. Likewise, Mormont made for the stairs to his room.
Zǎocān roughly translated to breakfast in the Common Tongue; yet another stray fact that Mormont had picked up from his ongoing stay in Yi Ti.
He wondered briefly as he found the door to his room, if he'd completely learn their strange language if he stayed any longer.
Zǎocān had turned out to be a full-blown carriage with an armed escort of half a dozen guardsmen.
Mormont had been picked up by the small company just an hour after he'd finished his training-just as he'd been told by Yü-lan. He elected to wear the formal doublet he'd bought in Oldtown once more, as it was all he currently had. Mormont hoped it would be enough for whatever excursion Mao had planned for him today.
Speaking of Mao-the older man was waiting for him inside of the regal dark wooden carriage. When he saw Mormont climb inside and shut the door behind him, he smiled warmly.
"You are well rested, Zūnjià?"
"About as well as one can be." Mormont replied easily. "How about yourself?"
Mao flashed him a wicked smirk. "Quite well! I spent considerable time with one of my concubines in the city. She is a most gifted young woman. A talented artist in her own right. I would not be surprised if one day, her paintings are shown off in the Imperial Palace." He waved his hand aside. "But I did not ask you here to talk of our personal lives. There is much to be done, and very little time to do it in."
The older man had then opened the carriage door on his end, and shouted a few vague sentences in YiTish. The driver had automatically understood, because as soon as Mao shut the door, they were off down the main road.
Giuyara, though still a grand city in its own right, was considerably smaller than Yin. Despite this, Mormont estimated that it was still twice as large as White Harbor. It was a compact, efficient machine tucked away into the countryside, far away from the coast of the Jade Sea. There were no ships or fisheries out here, but only farms, and horsemen selling their crops and leading their livestock. The place even had that lonesome country charm to it. Though Mormont had only been in this city for a day, he'd immediately taken a liking to it, and could see why it appealed to Mao so much.
Mormont watched the streets outside the window to his left as they'd passed by the oncoming collection of red-tiled homes and angular brick-laiden buildings. The streets themselves were relatively clean, which was genuinely surprising. Not even Westhelm, the city on Sea Dragon Point belonging to his own family, had streets this clean.
Are all YiTish cities like this? And if so, then why in the hell was Westeros so bloody deficient in the cleanliness department? Or, at the very least, how was it that these YiTish always managed to be so orderly in relation to one another?
It was like these people all had some sort of mutual awareness of their fellow man and woman. If an action would inconvenience somebody else, then they wouldn't do it. How was it that all of these people, somehow, managed to live in complete harmony with one another? And, perhaps even better, how could Duncan achieve the same result with his own people? If he ever returned to Westeros, that is.
"You seem to be reflecting on something, Zūnjià." Mao had noted from the other side of the small car. "Is it perhaps something to do with the task ahead of you?"
Mormont shifted his gaze away from the outside world and back onto the older man sitting across from him. "Not at all. I was just wondering how it is your people are always so… polite to one another. It's not the sort of thing one usually sees in Westeros unless you're a member of the nobility."
"Oh, it is much to do with our culture as well as our religion. Since we were children, we have been encouraged to treat our fellow man with a prescribed respect, and to be aware of how we can affect the lives of others, even in small, seemingly insignificant ways. This is one of the many teachings of the Maiden-Made-of-Light."
"I see," Mormont nodded along with the explanation. Mao, of course, had already told him about the two venerated deities of the YiTish religion. "And that's all it takes? No magic tricks or ruling with an iron fist, or anything else of the like?"
Mao shook his head, "Of course not, Zūnjià. The Emperor does not rule through fear. Neither is it encouraged for his vassals to interfere with the people in such a way. That would be most unwise, and a quick way for one to lose their power and holdings. We merely follow the teachings of our forebearers, and the lessons taught to us by our Gods. It is this simple practice which has sustained our civilization for thousands of years."
That… made a lot more sense, especially now that Mormont thought about it.
Westeros had been running on its own for barely over three hundred years. What was that compared to an Empire which had been going strong, with its own ups and downs, for the last several thousand years?
But Mao was finished making his point yet. "You have seen our citizens with your own eyes, no? You have seen how they lack for nothing, how simple their lives are. It is most encouraged for commoners to rise through the ranks of their professions. Merit is the base for all that we have built. And it will stay that way until our civilization fades into history."
Mormont frowned. "You're not at all worried that Yi Ti will die out one day?"
"If it is the will of the gods, then so be it. We have been given more than enough chances." The older man said with a shrug. "However, both you and I will be long dead by the time that happens. We are not brought upon this Earth to fret and stress over things which we have no control over. We are here to live, Zūnjià! To make do with the time we are given, and to do what is right, whether that be for our families, our people, or our gods."
Mormont couldn't help but grin. "You and my father would get along quite well, in that case."
They soon passed by the bazaar. Only a few hours after his morning training, was the place now almost full to the brim with men, women, and children. Each of them perusing the wares in the grand marketplace.
Mormont watched as one man spoke briefly with a shepherd before he made his way into a makeshift pen made of sticks and worn linen bindings. The farmer carefully made his way into the pen and glanced around at the small flock until, after a few moments, he approached one of the sheep and plucked it by its mouth. The farmer inspected its lips, and then looked inside its mouth. Once he was satisfied, the man straightened himself and looked to the shepherd, giving the other man a small shake of his head.
The shepherd did not seem to take the rejection of the sale personally. He simply nodded in response, and made room for the farmer to leave the pen.
Queer fish, thought Mormont to himself. They seemed to be a stone-faced lot. Very reserved. Wasn't often that they got overly emotional about something. Mormont supposed that was why Mao had been hysterical over this Cult of Starry Wisdom. They were as mad as hatters.
Once they'd passed the bazaar, the carriage rocked slightly as they started to move up an incline in the road. They were going toward the center of the city now.
It was time to break the silence again. Mormont sat forward. "So what's happening next? Thought we were going to get breakfast."
"All in due time, Zūnjià." Mao said easily. "First we will eat. Then we will be discussing business with my… associates. They know of you, as I have informed them of your presence here."
"I take it these men are your spies, then?"
"Spies," Mao said the word with a certain disdain in his voice. He practically sneered, though not at Duncan in particular. "Spies are such an ugly term. We do not spy here in Yi Ti, and especially not on our own people. It is most unbecoming of a Monarchy to do so, and it breeds distrust."
Mormont raised an eyebrow. "I don't disagree with you, Mao. However, how are you to know whether or not one of your Kings or Sorceror Lords won't get the bright idea to rebel one of these days? This Cult of Starry Wisdom is one such example, you yourself said that one of the nobility must be sheltering them."
"For the simple reason that they are far more concerned with currying favor from the Emperor himself rather than attempting to oppose him. We have already shown that we are most capable of putting down any normal insurrection, and so this will be enough. With regard to the nobility, the Emperor rules with, as you say, an iron fist, but one carefully wrapped in a silken glove." Mao said as he tapped his nose knowingly. "As for this Yellow King and his ilk, I have already shared with you the sinister methods of these people, so I will not need to elaborate further. Their case is an altogether different one. I do not use spies to simply track their movements. I have operatives who perform this task, and who also take necessary action when needed."
"So what are they? A kind of hit squad or something?"
"More than that, my friend. If I may, an apt comparison could be drawn between them and the household guard of one of your Great Houses. Except, in this case, the guard are sent out to deal with the sickness that plagues the realm, as opposed to waiting for it to come to them."
Mormont hummed in approval. There was a sense of adventure to be felt in Mao's clarification, and Mormont got the swift impression that the man sitting across from him had, at one point, actually been one of these operatives himself. "They seem like a proactive bunch."
"Very much so, Zūnjià. It is quite possible that a similar task will be met out to you as well, should we find out where this Yellow King is hiding."
Duncan snickered quietly to himself and resumed looking out the window, watching the finely cobbled streets continue to rise and rise as they went further up the hill.
Many of the commonfolk passing by appeared to pay no outwards attention to the rolling carriage, likely so as to not socially offend the officials who'd arrived from the capital. Likely the only interaction any of them had with these types of escorts, was simply moving out of the way.
Except… Mormont narrowed his eyes as he saw a pale yellow-skinned face looking briefly in his direction before swiftly turning away. The owner of the face was wearing a dark brown hooded cloak, and switched his back to Duncan before he quickly darted into a nearby alleyway.
Who is that? He didn't rightly know just yet, but put it down to the fact that not all of these YiTish were the sharpest tools in the shed. Some of them had to be crooked in some form or another.
"Lucky me."
Breakfast was delightful.
Mormont sat towards the head of the squat, rectangular table in the middle of the wide-open dining area of Huángjiā Fángzi, or otherwise known as Royal House in the Common Tongue.
Royal House is a sort of government building for the city of Giuyara, where the smallfolk would come and speak with the officials who would help them with banking, drawing up their wills, loans, buying and selling property, as well as officiating marriages between men and women. If men wished to enlist in the Imperial Army, then they'd come to Royal House to get all the paperwork done.
It was, if anything, rather surprising to Mormont. The fact alone that most of the commonfolk in Yi Ti could both read and write comprehensively was astounding to him. It certainly went to emphasize just how far ahead they were compared to their Westerosi counterparts, and it had instilled in Duncan a new level of respect for the YiTish people in general.
Both he and Mao were given a warm reception upon their arrival at the front steps. Two men wearing silver white hanfu robes had met them. They initially had the look of any other well-to-do YiTish man, at least in Duncan's estimation. Strong jaws, hairless faces save for the long stringy mustaches, and narrow eyebrows that indicated sternness, authority, and character.
First they bowed deeply to Mao, showing obvious deference and reverence to the man who was likely their employer. Then, when it was Duncan's turn, Mao had called him over with a certain respect in his voice that was not lost on the other men present.
Mao spoke to them in YiTish, and both of the silver-robed men had immediately given Mormont a similar deep bow before offering their hands. He shook them, instinctually pleased that their palms were warm and dry. The first man, whose black hair was tied to the back of his head, was named Feng Shu. The other, who was clearly older than his cohort, was named Ding Po.
From there, they went inside, and Mormont was shown his way to the dining area.
And now, as he quietly ate his meal of roasted duck glazed over with a sweet bean sauce, and served with roasted spring onions, cucumbers, and steamed dim sum dumplings that were slathered in fresh butter. A pot of red tea was also served to him, supposedly a delicacy that one could only get from upper class establishments in Yi Ti. Mormont reluctantly tried it, and found that he liked it, much to Mao's approval.
Mormont largely stayed quiet for the duration of the morning meal. Both Mao and the other two men were speaking quite animately in YiTish, and Mormont himself had nothing to add. Once he was finished eating, his dishes were expertly collected by the lone serving girl, to whom he gave a brief wink as well as a shit-eating smirk. She giggled girlishly at the playful gestures and swept away, leaving Mormont to sit back in his chair and fill the bowl of his smoking pipe with tobacco.
After striking a match and lighting his pipe, Mao had finally turned to him.
"Zūnjià, both Shu and Po are my eyes and ears here in Giuyara, and in Yi Ti for that matter. They have been monitoring the movements of the Cult of Starry Wisdom for some time, and they both have my utmost confidence. If you have any questions, you may feel free to ask away."
"Of course, of course." Mormont said, plucking his pipe from his mouth. "I'm quite keen to know who the main suspects are, regarding whoever is sheltering this Yellow King. How about we start there?"
Mao nodded and looked back to the other two men. He spoke to them again in YiTish. It was Po who answered.
"Po says that as the cultists resurfaced towards the northern borders of the Empire, it is likely they based out of the Northern Steppes. Though we have not yet discounted the possibility of the Yellow King having chosen a base further inland. There are many kingdoms within the Steppes, but only nineteen are large enough to host an organization of this size and scale, and only three of those nineteen are rulers who have, in the past, opposed the Azure Emperor in some form or another. Both Shu and Po believe that the culprit must be one of them, or potentially even, all three of them."
"Why all three? As you said, it's not as if this cult is well-liked. Quite the opposite, even. I find it hard to believe some disgruntled rulers would even side with a gang of hedonistic cannibals just to oppose the Emperor."
The older man elaborated. "These particular rulers were previously reluctant to pay homage to the Azure Emperor once he finally asserted his rule over the Empire. Two of them even supported the Orange Emperor and the 69th Yellow Emperor respectively. They are obvious suspects, however, it is possible they are completely innocent."
Mormont nodded and reflected on the new wave of information. They were moving onto business rather quickly, but that didn't bother him in the least.
Still… it seems too easy to finger these three out. Surely there had to be more to it, right?
Everything he was being told thus far made sense. Resentful lordlings who were dissatisfied with the outcome of the recent civil wars in the past would naturally not be content with the status quo. Perhaps, they'd even be willing to take more drastic measures just to get their way, or even just to be an inconvenience to the ruling Emperor.
In Westeros, Mao's reasoning would also make sense. Most of the Crownlands had not been happy with Robert Baratheon's rule over the Seven Kingdoms. They'd sided with The Pretender when he came to forcibly take the throne.
Siding with a mad man who had the power to destroy everything you've ever known was one thing… but purposefully siding with a cult that was the literal antithesis to your religion and the teachings of your own gods? And for what? Just because somebody else was in charge? Now that was down right suicidal, and hilariously stupid.
Mao's own words from earlier that morning came back to him, "Their case is an altogether different one…"
Mormont endeavored mentally to put himself into the mind of the Yellow King, or whoever was sheltering the Cult of Starry Wisdom. Wouldn't They also know this? Would They also understand that the authorities would be looking for a former supporter of the other rebellions in the past? Or perhaps for someone who was discontent with the Azure Emperor?
Yes, they would. And they'd use that as a smoke screen. A distraction.
So… where are they hiding? Where would they hide, then?
Mormont glanced up from the table and at Mao again. "Is there a map anywhere that I can look over? One of the entire Empire, ideally."
His host spoke some more rapid YiTish to both Po and Shu. Both men dipped their heads and stood up from the table. Mao did so as well, and beckoned Mormont to follow.