Apo

by hea25

123

35. Chapter 35

Chapter 14: Tianyu

After some discussion of how to handle Dr. You's shy streak, it was determined that Jinshi should grant him some object he could wear or carry.

"As long as all I have to do is wear it!" said the good doctor, but he was effectively convinced. Maomao thought such a gift was likely to get him even more fawned over than just saying he was there because of the Moon Prince, but she wasn't sure he realized that.

They should just give him a sash or a jade ring to put on his belt or whatever and be done with it.

It had been decided that Dr. Li should get something as well, and he, for his part, was much honored. When, after work, they'd told him about it, he'd actually refused.

"S-Surely there is no reason for me to have anything!"

"Wait! I can't be the only one who gets something!" Dr. You exclaimed. Dr. Li looked at his boss uneasily.

"Is it just the two of them?" Tianyu piped up. "If Dr. Li doesn't want his, I'll take it. My name's Li too."

It was indeed; the fact that Dr. Li and Tianyu shared the same surname was no end of trouble. And Maomao certainly wasn't privy to Dr. Li's personal name. Not to mention Lihaku was there as well, meaning there were no fewer than three Li's right there in that room.

"You're not getting it!" Dr. Li snapped. It couldn't be easy, having such...distinctive personalities both above and below him.

"Well, it's getting late. I think we should be on our way home," said Chue, packing her belongings. The clinic was closed for the evening. Chue was highly capable at everything she did, and that seemed to extend to cleaning a room.

Then she asked, "Say, what's this package?" Maomao thought Tianyu had brought it back with him.

"Oh, that's just..." Tianyu tried to swipe the package from Chue, but it fell. The contents went rolling across the floor.

Everyone looked on in silence. They were lucky that Basen and the other guards had gone to the bathroom and weren't there for this.

"Say, young lady," said Lihaku, giving Tianyu a grim look. "You think I should restrain this guy?" He looked like he meant it.

"No, let's see if we can find out what's going on here first," Maomao said, taking another look at the scattered contents of the package. It was a human arm. Just an arm, a single human body part lying there on the floor. It didn't get much weirder than that, but the people in the room at that moment included the doctors, Maomao, Lihaku, and Chue.

"Care to explain the arm?" Maomao asked.

"I mean, look at it. I don't think it can be reattached, not with the way it was cut off," Tianyu said, picking up the appendage and blithely showing them the state of the stump.

It was a mess, all right; it didn't look likely to stick even if they tried to reattach it.

"The grasshoppers chewed through a rope that was securing a sign. The sign dropped down and the arm popped right off. The guy it used to belong to said he didn't need it anymore, so I took it."

"You...took it."

The guy had probably been in the pits of despair at losing his arm; Maomao figured he'd thought Tianyu would take it to give it a proper burial. Not to do...whatever this was.

"Niangniang, I thought maybe you and I could dissect it tog—"

He was interrupted by Dr. Li, who plucked the arm away from him—then dropped a knuckle on his head.

Ooh! He's strong.

"Yow! Ow! I was just trying to learn something!" Tianyu objected.

"That's enough out of you! We're going to bury this, and bury it properly! And don't just leave that there! It stinks!"

"Aww..." Tianyu glowered at Dr. Li's back.

Dr. Li's gotten stronger, Maomao thought. People sometimes underwent transformations when they were pushed beyond their limits. Dr. Li had seemed like he might be too fragile for this assignment, but he had transformed into good material indeed. Then again, maybe Dr. Liu had seen it in him all along— that would be impressive.

Tianyu, meanwhile, could be a little bit frightening—just look at what was happening—but if there was one thing good Maomao could say about him, it was that nothing ever fazed him. Also, they absolutely could not give him Jinshi's token.

Dr. Li dragged Tianyu out of the room to go bury the arm. The clinic wouldn't see anyone as long as the two of them were away. If any patients saw two of the medical personnel burying an arm, who knew what rumors would start? They asked one of the guards to stand watch while they worked specifically so that no one would see them.

Dr. You turned to Lihaku and Chue with a smile. "Let's just pretend we didn't see that, shall we?"

"We shall! Far be it from Miss Chue to have loose lips!" "I understand," Lihaku said.

The doctors' dissections were technically forbidden, and were supposed to be secret. At least these two would know how to play along.

Maomao studied Dr. You, who smiled so readily as he tried to keep things under wraps. "Hm? Something the matter, Niangniang?"

"It's not Niangniang, sir. It's Maomao."

"Really? All right, Maomao, then. Maomao. Right. I'll remember that. Anyway, is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, sir. I was just thinking, you seem to be awfully nice to the younger doctors."

There was a hint of contempt in her words, but Dr. You seemed unruffled; he kept smiling. "Ah, you mean Tianyu. It was Dr. Liu and I who drew him into this world, so I feel some responsibility toward him. Tianyu's quick to gripe about nepotism, but he's benefited more than anyone else from his connections." He crossed his arms and nodded as if to affirm his own point.

"You and Dr. Liu got him into medicine? What connections do you mean?" Maomao asked, puzzled.

"Oh, you don't know?"

"As much as Tianyu likes to stick his nose into other people's business, he doesn't volunteer much about himself."

Then again, Maomao hadn't asked either.

"You want to know about Tianyu, then? Since you'll be working with him in the future?" Dr. You asked as he cleaned up his tools.

"Do you think that's all right?"

"If I know Tianyu, the only reason he hasn't volunteered the information is because nobody's asked him."

"Fair enough." Maomao couldn't criticize; much the same applied to her.

"He comes from a family of hunters. I remember going with Dr. Liu to get some bear gall once. We found a kid—maybe you could call him a young man, just—dissecting the bear all by himself. Careful, precise, totally unbothered by any of it. He plucked out only and exactly the organs we needed. Even Dr. Liu was impressed. And that boy was Tianyu."

Dr. You continued to clean up as he spoke, so Maomao kept making medicine while she listened. "That's how you discovered his talent and put them on the path to becoming a physician?" she asked. "But that makes it sound like he got the job because of his skills, not his connections."

"It was his connections, in a way. I said to his father, the hunter—I said, 'Ever thought about sending your boy to be a doctor?' I was only joking, but he went pale and started to shake. If he knew what the doctors did in secret, maybe it didn't sound like such a joke to him. The way his fear manifested, though... It was strange."

Why would he be afraid of a doctor's work? Yes, it could be unsettling to the average person, but Maomao would have expected a hunter to understand.

"I asked him why he was so upset, but he wouldn't tell me. In fact, he practically chased us out."

"What did you think was going on?"

"For the moment, there was nothing for us to do but go home—but Tianyu came chasing after us. He begged us to make him our apprentice. He knew his father would oppose it, but he was ready to run away from home to do it. Of course you know, Maomao, that Dr. Liu isn't the kind to just let a little boy tag along and abandon his family."

That's true. She could practically picture it.

"Tianyu said to us that he was a descendant of Kada, that doctoring must be his vocation."

"Kada, sir?" Maomao couldn't help it; she stopped working and looked at Dr. You.

"That's right, but not the famous physician of legend. The Kada who was punished for cutting up the body of an imperial prince to satisfy his intellectual curiosity. You do the work of a doctor, Maomao. I'm sure you've heard the story."

"Yes, sir."

Long ago, there had been a doctor called Kada because of his superlative medical knowledge and skills. But the combination of skill and ambition can make a man curious, and Kada's curiosity got him severely punished.

If Kada had in fact been a real person, there was no reason his descendants shouldn't still exist—but they might very well be invested in making sure that they didn't repeat the mistakes of their forebear.

"So Kada's descendants became hunters?" Maomao asked.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Hunters have been connected to doctors' work in the gathering of medical materials since ancient times. It's perfectly plausible that Kada might have become involved with some hunter's daughter, and when a name is passed down, why shouldn't it be the more famous name?" Maomao had to admit that made sense.

"So you made Tianyu a doctor because he was Kada's descendant?" she asked.

"No, not at all. Neither his talent nor his lineage was a reason to just make him a physician. If anything, the reason...was his eyes." Dr. You stopped and heaved a sigh. He was holding a small knife slick with human fat. He must've used it in the course of his work. "Dr. Liu said that if we left him to a hunter's life, in time he would come to carve up humans just as he did bears or deer."

Maomao was silent at that. She couldn't deny it. In fact, she was all but convinced that he absolutely would have done exactly that.

"By nature, the human animal follows its desires. By educating a person, we create what we call rationality. But even then, not everyone can overcome their appetites." Dr. You wiped the knife clean and put it in a basket. "Tianyu's appetite takes the form of curiosity, and he can't overcome it. It was Dr. Liu's considered opinion that when he tired of animals, he would turn to people. Who knows how many folks a hunter living alone in the woods could dismantle before anyone noticed?"

"You don't think that might still be a problem even as a doctor?" Maomao asked frankly.

"That's a matter of the path he's guided down. At least, that's what Dr. Liu said. Any ship will steer straight if you keep a firm hand on the rudder. Dr. Liu can be a harsh man, but he has a softer side."

"If you say so," Maomao replied, not quite believing it. She did, however, believe the story of Tianyu's origins. "Why are you telling me all this?" Officially, she was nothing more than help for the real doctors. There was no need for Dr. You to go out of his way to let her in on this story.

"Oh, no reason. Seeing the fruits of Luomen's teaching just put me in a talkative mood, I guess."

He knows Pops? Dr. You had been a physician for a long time; it wouldn't be surprising if he and Luomen knew each other. I wonder... If I hadn't had my old man to raise me, would I have looked the same way to them?

Much as she hated to admit it, she and Tianyu shared a similar temperament in some ways. If Luomen hadn't been there, running his apothecary shop in the pleasure district, and raised her himself, she had no idea how she might have turned out.

"They must be about done burying that arm," Dr. You observed. "Shall we go back?"

"All right," Maomao said, and got ready to leave. She knew Tianyu would soon return, probably shuffling in with his shoulders slumped, but she resolved not to show him any particular sympathy. If anything, she intended to kick his ass and tell him to get a move on.

The visit to the clinic had gone without a hitch—but there was still the trip home, and it would be a long one.

The problems started almost as soon as Maomao stepped out the clinic door.

"Miss!" Lihaku shouted, grabbing her and pulling her back. At the same moment, a ball of mud landed with a splat at her feet.

"You brought the bugs! It's your fault!" a child shouted. Maomao looked around, but she couldn't tell where they were.

"Miss Maomao," said Chue, who had come up behind her. "I saw who it was. I could still catch them. What do you want me to do?" She was asking Maomao because it was Maomao who had been targeted.

I'm sure glad it was me, she thought. Maybe the child had chosen her for a target because she looked like the slowest moving one. They were just lucky they hadn't picked Basen.

"It didn't even hit me," she said. "There's no need to haul them in, Miss Chue." She supplemented this with a look that said: Absolutely do not go after that child.

"Understood!" That was easiest for Chue, as well. What good would it do them, chasing down and collaring a child here and now? Once they had caught them, they would have to punish them. All well and good if they could be let off with a gentle smack on the behind, but if there was a pretext—if, for example, they got violent with a lady-in-waiting serving the representative of the Emperor's younger brother—that modest spanking could quickly become a hundred lashes. Maomao didn't want that, and Chue probably didn't either.

Although knowing her, she would do it if I asked.

Sometimes, though, discretion truly was the better part of valor. It might sound like she was being soft—but Maomao thought the world could use a bit more softness sometimes.

We brought the bugs, did we?

"Funny, considering the bugs came from the west," she muttered. It didn't make sense.

"Yes, and we came from the east," Chue added.

That wasn't really what the child had meant by bring. Those who believed in charms, curses, and other superstitions saw only a plague of insects that coincided with the arrival of people in the western capital who didn't belong there. Of course they would blame the swarm on the visitors.

Maomao would have loved to sit the kid down and explain the reality, but she doubted she would get through to them. She doubted they would even try to understand what she was saying.

Instead she ignored the mud ball entirely and turned toward the carriage.

"Things are getting ugly here," she said.

Chapter 15: Violence

Maomao added more straw to the crackling fire in the oven.

Animal dung might actually be easier.

They were probably trying to be considerate by giving them straw and not dung to use for fuel, but the straw didn't clump together, which left it prone to drifting on the hot air. Charcoal and firewood were both expensive in the western capital, though, and were rarely sold.

Medicine boiled in the pot. She had to finish steeping it and then form it into pills, but she was so sleepy.

It's because I'm exhausted.

She didn't think she'd done much aside from her usual work, but one could see where that would make her tired. When you were really exhausted, you didn't notice that you were. You went past the height of fatigue, and then the moment you got a chance to relax, your body simply collapsed.

Not enough food, not enough medicine, not enough nutrition. Not enough of anything. They tried to substitute other things for what they didn't have, and when the substitutes ran out, they had to look for something to substitute for the substitutes.

Lahan's Brother's joy in the fields had turned to sorrow after the sweet potatoes were lost when it turned out they couldn't survive the night chill. He declared that they would plant regular potatoes after all. The sweet potato leaves had withered, but the stems could be eaten as vines, he said. As for the wheat, it was coming along as expected.

The bean sprouts were being added to the food handouts bit by bit. Wheat bran was supposed to be good for beriberi, so it was mixed into the bread—but people didn't like the resulting loaves.

The freak strategist would come by the annex periodically. Maomao was resolved to at least nod hello to him. According to Chue's information, it would be dangerous for all of them if he decided to take Gyoku-ou's side.

Upon investigation, it was discovered that coal was being used in a variety of locations even here in the western capital. (It was immediately obvious, Maomao was told, because of the unique smell.) It was used in ironworks and to fire the kilns used to make pottery—both locations associated with Gyokuen.

There were too many things to think about.

Her head was so full, and she was so tired, that she was slow to notice the spark that drifted out and caught on the spare straw. Is it just me, or is it a bit warm in here? she thought, and it was only when she looked over that she saw the straw burning merrily. She put it out in a panic, and it didn't get any worse than that, but the quack doctor was deeply concerned about her, and Tianyu, who had shown up to get some medicine, had a great laugh at her expense.

I can't go on like this.

She forced herself to focus. It was when one was least attentive that the worst fires started.

And the fire in her stove wasn't the only thing burning at that moment.

The incident occurred on the seventy-fifth day.

Late that night, Maomao was awoken by shouting outside. She pulled on an overrobe and went to the window. She could see guards in the courtyard, and an unsettling collection of glinting flames.

Maomao opened her sleepy eyes and dressed quickly. At the bottom of the stairs she found Lihaku, already awake and standing at the ready. The quack doctor was there clutching his pillow and still in his pajamas, evidence that Lihaku must have dragged him out of bed.

"What's going on?" Maomao asked the soldier.

"I don't know exactly, but I've got a few ideas."

"Such as?"

"Fweee," the quack wheezed sleepily, but Maomao pretended not to hear him.

"A few days ago, there was a messenger from an outpost to the west. An incursion by the barbarian tribes. They attacked the food stores in the area."

"A food storehouse? But that would mean..." Even Maomao, oblivious to politics as she was, could see where this was going.

"Right. That storehouse contained the modest provisions the people there had been able to glean."

If this outpost was to the west, that would put it close to the border with Shaoh.

"The big shots have spent the last few days trying to decide what to do," said Lihaku.

"That would explain why work has seemed so quiet recently." Jinshi hadn't even summoned Maomao for anything. So it had been the calm before the storm.

"Even if we wanted to help, our hands are full right now. Our good man Jinshi's been working his connections to get support from everywhere he can, but there's no point if it just gets stolen. The question is, what do we do about it? And the answers are getting ugly."

"Ugly."

"There's talk of starting a war." Yeah, it figures.

It had been the way of humans—for that matter, of the whole animal kingdom—from the oldest times: when you ran out of food to eat, you attacked someone else.

"But Master Jinshi doesn't support that, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. And right now..."

Maomao could hear voices from outside. She couldn't make out much, but she thought she heard someone cry, "Give us the royal brother!"

"...people are starting to push back against the timid, sheltered princeling."

They'd known this could and probably would happen. Even Maomao had

been aware. If anything, it had taken longer than they'd expected.

The question is, what do we do about it?

Then again, Maomao personally couldn't do much. She got a farm wagon ready and pulled a cloth over it. Then she took the drowsy quack by the hand.

"Oh, it's you, young lady," he said. "I just want to...sleep a little longer..."

She guided the quack, still half in dreamland, onto the cart. It was just as well that he was too sleepy to comprehend quite what was happening. If he'd been awake enough to tell what was going on, he would have been frantic.

"You can sleep, Master Physician," Maomao said. "Just do it here."

"Mm. Mm..." The quack, his limbs sticking off the cart, went back to sleep. Lihaku looked at him, openly mystified.

"It's so we can get away if we need to," Maomao explained. "If he had to run, I don't think the master physician could keep up with a foot-bound concubine from the rear palace."

"Huh. Fair enough. I could carry you under one arm and make tracks if I needed to, but I don't think I could do that for the old guy. Good compromise."

"I can't believe they're turning on the royal family," Maomao said, packing a bag with bandages and wound-care medicine. Even Lihaku made himself useful, carrying a bottle of oil.

"Yeah. If this happened in the capital, the ringleaders would be executed and everyone who joined them would be beaten," he said.

"I guess it just shows how high emotions are running." The people had their collective hackles up.

"It's a tough spot," Lihaku said. "If it came down to kill or be killed...I have to admit, I'd start killing." He had an unhappy smile on his face as he tore a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the end of a stick. They didn't have any firewood to serve as torches, so he'd broken the leg off a chair. He was a soldier, trained in the ways of battle. He didn't want to fight—but if he had to, he could.

Then he said, "With an outbreak of open violence like this, it's the local rulers who are really going to be in trouble."

"Yeah..."

Maomao, again, didn't know much about politics. But she could tell that this was serious trouble.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, but having Lihaku there gave her a measure of reassurance, and meanwhile she had the responsibility of looking after the quack doctor.

"Master Gyoku-ou can say that the people rose up on their own, but he was the one who let things fester long enough for that to happen. A few commoners' heads won't be enough to pay for this affront to the royal family's dignity."

Maomao understood that. The lives of the Imperial family simply weighed that much heavier than those of the common people.

"Master Gyoku-ou was clearly cultivating his own popularity. I know our man Jinshi is a good guy, but I can't believe he put up with it. And even if he's willing to let it go, the people around him won't be. Word must have reached the central region by now."

If even the ordinarily relaxed Lihaku felt that way, the anger of those in the royal capital must be immense indeed.

"That's a good point. I wonder how Empress Gyokuyou and Master Gyokuen feel about this."

"Normally, you'd expect them to have a word to say about it."

"Yes, you would..."

Considering their positions, neither of them could simply drop everything and come to the western capital. But might they send a letter or a messenger?

At the same time, there was another important figure here in addition to Jinshi and the freak strategist. Someone who would certainly not neglect communications with the capital.

"What was his name again? The other important guy who's here?" Maomao asked. She'd heard it several times now, but as usual, she'd forgotten it.

"You aren't much for remembering people's names or faces, are you, miss? It was... Uh... Let's see... I don't remember. I remember he wasn't, you know, a towering presence."

"Sounds like you're not much better than me, Master Lihaku."

"Hold on! This guy, he was supposed to be in charge of rituals or something, right?"

"Rituals... So that would make him part of the Board of Rites... Oh! Lu! Vice Minister Lu, that was his name!" Maomao said, finally remembering.

"Right, right, Vice Minister Lu. Let's just have faith that he's doing something.

Probably."

"We can have all the faith we want. The trouble is happening now."

"Point taken."

They both sighed, and then there was a loud noise. Were the commoners trying to force their way into the annex?

"What just happened?" Maomao asked. If anyone had been hurt, she wanted to help them, but first she had to see to her own safety. Which, given her limited options, mostly meant lighting the torch and throwing it if anything happened.

I'm not eager to do that. But if it's the only way to keep myself safe, I will.

They heard footsteps shuffling closer. Maomao and Lihaku both got ready to fight.

"Miss Maomaooo? Are you there?" It was Chue. "Do you need me to explain what's going on?" "Yes, please."

Chue was holding a flag and sounded about as anxious as she usually did. "There's a mob of commoners outside. Just like we predicted, their anger finally exploded. They're shouting for the Moon Prince to come out to them, or be sent out to them. You know, that sort of thing."

"Yes, I can imagine. And hear them too."

"But you're thinking, wasn't there a big bang just now?"

"Yes, I am."

"That was Master Gyoku-ou's arrival."

Maomao grabbed her bag of medical equipment.

"Please, don't worry. Even Master Gyoku-ou wouldn't lay a hand on a member of the Imperial family. But I do think this is getting very interesting."

"Somehow, the things you think are interesting always just seem bad to me."

"Well, anyway, come and have a look."

At Chue's urging, Maomao started outside. Lihaku followed them.

"What about the master physician?" Maomao asked.

"Good question. I guess we should bring him," Chue said and started pushing the cart, although she didn't look very happy about it. She kept shooting pointed glances at Lihaku until he took over for her.

Once they were outside, Maomao could hear a resounding man's voice.

"Do you all understand?" he was saying. "Do you know how much the Moon Prince, who honorably resides in this household, has done for the people of the western capital?"

She heard the people murmuring.

"The grains in your food distributions were brought from afar by the Moon Prince. The fact that we are not now starving is by his munificence! The free clinic was likewise his doing. Those who have been there know all about it." What's going on here?

If the voice had belonged to someone from Jinshi's inner circle, the words would have made sense, but as far as Maomao could surmise, that was Gyokuou speaking.

She picked up her pace. She would have to be closer if she wanted to see anything, but getting too close would be dangerous. She looked around for somewhere that might serve as a good vantage point.

"Miss Maomao, Miss Maomao," Chue said, beckoning to her. She was already halfway up a nearby tree. Maomao climbed up after her.

"Please try not to fall!" Lihaku said. He was still pushing the quack doctor in his cart.

Up in the branches, Maomao and Chue had an excellent view of what was going on. They could see Jinshi, behind whom stood Basen. In front of him was Gyoku-ou, interposing himself between Jinshi and the masses. The people were keeping a respectful distance, almost like spectators at a play.

"The Moon Prince responded with alacrity to the insect swarm. Much as I tried to provide for you as best I could, it is unquestionably thanks to him that you have suffered as little as you have. The immediate support from the central region is thanks to the Moon Prince's presence here. Do you mean to tell me you cannot understand that?"

Maomao was thoroughly flummoxed. Gyoku-ou appeared to be completely reversing himself. He'd been more than happy to take credit for Jinshi's work to this point, but now he was praising Jinshi's efforts and loudly informing the populace about them.

What was more, Jinshi was showing his face before the people of the western capital for the first time. Yes, he had met with a handful of VIPs now and then, but a crowd of commoners? His courtly bearing and almost celestial beauty were not lost on the people. Maomao spotted several women who were clearly lovestruck.

Normally, he would probably try to be modest about all this, Maomao thought. But it was true that Jinshi had done all those things. There was no point denying it. The only person who might have a real cause to complain about Jinshi was the one who had been sent on a grueling grasshopper-slaying quest, Lahan's Brother.

Speaking of whom, Lahan's Brother was one of those watching things develop from inside the annex. He was so ordinary that Maomao would never have noticed him if it hadn't been for the hoe he was carrying. He seemed to have it just in case he needed to defend himself against any outbreaks of violence—but had there really been no better weapons he could have grabbed? The hoe would make him look more like one of the marauding peasants.

Gyoku-ou's voice carried clearly, less like he was lecturing and more like he was declaiming, delivering a speech in a play. And the people were riveted by it.

One of the commoners, however, raised a hand. "H-How is it the royal younger brother knew that this swarm was coming? H-How could he know, if he didn't bring it himself?"

There were a few shouts of agreement from the crowd.

That's a tough one.

If Lahan had been here, he could have broken down the statistics from the last several years, explaining how the climate and the smaller, local swarms had pointed in the direction of this larger one. But even if you had it all written down, many people here didn't know their numbers. They wouldn't know what the numbers meant, and they wouldn't be convinced by them.

Jinshi took a step forward. "Allow me to explain that. When we performed our divination rituals in the capital, it produced a sign of grave misfortune in the west. Given how greatly this city has flourished under the Gyoku clan in recent years, what manner of disaster could harm it? A swarm of insects seemed the only likely prospect."

A murmur ran through the crowd at the simple fact that the Imperial younger brother would directly address a commoner. His voice was lovely and bracing, but didn't carry as well as Gyoku-ou's.

Divination, huh?

Was it possible that was why Jinshi had brought Vice Minister Lu with him? He must have realized that talk about agricultural products and statistics on recent swarms would go over the heads of many of the commoners. Divination would be a much more intuitive explanation to them.

If you know the people are superstitious, comfort them with superstition. It wasn't a bad plan, Maomao thought—but almost immediately she discovered that it was a mistake.

Gyoku-ou looked like he had been waiting for Jinshi to say something like this. "Precisely! At this moment, we need the Moon Prince's power more than anyone else's!" He thrust his hands into the air as if calling the commoners to witness for him. "If the oracles of those who live above the clouds are for us, what can stop the western capital—indeed, I-sei Province itself—from thriving ever more mightily?"

The people began to thrum with Gyoku-ou's words. Those who had looked on Jinshi with hostility mere moments ago now turned to the Emperor's younger brother with eyes of hope. Many still looked displeased, but they no longer shouted and jeered.

"What say you? Shall we ask the Moon Prince to perform a ritual on our behalf?"

Gyoku-ou certainly knew how to work the crowd. The commoners raised their hands in approbation.

"Oof. So it's come to that," said Chue, not looking very happy. "He did bring

Vice Minister Lu in order to perform a ritual. The answer would have to be..." Before Chue could say what the answer would be, Jinshi acted.

"Understood," he said: his answer was affirmative. He had no other choice, and anyway, the performance of a ritual had always been part of the plan during his visit here. It had simply been postponed by the swarm.

Gyoku-ou smiled a brilliant smile—but one that also spoke of triumph assured, and more than a little pride. "Then ask for I-sei Province's further growth! Ask that the disaster from the west be itself brought low!"

Jinshi's expression never changed, but those closest to him knew. They could see the subtle shift in his face that indicated a touch of dismay: I've done it now. Maomao couldn't see Jinshi's exact expression because of the distance and the dark, but she knew how it must look.

"He's right!" shouted one of the commoners. "What good does it do us to blame the insects on the Moon Prince? Why would he bring such calamity upon us? Where did those bugs come from? It was from the west! Far to the west of us!"

"Yes, that's right!" agreed someone else. Apparently this was the part where they were supposed to laugh—several of the commoners chuckled, although Maomao didn't know why.

"Exactly," Gyoku-ou said. "If there is fault to be found, it lies not with the Moon Prince, but with the one who was entrusted with the care of the western capital—me myself. I can only beg forgiveness. If the slightest offense has been given to you, our august visitor, please hold me responsible." He turned to Jinshi and bowed dramatically.

"Goodness gracious," Chue said, looking like she wasn't sure what to make of this.

"What is more, if there was a failure to protect this city from the grasshoppers, that too is my responsibility, entrusted as I have been with leading this place on behalf of my father, Gyokuen. The people have starved, and the blame is mine. To all of you I can say only, I'm sorry." Now he bowed toward the commoners.

"Master Gyoku-ou! Don't bow to us!"

"That's right! We did this by ourselves. You've done nothing wrong!"

The people were eager that Gyoku-ou should raise his head. Maomao realized that the scene had changed. Jinshi, who had been the star until a moment ago, had been overshadowed by Gyoku-ou.

"He's right. The honored Imperial younger brother isn't at fault here," someone said.

"It's those troublemakers from the west that brought the bugs!"

"Yeah, and now they're trying to steal our food too!"

There were more shouts of agreement from the crowd.

Gyoku-ou had spoken of "the disaster that came from the west." Maomao had assumed he meant the grasshoppers. But then...

Wait, what just happened?

He'd shifted the focus of the anger from the insects to the western lands themselves. Immediately to the west of I-sei Province was Shaoh.

"Looks like a new fire is starting," Chue said, her eyes cold.

"A new fire?"

"I'm almost impressed. I wondered what was going on, but it turns out all the playacting has been leading up to this moment."

"Playacting? What are you talking about?"

Chue twirled her finger and a pigeon appeared in her hand. "All of it. Calling the Moon Prince here, and the master strategist, deliberately affecting a bad attitude toward the Moon Prince, deliberately giving the common people a bad impression of him. All of it was calculated for this purpose. That might even include sending his adopted daughter to the rear palace. Now, that would be something."

The pigeon went fluttering out of Chue's hand.

"The west has to pay!"

"Let's get our food back!"

"Crush the barbarian tribes!"

The people started thrusting their fists in the air. The murderous energy that had been directed toward the Imperial family just moments before had taken on a new focus.

"Master Lakan said this guy was looking to be a hero, but it looks to me like he's just as good at playing supporting roles. Maybe better, in fact. Don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" Maomao asked.

"Well, you see? This is a stage, put here by Master Gyoku-ou. He caused the Moon Prince to mount the stage without ever meaning to—heck, he even set him up in the lead role! He apologized exquisitely for the rudeness to the Imperial family and cleared up the people's misunderstanding in one fell swoop.

And now the Moon Prince is standing there looking like a gorgeous actor. Although I guess you could say that at the moment, he and Master Gyoku-ou are sharing the spotlight."

Maomao understood what Chue was saying. Gyoku-ou had set up the Imperial younger brother and himself—the acting governor of the western capital—as the stars, and cast a foreign people in the role of the enemy. He had said nothing definitive himself, only guided the people to the conclusions he wanted them to reach.

"What if Master Jinshi just stole it back?"

"Do you think he could? This crowd was a powder keg with his name on it until a minute ago. Besides, we're dealing with people who are easily swayed. The Moon Prince hasn't said anything untrue—but neither has Master Gyokuou. It's just that the people's attention has been—shwip!—swapped from the locusts to the foreign people who took their food."

Maomao followed her point here too. "He doesn't get his hands dirty. He doesn't kidnap anyone. But he's effectively taken a hostage. Clever stuff."

Chue nodded her agreement. Jinshi began to speak, but he couldn't offer a direct rebuttal. He only said that he would perform a ritual to expunge the destruction. It was unobjectionable, as Jinshi was wont to be, but it wasn't enough to completely dispel the people's misgivings.

Maomao swallowed hard and looked at Chue. "So what is Gyoku-ou after?" she asked, dropping any term of respect for the acting governor in spite of herself.

"Every hero needs a stage. But maybe the western capital isn't the stage he wants." Chue peered off to the west. "There must be some reason he's so eager to start a fight with Shaoh. Something besides simple profit."

Maomao, too, looked to the western sky. Somewhere over the horizon lay Shaoh, and beyond it, Hokuaren.

Chapter 16: Gyokuen's Children

Maomao watched Jinshi smack his head into a post. It was practically comical, seeing him bash himself against a pillar in the sumptuous chamber, surrounded by attendants.

"Young master, at least use this," Suiren said, inserting a wadded-up cotton jacket between Jinshi's head and the pillar. The sound went from thump thump to bompf bompf, which only made it seem sillier. Suiren didn't go so far as to try to stop him.

"He played me!"

"Like a two-stringed fiddle, sir."

"You're mocking me!"

"Yes I am, sir."

Maomao had her hands full trying to offer noncommittal responses. Just agreeing with everything Jinshi said was better than letting herself slip and accidentally try to suggest an actual solution. It was the same way she dealt with huffy courtesans; it always calmed them down.

"Are you even listening to me?!" Jinshi demanded.

"I'm listening, sir."

Apparently, it was still the wrong choice. In this case, instead of offering inoffensive comments, she should have tried to suggest a solution. But at that moment, Maomao didn't even have any ideas to offer.

Neither did the rest of Jinshi's entourage.

Gaoshun was the first to speak. "Moon Prince, has there been any communication from Empress Gyokuyou since then?"

When's "then"? Maomao wondered. She knew Jinshi and the Empress had been in touch with each other about Gyoku-ou's daughter. Was that what he meant?

"Communication? Yes. But I don't think she's in a good position to deal with Sir Gyoku-ou. For one thing, the Empress would have no way to know about this most recent event. Even if I contacted her as urgently as I could, I doubt it would be in time. But thankfully, she's already put me in touch with certain other connections."

Makes sense. Even the members of a single family were hardly going to be in lockstep. Maomao wondered who these connections were.

"What about Master Gyokuen, then?" Basen asked.

Jinshi paused for a second, then said, "I can't be certain, but I doubt Sir Gyokuen had a hand in this. I've kept him apprised of the situation here, but there are certain things that I think he wishes to leave to his son's judgment. He sends only the most ambiguous answers. I can only imagine that what he writes to Sir Gyoku-ou is quite different from what he writes to me."

"You don't suppose that his answers conflict with the report you're getting, Master Jinshi?" Taomei asked. She seemed to be wondering if Jinshi's letters were reaching Gyokuen at all.

"At the moment, I don't think so."

"I would agree," came a voice from behind a curtain. Maomao was caught off guard for a moment, but then realized it was Gaoshun's other son, Baryou. Chue flitted over and nudged the drape.

He's gotten used to us enough to speak, huh?

She had no idea, though, how many more times she might have to visit before she saw his face. Maybe he would open up to her if she wore a duck mask.

Gaoshun picked up the thought. "Master Gyokuen's policy was always to be on friendly terms with neighboring countries—and thus to keep them in check. He might make 'suggestions' or negotiate sometimes, but he never made an open declaration of hostility. I think that means it's safe to assume Master

Gyoku-ou did this on his personal initiative. At the same time, I can see why

Master Gyokuen might hesitate to criticize his son's approach."

"Sir Gyokuen isn't a young man anymore. He can't be forever meddling in his son's affairs," Jinshi said.

True enough.

"Exactly, sir. Moreover, there must be more than a few among the populace who are dissatisfied with the way Master Gyokuen has done things. Master Gyoku-ou's core group of supporters must include many disaffected former believers in Master Gyokuen."

"One suspects." Jinshi set the cotton jacket aside and sat down. "After all, not all the neighbors around here are necessarily good people."

Maomao recalled a marriage ceremony that had taken place in the western capital last year. The wife-to-be, aghast at the idea of being taken to Shaoh by her husband, had tried to fake her own suicide in order to disappear. The entire family had been in on it, and solving the case hadn't made them any more eager to go through with the wedding.

They said the foreigners brand their wives like livestock.

There weren't that many idiots in the world who would deliberately let someone press a hot brand into their skin of their own volition. In fact, as far as Maomao knew, there was only one.

For that matter, he did it to himself.

She glowered at that idiot even as she mulled the present circumstances over in her mind. So the people were upset with the Emperor's younger brother, and Gyoku-ou intervened. He somehow managed to blame everything on the foreigners, and now Jinshi is going to perform some kind of ritual.

From the sound of things, this ritual had less to do with expunging sickness and more with making ready for the coming war.

At that moment, Jinshi had managed to put off the ritual, briefly, but now he was trying to figure out what to do.

"I don't suppose Sir Gyokuen would come home," Jinshi mumbled, but they all knew that was impossible.

"Unfortunately, sir, I don't think that will happen," Gaoshun said.

"You can't rely on others to solve your problems," Taomei added. Well, that accounted for both husband and wife.

This conversation didn't look like it was going anywhere fast. Maomao wasn't even sure why she was here. She had been summoned for the first time in several days, but before she'd had a chance to inspect Jinshi's burn, he was starting in on his trials and tribulations.

Miss Chue... Maomao thought grudgingly of the whimsical lady-in-waiting who had brought her here.

Maomao decided to try to get them back on track, by force if necessary. "I understand you're worried, sir, but the general thrust of the ritual has been determined, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Jinshi said slowly. "It's this." He showed her a piece of paper. It had two characters on it: land and pacification.

"The pacification of the land?"

"It was Vice Minister Lu's idea. He said this would be an appropriate justification for a state ceremony."

"I've heard of this kind of ritual...but not often."

"You understand what it means for this to be a state ceremony, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. It's usually a ritual His Majesty the Emperor performs to venerate the ancestors and spirits, isn't it?"

"That's right. But when His Majesty is too busy to perform such a ceremony himself, I may perform it in his stead."

In fact, one such performance had led to an attempt on his life. If Maomao had studied more diligently for the court ladies' examination during her time as Jinshi's lady-in-waiting, she might have figured out his true identity sooner.

"Would you like to know the details of the ceremony?" Jinshi asked.

Maomao didn't mince words. "No thank you, sir. Just tell me exactly what it means to 'pacify the land.'"

"Very well. Typically these ceremonies have to do with venerating the ancestors and the spirits, or sometimes the heavens and the earth. In this case, however, since we're far from the capital, the suggestion was that perhaps the ritual should be focused on placating the local guardian spirit. In short, we pray to the devastated land that it will yield forth a rich harvest."

"If I may be so bold, sir, it sort of sounds like you just made up a new ritual out of whole cloth."

"Maybe not whole cloth. They say such rituals are practiced on the islands to the east."

"Let me see if I'm understanding you. Your hands would be tied if, immediately after the Emperor's younger brother had venerated the spirits, Master Gyoku-ou were to make a declaration of war on another country. Suppose that, instead, you didn't venerate the spirits generally, but only the very specific spirit of this area? What if the object of the ritual extended no farther than the borders of I-sei Province? Is that what you're thinking?"

"You show remarkably sharp insight for someone who claims not to understand politics," Jinshi said. Funny thing to be impressed by.

"It seems that you would be deliberately placing yourself outside the scope of your own ceremony."

"Yes, as would Vice Minister Lu, who originally came up with this idea. If we're lucky—very lucky—Sir Gyoku-ou simply won't try anything."

In concrete terms, Jinshi was worried that Gyoku-ou would take the occasion of the ritual to make an open declaration of war on another nation.

"He hasn't done anything outwardly yet, has he?" Maomao asked.

"No. He talked to myself and Sir Lakan about the possibility of war, but he hasn't made any public moves. He was only sounding us out; he judged that he couldn't act without our support."

This was what made Gyoku-ou a dangerous man: he wasn't going to go to war by himself; he sought to drag everyone else along with him.

The people of the western capital trusted Gyoku-ou implicitly, and the policy he was now contemplating was inspired by their views. It might indeed make them think he was a fine acting governor—but the world was not so simple.

The people of the western capital had their feelings. Their anger had to go somewhere. It had been pointed at the Imperial younger brother—and now it was pointed at a foreign nation. A simple solution in the short term, but a bad decision in the longer view.

"I opposed Sir Gyoku-ou's plans, so he's taken more forceful measures."

"Yes. Disgusting measures. He ought to be good enough to declare the war himself and suffer the consequences himself," Taomei spat.

"Now, that's enough," Gaoshun broke in. Basen might look like his father, but maybe he got his hot blood from his mother.

And this when there are so many foreigners in I-sei Province, Maomao thought, worried for the danger this might put them in. "How many foreign people are there in the western capital right now?" she asked. She'd seen the state of the crowd. If that mob happened across anyone with foreign blood, there seemed likely to be a violent attack. Where would the foreigners be hiding?

"That's been taken care of by someone with a talent for such things. The strategist," Jinshi said.

"That old fart?" Maomao shot back, scowling.

"As soon as the first wave of grasshoppers hit, he brought all the foreign merchant groups to a single place where they could be protected. Because, according to him, it would be 'a pain' to have them jumbled everywhere."

"Do you think he really understands what's going on?"

The freak with the monocle did everything on instinct, so it could be hard to fathom his actions.

"Many of the merchants went back home by sea, or continued overland to Kaoh Province. Even so, about a hundred of them remain in the western capital."

"Is there anywhere they can hide?"

"The people here are not monolithic. Some are xenophobic, yes, but others see foreign people as invaluable neighbors. There's an inn town near the port that caters to foreigners. He rented the entire place out."

"That's a pretty good trick."

"Indeed. He knew just the person to ask. In fact, they should be joining us shortly."

"Ahem... If we're going to have a visitor, I'd like to wrap up my work here and get back," Maomao said. The only person currently at the medical office was the quack doctor, who'd managed to sleep through the last major commotion. Meanwhile, it wasn't just medicine they were out of. There weren't enough bandages either, so Maomao had been planning to tear up some unused sheets to make new ones.

"I'm afraid our honorable guest has already arrived," said Chue. Most unwelcome news.

Jinshi smirked. "You heard her. Wait in back if you would."

"Yes, sir... But where's 'in back'?" Maomao looked around the room.

"Here, Miss Maomao, this way." Chue urged her to a corner that was curtained off from the rest of the room. Behind it was a table and two chairs, the table already set with tea snacks. The space was small but not cramped. "It was so unfair that only my hubby got a spot. Miss Chue made one for herself too."

"Wow! It's so cozy," Maomao said.

"Yes indeedy! If you need more snacks, they're on the top shelf. Would you like tea or juice?"

"Tea, please."

"Coming right up!" Chue bustled through a curtain on the other side.

"Maomao." She heard Jinshi from the other side of the curtain. "I think things are going to get tiring. I need a charge." His hand poked through the drapes.

"A charge?" Maomao asked.

She studied the shelf Chue had indicated. She took a mooncake wrapped in paper from a basket on the shelf and pressed it into Jinshi's hand.

"Huh?!"

The mooncake dropped to the ground. The paper came off and, sadly, it touched the floor. Maomao moved to pick it up, but her right hand was caught by Jinshi's. She felt his fingers slide between hers as if to make sure she was there. The fact they were both using their right hands made it oddly awkward.

Jinshi's long fingers pressed into the back of Maomao's hand, while his palm pressed against hers. She could feel his pulse. His nails were neatly trimmed, but she could feel the calluses on his palm. Ink stained the tips of his fingers, and there was a sheen of sweat on his hand.

Maomao's palm had started sweating as well. She was hoping to get away before it got too bad. "Sir? What are you doing?" she asked.

"I told you. Charging."

"Charging."

Dammit, so he hadn't been talking about getting some extra sugar? She looked reproachfully at the mooncake on the floor.

"I wanted to do it before I had to start pushing myself too hard."

"Maybe just don't push yourself too hard?"

Maomao breathed slowly, trying to keep her heart rate down, trying to keep the flush out of her cheeks and hands. Even so, her heartbeat and the sweating got away from her, and she could feel her hand growing slick.

"Only the most incompetent of leaders would find that an option, I'm afraid."

"If you let someone else steal credit for everything you do, you don't look like much of a leader anyway."

"That doesn't bother me. Those who know will know, and that's enough." He squeezed her hand tighter. Then the quality of his voice changed: "Our visitor is here."

"You must pardon my intrusion, Moon Prince," a man's voice said.

"Not at all. My apologies for summoning you when you're so busy," Jinshi replied easily, but his hand remained wrapped around Maomao's.

Is he going to hold the whole conversation this way?

Jinshi's back was to Maomao, but she couldn't even see that because of the curtain between them. All she knew was that his right hand was growing increasingly sweaty, betraying the emotions that he couldn't allow to show on his face.

Who was this visitor he was entertaining? What expression was he leveling at them? Did they really not realize that Maomao was right there, just out of sight?

She couldn't stand it anymore. She pinched the back of Jinshi's right hand with her left.

This doesn't count as disrespect! It doesn't!

"Please, be seated," Jinshi said. Was it her imagination, or had his voice gone up an octave? At last Maomao worked her hand free, and his disappeared past the other side of the curtain.

Maomao held up her hand and inspected it. There were faint red marks on the back.

"Charging, huh?" she muttered.

"Who's charging?"

Maomao just about jumped out of her skin and was lucky not to cry out. Chue was standing there with a tea platter.

"It's nothing," Maomao said.

"Really? Aww, look, you dropped your mooncake." She grabbed it off the floor, blew the dust off it—and ate it. Then she said, "You don't look very relaxed, Miss Maomao."

"It's your imagination, Miss Chue." She tried her best to seem calm as they whispered back and forth.

"Okay, we'll say it's my imagination."

Maomao didn't answer immediately. She could never tell how much Chue actually knew. Instead she sat in one of the chairs and sipped her tea quietly. She could see the visitor through the gap in the curtain. "Isn't he going to notice us watching him?" she asked.

"Not to worry. Lady Suiren is keeping an eye out to make sure he doesn't see us. And he won't hear us as long as we keep our voices down like this." If Suiren thought it wasn't a problem, then it was fine.

The visitor looked to be in his mid-thirties, with tanned skin and red hair that seemed more weathered by the sun and sea breeze than due to foreign blood. Jinshi and the man sat across from each other at a table; Maomao and Chue could see them both in profile.

"Who is he?" Maomao asked.

"One of Master Gyokuen's sons!"

A sibling to Empress Gyokuyou and Gyoku-ou, then.

"But he doesn't look like either of them," Maomao observed.

"That's true. He has a different mother. Master Gyokuen has eleven wives and thirteen children."

Maomao was quiet for a moment. Many rich men had a mistress or two in addition to their official wife, and apparently the easygoing old governor was no exception.

"That man there is his third son. His name is—well, you probably wouldn't remember if I told you, so maybe we can just call him Gyoku-ou's Little Brother."

Chue was very offhand for someone saying something so rude, but as it was the undeniable truth, Maomao didn't object. Instead she said, "Like Lahan's

Brother, you mean? Makes sense. I like it."

"Yes, exactly. Just be aware that unlike Lahan's Brother, this man does have a real, actual name."

Was she implying that Lahan's Brother didn't?

"Gyoku-ou's Little Brother is in charge of the port. It's thanks to him that we were able to rent out the inn district. He was very receptive—he seems to be on good terms with Empress Gyokuyou."

"So he's the mysterious connection." But then Maomao stopped and tilted

her head. "Huh? If he has all that power, why wouldn't he speak up about what's going on in the western capital right now? And what about all the other siblings?"

There were apparently thirteen of them, and Maomao only knew about three. Weren't the children of powerful people supposed to squabble more?

"I think that has something to do with the way Master Gyokuen educated his kids. Gyoku-ou's Little Brother's mother was a sailor. And all the other mothers each work in a particular field."

"So basically, the siblings all follow in their mothers' footsteps?"

"Pretty much. Master Gyokuen has a talent for more than just collecting wives. He brings exceptional people in each field into his family. Just like how he maneuvered his way right into the Imperial bloodline!"

As a merchant, nothing Gyokuen did was wasted. He had sent Empress Gyokuyou to the rear palace, armed with the twin weapons of her beauty and wit.

"All right, but let's be frank. Master Gyokuen's only actual successor is Master Gyoku-ou, right? I know he's the eldest son and all, but the other siblings really don't have any problem with that?" Maomao asked. The bigger a household was and the more assets it had, the more likely family strife was to break out. Eleven wives and thirteen children seemed like a recipe for disaster in that department.

"Master Gyokuen's wives appear to have a hierarchy. A nice, clear division between Master Gyoku-ou's mother, his official wife, and the rest, who are all concubines."

"I see." Gyokuen had only one "true" wife, Gyoku-ou's mother—the rest were merely mistresses he had taken to forge specific relationships.

He's more ruthless than he looks. Gyokuen came across like a pleasant, not to say doddering, old man, but Maomao found her image of him completely changed.

"I understand what he's doing, then, but I can't help thinking his many wives' many families might have something to say about it."

"By all appearances, he's handled that situation very well." Chue stuffed some mooncake into her mouth and peeped out through the curtain. Gyoku-ou's Little Brother was reporting on the situation of the foreigners holed up at the inns.

"We're managing so far, somehow," he was saying.

"That's a great help," Jinshi replied. "Even if one considers the current emergency an extenuating circumstance, an attack by the people here upon the foreign population could quickly spiral into a diplomatic incident."

"A diplomatic incident," the tanned man repeated with some sarcasm. "Depending on how my older brother plays his cards, it may turn out there was no point to me hiding anyone."

That was a very unsettling thing to hear. Gyoku-ou's Little Brother was built like a rough-and-ready sailor, but he seemed to know how to put on a polite tone in front of the Emperor's younger brother.

"If you'll forgive my saying so, Sir Gyoku-ou seems set on war. How has he behaved among you siblings?" Jinshi asked.

"I couldn't say for certain, but I have an idea." Gyoku-ou's Little Brother clasped his gnarled hands. "All of us called our eldest brother's mother Lady Seibo, 'the Western Mother.' Perhaps you know that she was formerly a member of the Windreader tribe?"

"Yes, I've heard."

Perhaps the name was derived from that of the goddess Sei-ou-bo, the

Western Queen Mother; or perhaps they called her that because she was the "mother" of the western capital. Or maybe her name even included the character for "west." Maomao didn't know.

"Lady Seibo was a kind woman, very concerned for those who had formerly been members of her tribe. She went with our father on his business expeditions, and any time she saw a former Windreader among the slaves, she would free them, or so I've been told."

"That would mean Sir Gyoku-ou went with her?"

"Yes, sir. A great many members of the Windreader tribe were found in Shaoh. Many of them had been viciously mistreated by the people there; they were practically skin and bones. My mother met many of them in their last moments."

Maomao listened. This sort of made sense to her...but sort of didn't. Chue seemed to be of the same opinion; she was frowning.

"What do you think, Miss Maomao?" she asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer that. It would certainly be one reason to want to go to war, but it seems like it must be just one reason out of many."

That was her honest opinion. She understood it, as a justification, but on its own it was too little. Wanting revenge for one's people was understandable, but tribes all over the plains had attacked the former Windreaders. Meanwhile, foreigners hardly had a monopoly on mistreating their slaves. As a political matter, such things were barely more than excuses.

Jinshi, as it turned out, had much the same questions as Maomao and Chue.

"Is that the only reason?" he asked bluntly. "I realize Sir Gyoku-ou is your eldest sibling, but surely that doesn't silence the younger members of the family completely. Is it not precisely because you disagree with him, Sir Dahai, that you were willing to entertain what I had to say?"

So Gyoku-ou's Little Brother's name was Dahai. It meant "Great Sea," certainly an appropriate name for a sailor.

But he doesn't have "gyoku" in his name.

That, Maomao realized, was the sign that this man didn't stand in the line of succession. She wondered if Gyokuyou had always had the "gyoku" element in her name because of her exceptional qualities, or if she had changed her name when she entered the rear palace.

"I presume Sir Gyoku-ou can't afford to ignore the master of the harbors just because that man is his younger brother. What did he use to negotiate with you?" Jinshi asked.

Dahai flinched, but then smiled. "You should get out among the people more, Moon Prince. Then they might cease to believe that you're nothing but a figurehead."

"Get out among the people and do what? Would you have me paraded around like a portable shrine at a festival?" Jinshi continued to look every inch the royal, but his tone had grown rather informal. He must have already met this man several times before; Maomao just hadn't known about it. Otherwise, Dahai would never have dared to speak as frankly as he just had.

"My eldest brother tempted me with the rights to Shaoh's ports. Currently, ships from other countries pay through the nose to use them. Products from a great many lands find their way to Shaoh, coming on a great many ships, and Shaoh has them all over a barrel. They need those ports. My brother informed me of his intention to take the ports and put me in charge of them. I would clear at least this much easily."

He held up five fingers to indicate the amount. Maomao couldn't even imagine that many zeros.

"And?"

"And what?"

"He may speak of giving you rights, but all I see is a drastic increase in your workload. As capable as you are, Sir Dahai, even you can't single-handedly manage two major ports with foreign ships coming and going. Unless you have some plan for splitting yourself in half and becoming two people? Have you become a master of the immortals' arts without my knowing it?" Jinshi was teasing—taunting—him.

Dahai's expression didn't change. "I have someone who serves as my right hand. And my left. And both feet. I'll let them handle things."

"You'd send your most valuable people to a land that seems set to become a battlefield? I'd heard mariners valued their shipmates, but perhaps I was misinformed." Now Jinshi was openly provoking the other man.

What's he up to? Just witnessing this was enough to put Maomao's nerves on edge. It had to be taking a toll on both Jinshi and Dahai. Now I see why he wanted a "charge." It had to be mentally and emotionally draining to keep up this conversation.

"Perhaps that suggests to you how important these rights are," Dahai said.

"Very well. Then what's keeping the rest of your siblings quiet? There can't be many carrots as large as those harbor rights. If anything, I would expect the opposite—that they would find the costs of invading another country unduly burdensome."

After a moment, Dahai said, "I have no doubt my brother explained to each of our siblings the advantages of supporting him."

Maomao and Chue were still peeking from behind the curtain. They were out of mooncakes, and Chue had moved on to nibbling on a fried dough twist.

"Are you sure I should be seeing this?" Maomao asked her.

"Sure, it's fine!"

"No, I mean... If Dahai found out, wouldn't he be upset?" Maomao knew she would be, if she found out that some ladies-in-waiting had been eavesdropping on secret conversations she'd been having.

"I think he's already upset just having to deal with the Moon Prince. His Majesty's younger brother may have a low opinion of himself, but he always manages to get the job done." True enough.

Dahai had to be more than a dozen years older than Jinshi, but it was the prince who held the initiative in this conversation. It looked like he knew something, something important.

Did Empress Gyokuyou give him some kind of inside information? No, wait...

Jinshi placed a black lump on the table.

"Would this be the advantage you're talking about?"

It was some kind of rock. The glossy sheen on its surface made it look like obsidian, but it wasn't.

"I believe in I-sei Province you call this the burning stone," Jinshi said.

The burning stone... A stone that burns... Coal?

Maomao remembered what tousle-glasses had written in his letter.

"They say there's a mountain near the port in Shaoh that produces coal. Take control of the port and one could—and no doubt would—start digging it up, yes?" Jinshi asked. Then he said, "I see that I-sei Province is more desperate for fuel than we are in the central region. Dramatic temperature differences between day and night, no doubt many deaths of freezing in the winter. Without much timber, your main sources of fuel are straw and animal dung, but the supplies of both are unstable. The suggestion that there might be a steady stream of fuel to be had is one that could easily sway an entire family of siblings. Now, here is the question..." Oh, man, I hate that look.

Jinshi was making the face he always made when he was about to bring Maomao some kind of problem. She'd lost count of the number of times when, in the rear palace, she'd met that unctuous expression with the look of someone observing an upside-down cicada.

"Sir Dahai, neither you nor Sir Gyoku-ou brought up the subject of coal. Why not?" Jinshi asked.

Argh! I really hate that look!

Maomao was starting to sympathize with Dahai. Jinshi could be brutal. He only acted when everything was ready and there was no longer any escape.

"Records show that there used to be mining in I-sei Province—a modest amount, I grant, but it was there. Now you no longer do it. May I ask why not?" "Can't a mine dry up?" Dahai replied.

"Did it?"

Dahai studied Jinshi for a moment. "What are you saying, sir?" There was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Oh, nothing. I've simply been wondering what would happen if the central region were to reconsider the value of coal, and perhaps include it on our surveys. What do you suppose would happen if it turned out someone had been hiding coal that they should have been sending to us?"

Lahan's riddling letter had been a way to try to tell them that I-sei Province had a hidden coal mine.

"All reports of coal mining ceased seventeen years ago. Did something happen in the midst of the chaos surrounding the Yi clan?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir."

"You're telling me you've been using coal without knowing it?"

"Is that an accusation?"

Dahai and Jinshi squared off. The easy friendliness of their conversation earlier only made this moment harder to bear.

"I've heard that the western capital's ironworks are thoroughly blackened."

"That happens when you make iron."

"True. Ash is ash, whether you burn wood or coal." Maomao thought she saw Jinshi glance in her direction for a split second. "However, the smell—that can't be hidden, can it? More to the point, we have confirmation of large quantities of coal being brought into the ironworks."

Chue had told Maomao about coal's unique smell. It had led them to the ironworks, where they had collected indisputable evidence. Jinshi was very thorough.

Dahai continued to play at being evasive, however. "It's not so unusual to import coal from other countries. I question how you can be so sure our supply comes from I-sei Province itself."

"Perhaps you'd let me see your manifests, then. Presumably any imported coal would have to come via ship." Jinshi's perfect lips curled into a smile.

"You seem willing to be much firmer with the younger brother than the elder." Dahai looked openly exasperated.

"When a person has proof, he can be as firm as he wishes." It was a bit of a fig leaf for the Emperor's younger brother, but it was his way of signaling that he was not going to simply force matters using his authority. "Besides, we don't have to make this difficult. I have an easy way out for you."

After a long moment Dahai said, "I should have known I would never get the better of you."

"There was a secret agreement with the former emperor—or perhaps I should say with the empress regnant—regarding the use of coal, was there not?" Jinshi asked.

"What would ever give you that notion?"

"You have no idea how prickly the bean counters in the royal capital can get. The mere annihilation of an entire clan would never convince them that they should get less tax money than they did the year before."

Maomao could just picture Lahan working his abacus, which he always carried despite the fact that he did all his math in his head. It was frankly obnoxious.

"So there was a tacit agreement with the court about the matter of the coal.

And yet you come here with your accusations, Moon Prince?"

"I said, didn't I? That it was a secret agreement with the former empress dowager, the empress regnant. The current sovereign had, and has, no part in it. Say the Emperor doesn't know about it, or knows but stays silent. How would people react if I spoke up? I can already see the gleam in the eyes of the Board of Revenue. They would demand seventeen years' worth of back taxes, every last pebble they're owed. Yes, I think that would cause a reevaluation of the worth of coal."

Stupid, stupid face!

Had he really needed a charge? He seemed well in control of this situation.

"Are you threatening me? Here I thought you had saved our people from the depredations of the grasshoppers. Has it been your true aim all along to ravage us in their stead?"

"It was merely a suggestion. Did I not tell you that there was an easy way out? Let's say I am all too ignorant in these matters. I hardly know coal exists, let alone what it's worth. It's just a bunch of stones. Good enough?"

"And...what do you ask in exchange for this ignorance?" Dahai scowled at Jinshi.

"To be quite frank, I see no advantages in making war. A man is welcome to gamble with his own money if he wishes—but I cannot approve of dragging the entire country into such a wager. Should Sir Gyoku-ou use the occasion of my ritual to make anything resembling a declaration of war, I expect the people to be very much on his side. I may object, but I could easily see us sliding into an invasion of another country just the same."

"You're saying you wish me to stop my elder brother's plan, then?"

"Precisely. If there is war, I think the consequences to you will be far more dire than an investigation into coal by the royal capital. But Sir Gyoku-ou will be unable to make any war without your ships to carry the invasion force."

It was as Jinshi said. Maomao pictured a map of the region in her mind as best she could. I-sei Province was home to vast plains, where food was scarce. An invasion entirely overland seemed impossible.

"I also think it's you, Sir Dahai, who understands best of all the problems that can be caused by strife among siblings. Do you think you could bring some of the others around if you used my name?"

"Would there be any advantage to me in doing such a thing?"

"As I said. Coal is merely a rock, worthless to the central region."

Maomao sipped her tea, long gone cold, and felt a pang of sympathy for Dahai. It had to hurt, being tied into knots by a boy more than ten years his junior. But if it did, that pain wasn't apparent on his face.

Puzzled, Maomao turned to Chue, who was looking sadly at the very last of the fried dough twists.

"Miss Chue, Miss Chue," she said.

"Yes, Miss Maomao? What is it?"

"I just had a thought. Is this what they call a rigged game?" she asked idly.

"Hoo hoo hoo! It's tough being on top, isn't it? You need a good pretext to convince any of the siblings!"

Maomao realized why Dahai looked so placid even as Jinshi used him mercilessly. He was, and always had been, on Jinshi's side. But there was a hierarchy to the sibling relationships; he couldn't just bull around doing what he pleased. He needed there to be some reason he was forced to cooperate with Jinshi, and he had come here to get it.

Suddenly, Maomao felt stupid for having been on tenterhooks the entire time.

A charge, my ass! The cold sweat—all of it felt silly. God, I hate politics.

Maomao was reminded, painfully, of why she loathed being involved with anything political.

Chapter 17: In the Shadow of the Ritual

The eightieth day.

The ritual Jinshi would perform, Maomao gathered, was to be a middle rite. She didn't know much about the niceties of state ceremonies, but she was given to understand that the rituals performed by the Emperor could be divided into great rites, middle rites, and lesser rites, and that the exact nature of the ceremony varied with the scale.

The officiant has to purify himself for three days before a middle rite.

She remembered Jinshi doing this once when she'd been assigned to him as a lady-in-waiting. It had involved him eating ascetic meals and performing some sort of ritualistic gestures before he got in the bath. She also remembered Jinshi, who'd still had some growing to do, looking rather disappointed by the quantity of the meals.

"So the festival's to be tomorrow," said the quack doctor with his typical lack of concern as he rolled up a strip of torn sheet.

"I suppose you could call it a festival, but you know there won't be any food stalls or anything, right?" Maomao made sure the pills that had come out of their wooden mold were all perfectly round, then placed them neatly on a wicker tray. It was stomach medication, made with substitute ingredients because there was nothing like enough actual medicine around. If they ran into the freak strategist's aide, she intended to give him some.

The ceremony would be performed in a large open plaza in the middle of the western capital. There was a shrine there; it was a very prominent spot.

"Master Lihaku," Maomao said.

"Hm? Yeah?" The big-mutt-like soldier was cutting a sheet into neat strips with a knife.

"Are we sure that having a festival at this moment won't backfire and cause violence instead?"

"That's a real tough question. Our one saving grace is that everything I've seen of that plaza makes it look easy to defend. It's circular, so we can surround it, and it's big, which will make it hard to fire an arrow into it." So it wasn't, from his perspective, a dangerous location. "The one real potential problem is if the people turn into a mob and just pile past us."

"Yeah, there wouldn't be much you could do about that."

Even impeccably trained soldiers could only do so much to resist sheer numbers.

Maomao hoped there wouldn't be any injuries, but who knew what the day would bring? It was even possible that an unruly mob would rip off Jinshi's robes and discover the burn on his flank.

"What I can say is that there's been less violence the last few days," Lihaku said, handing the shredded sheet to the quack doctor. "The mob that night seems to have helped things calm down, at least a little bit."

"You mean because Master Gyoku-ou spoke directly to the people?"

"Uh-huh. And it sounds like his younger brothers have been trying to talk people around as well."

That must come from the brother Jinshi talked to.

Gyokuen's family held control of every industry in the western capital.

Anyone who went against them would find life in the city very, very difficult.

"Security's still tight, though. There are still people around claiming that it's the Imperial younger brother's fault that that swarm broke out." As a soldier, Lihaku was kept abreast of each day's security preparations.

Then Maomao asked the question that was bothering her most. "How do you expect Master Gyoku-ou to act during the ceremony?"

How would he behave, this man who lusted for war? Maomao didn't think he would just stand by quietly, checked by his younger brothers. She only hoped that he wouldn't launch into his speech in the middle of the ritual.

"We expect him to give a formal greeting, of course. In the interests of

security, he'll wait at the administrative office until his moment. It sounds like his speech will be at the end, after everything else is over."

Using the administrative office as a staging area was perfectly understandable; it wasn't far from the plaza. And yet...

"Doesn't that seem like it's sort of putting Master Gyoku-ou squarely in the spotlight?" Maomao asked.

"I'd say it does," Lihaku replied.

Providing security was going to be tough enough; splitting them into two groups seemed especially questionable. Gyoku-ou was the one the people trusted. Wouldn't they be more likely to stay calm if he were at the plaza with them?

Not to mention, having the less socially important person show up late would normally be unconscionably rude. The sight of Gyoku-ou arriving from the administrative office with his attendants and bodyguards in tow would leave a profound impression on the onlookers.

"Let me guess. Was this Master Gyoku-ou's idea?"

"Actually, no," Lihaku said, closing his eyes and stroking his chin, which was gradually acquiring a stubble. There were no longer any razors fine enough to shave facial hair, so he had to go without. "What I've heard is that Master Gyoku-ou's younger brothers and sisters wanted to get together to discuss matters before the ceremony. But there wasn't much time, and tomorrow was the only time they could do it."

"Well, well." Maomao was impressed; Dahai had been harder at work than she'd expected.

"The siblings seem to be split into factions supporting the eldest and the youngest."

"The youngest?" Maomao was perplexed for a moment, but then she had a vision of the red-haired Empress. "You mean Empress Gyokuyou?"

This was the first she'd heard about Gyokuyou being the youngest of

Gyokuen's children, but she and Gyoku-ou were so far separated in age that it wasn't that surprising.

"That's right. The eldest son might inherit leadership of the clan, but the word of the Empress carries a lot of weight—even though she's his youngest sister. All the sisters are for Empress Gyokuyou, and even a few of the brothers."

"You're very well-informed, Master Lihaku." Maomao nudged the big soldier with her elbow.

"I talk with the other guards who come by here, and they've all been around. I hear a lot of things. The others used to say they were jealous of me because guarding the annex was supposed to be a cushy job, but since that mob the other night, I haven't heard a word from anyone."

"Is it just me, or does Master Gyoku-ou seem given to extreme policies?

Doesn't that bother the people of the western capital?"

"That has to do with what 'layer' of the support base you're looking at. The group you're thinking of, young lady, has a bunch of Master Gyoku-ou's supporters in it. If you change your perspective, a lot of other things change with it."

"I feel like it didn't used to be that way," Maomao objected as she helped untangle the quack from the strips of sheet he'd gotten himself caught in.

"Time passes, things change. The more upset the people get, the more they pressure their politicians. And then later, they complain that they don't like how it turned out."

"Is that how it works?" Maomao rolled up the cloth. She just hoped the ritual would go smoothly.

The next day was bright and blue, not a cloud in the sky. That wasn't specifically a sign of good fortune in the western capital, where it hardly rained anyway, but it still made a nice backdrop for a ceremony. The impending festivities did something to dispel the gloom that had clung to the city the past several months.

"What do you think, young lady? Shall we go up?" the quack doctor asked, heading up the stairs with his steamed potato in hand. He and Maomao had to stay and watch the medical office, but the plaza was visible from the third floor of the annex, and they decided to watch from there.

Maomao had suggested that she should go to the ritual site in case anything happened, but Jinshi had rejected that idea. He seemed to think his life would be far harder if Maomao got hurt than if he himself did.

I don't really expect Jinshi to be injured, anyway—and the freak strategist is at the ceremony. If Maomao were there too, he seemed likely to interrupt proceedings.

Instead she got to watch from the third floor of their building, which had an excellent view and a nice breeze. In the room with her and the quack were Chue, Lihaku, the duck, and, for some reason, Lahan's Brother.

"What? You think it's wrong of me to be here?" Lahan's Brother asked, glowering at her. The duck raised her bill in imitation of his expression. Lahan's Brother must have been looking after the duck for Basen, who was serving as Jinshi's bodyguard.

"Did I say anything out loud?"

"I saw it on your face. It hurts to know I was right."

"I'm sorry." Maomao tried to make Lahan's Brother feel better by offering him a steamed potato, but he jumped back, saying he'd had more than enough of them. The duck comforted him.

"I can see them, but it's so far away. They're all so small," the quack said, squinting. The stage was visible from where they were, but they couldn't make out the participants' faces. They could still tell which one was Jinshi, though— even at this distance, he was obnoxiously unmissable.

"That's a good thing. From this far away, even the best archer couldn't hit them," remarked Chue, a rather unsettling thing to say. Maomao scanned the buildings near the plaza; the only ones as tall as the annex were the administrative office and the main house.

The quack squinted some more. "I feel like an arrow could reach from farther away than where we are." From their room to the center of the plaza was perhaps two hundred meters in a straight line.

"With a longbow or a crossbow, maybe, but how would you hit anything like that? And even if by some miracle you did, the arrow would never have the force to actually kill whoever it hit. We call that 'effective range,' and it's usually less than a hundred meters," Lihaku said, providing helpful military background.

"Oh. Well, that does make me feel better." The quack stuffed some potato into his mouth in relief.

"Are you absolutely sure it's safe?" The objection came from Lahan's Brother. He sat cross-legged on the ground, petting the duck, who perched in his lap. "How far an arrow flies or whether it hits its target is all down to the skill and strength of the archer isn't it? Or suppose they've developed a more advanced bow—it might be a lot more dangerous than you think, couldn't it?"

Lahan's Brother could do most things well. He might not be the most exceptional man in any one field, but he was tremendously versatile.

"You're absolutely right, Lahan's Brother. But I just don't think a bow and arrow are going to be much of a threat here. The bow has a long history—it's not going to change much now. A feifa firearm—now, there's a weapon with a lot of growing to do. That could be really dangerous one day."

"A feifa? I'm surprised to hear you mention that," Maomao said. Lihaku was a soldier, someone who trusted in his own strength. She was surprised to realize he might put stock in firearms.

"Uh-huh. A feifa's less powerful than a bow right now, but look how portable it is, just a little tube. That's the scary part. Tools get more and more powerful as they're improved. And tools that don't rely on the user's strength—those only get better and better the more improvements are made."

"Er, well, then, wouldn't it be dangerous if someone had one of these fay...fay-fah?" the quack asked, clearly unsure what a feifa actually was.

"It sure would!" Lihaku declared. So much for reassuring the old doctor.

"Lihaku! If someone targets the officiants with one of these firearms, what's the point of all your guards?" Lahan's Brother asked, despairing. He set the duck to one side.

"Fair question. But feifa still have too many shortcomings to be used in an assassination. I just don't expect to see anyone try anything with one at this ceremony. There. Feel better?"

He sounded so sure of himself that even Maomao was willing to believe him.

"The threat of violence worries me more," Lihaku said. "But things seem quiet for now."

"And they'll probably stay that way, as long as we're giving out food," Lahan's

Brother said, skeptical. "Look. See that over there?"

"See what over where?" Chue asked, squinting. Maomao looked too, and saw crowds of people surrounding what appeared to be shop stalls.

"They're handing out some extra food that arrived. Well, potatoes, to be specific."

"Potatoes," Maomao echoed. Just how crazy was Lahan's Father for potatoes? Lahan's Grandpa and Lahan's Mother had seemed resentful of their rustic dwelling, but Maomao suspected that just by selling potatoes, their income probably far surpassed that of the freak strategist's debt-riddled estate. They'd built a veritable Potato Palace.

"They went to the people who normally do the food stalls at this sort of thing and got them to pass the potatoes out. They get experienced food handlers, and it helps with employment."

"Hoh," Maomao said, taking a sip of tea. It was thin, made with well-used leaves. The potatoes would make things easy, because they didn't even need to be peeled: with a modicum of fuel, they could be roasted. It was very Jinshiesque to think not just of handing out food, but of how to use that to obtain a variety of economic benefits.

"They've added an extra detail too," Lahan's Brother informed them. "They brand each potato to identify it as coming from His Majesty's younger brother."

Maomao spat out her tea so hard that it got into her nose and threatened to fly up into her eyes.

"Huh? What's your problem?" Lahan's Brother asked, patting her on the back. "N-Nothing. Nothing. Just, isn't it sort of impertinent to put the Moon Prince's sigil on a potato?"

"It's a simplified version, just a crescent moon. It wouldn't have been possible to do anything too detailed."

Maomao wondered, concerned, if Jinshi was doing this as a form of selfflagellation.

"Branded potatoes! Now that sounds interesting. Miss Chue will just go get some," Chue said, shhp-ing to her feet.

"We have potatoes right here," Maomao said.

"She will also see if there are any tempting snacks around. In other words,

Miss Chue is tired of watching."

"Now, that's no fair, Miss Chue. You expect me to just stay here and watch the place?" Lihaku said.

"Sure do! Have fun!"

And with that, Chue left.

Maomao dabbed at her face with a handkerchief and looked out at the plaza. A man in highly conspicuous clothing—presumably Jinshi—was walking through it. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she caught the faint sounds of musical instruments, carried to them on the breeze.

She munched a potato and hoped nothing would happen.

Chapter 18: The Siblings' Conference

Rikuson looked around the meeting room and wondered why he was there.

He was in the largest room in the administrative building, and with him were Gyokuen's children. Eight of them, including Gyoku-ou, all seated at a round table.

As far as Rikuson was aware, Gyokuen had thirteen children. One of them was Empress Gyokuyou. Gyokuen's second daughter, Rikuson had heard, had accompanied him to the royal capital as his aide.

That left eleven children in the western capital, which meant three of them weren't here. Maybe it was just that hard to get everyone together at the same time, or maybe only one representative had been sent from each mother's brood.

Rikuson looked around at the siblings, matching them with his memory. Gyoku-ou was the oldest son, of course. To his left was the second son, and to his right, the third. The third son was on good terms with Empress Gyokuyou, and had met several times with His Majesty's younger brother as well. Both of them sometimes came to the administrative building.

Gyokuen's eldest daughter sat next to the second son, and the third daughter sat next to the third son. It was the custom in the western capital for the most respected person to sit farthest away from the entrance, but at the same time, the eldest daughter was older than the second son. So they weren't going strictly by age here, but discriminating by gender.

The fourth son and daughter as well as the fifth daughter were missing. There were also three faces that Rikuson didn't recognize. He presumed they were the only siblings he hadn't yet accounted for—the fifth, sixth, and seventh sons. Assuming they were seated in order, that would make the man sitting directly across from Gyoku-ou the seventh son.

Behind each of the seated siblings was another chair, in which sat an aide or attendant. Behind Gyoku-ou alone there were two chairs—his confidant was in one of them, and, for some reason, Rikuson was in the other.

Rikuson couldn't have felt more out of place, but Gyoku-ou had summoned him to this conference, so there was nothing he could do but go. By all rights, Rikuson should have been in the plaza, observing the ritual.

"So, Elder Brother? What, pray tell, have you summoned us here for today?" asked the eldest daughter, a woman somewhere in her forties with a hawklike nose.

"As I've already explained. I wish to discuss the future of the western capital —no, of I-sei Province itself." Gyoku-ou spread his hands wide. His large, solid frame made his eldest sister look that much more delicate and willowy. The people at the table might all have been siblings, but with each of them having a different mother, they all looked very distinct from each other.

"I can't go along with what you're suggesting, Eldest Brother," the third son said in a firm voice. His sunbaked skin and hair marked him out as a man of the sea. Rikuson remembered that this son was in charge of the ports, and that he could be even more influential than the second son. Gyoku-ou would have to be careful with him.

"Oh no, Dahai? Whatever happened to listening to your older brother?" Gyoku-ou sniffed. He wasn't dealing with a child, though, but with a man in his mid-thirties.

"I understand what you're trying to say. You're referring to what you already told me, yes?" Dahai asked with a glance at Rikuson.

"Don't worry. Everyone in this room is free to hear about it," Gyoku-ou said. His way of indicating that Rikuson was on his side, perhaps. Or maybe that he didn't care if the story got back to the Imperial younger brother.

Dahai looked straight at Gyoku-ou. "You want to attack Shaoh? Our father would never stand by and let you do such a thing. You may be acting governor,

Brother, but this is going too far."

"I agree with Dahai," said the second brother, a heavyset, tanned man. He was in charge of land transport, Rikuson recalled. "The profits you envision from this war seem hazy compared to the costs of waging it. I'm a merchant. I recoil from the idea of sending my laborers to the battlefield—and if we should lose this war, imagine the debt we'd be in!"

Several of the other siblings voiced their agreement with the second son's assessment. Gyoku-ou, however, appeared calm. "My, my. Did you all have a little conference of your own before you came to confront me? I seem to remember you being more open to my suggestion before."

"I do not agree."

"Nor I," said the eldest and third daughters. The third daughter had a striking face and an ample body; she looked substantially younger than her thirty-odd years.

When the older sisters spoke up, the younger men, from the fifth son on down, looked around uneasily. The eldest sister ignored their discomfort, continuing, "Where am I supposed to sell my carpets if we start a war? I finally managed to make major inroads into Shaoh."

Then the third sister spoke up. "And I won't be able to make my grape wine anymore. Since I assume you'll get your conscripts from among the farmers? You can't take my winegrowers, I'll tell you that. We've finally gotten to where people think our wine tastes better than the imported stuff. More and more people in the royal capital are buying it!"

Neither of them were happy. Although they were women, they had real parts to play here. They were full-blooded merchants, true daughters of Gyokuen, and it seemed to set the men back on their heels.

"Harsh words, my younger sisters. Harsh words," Gyoku-ou said with a grim smile.

"Harsh? I've been entrusted with the western capital's whole textile industry. If we go to war, our best work will cease to sell. Do you know how many craftspeople will end up on the street? Hundreds if not thousands of workers and their families would starve—and you expect me to just go along with this? I would need a guarantee of at least a decade of supply and security on the other side, or I don't even want to talk about it."

"My. Such demands." Gyoku-ou looked troubled. Just for a second, it almost seemed the younger sister had succeeded in outtalking her elder brother, but the concern soon disappeared from Gyoku-ou's face. "From what I hear, land and sea transport, textiles, and winemaking are all doing quite well for themselves. They'll be able to continue happily in spite of the swarm." He stroked his chin, then turned to look at the three silent brothers. "What about ironmaking, ceramics, and animal husbandry? How are they doing?"

One man hesitantly raised his hand. He couldn't be older than Rikuson, maybe even quite a bit younger. He was small but muscular; from his seating position, Rikuson took him to be the fifth son.

"To be honest, not very well," he said. "We built a blast furnace in the western capital as Father suggested, but it hasn't improved profitability. It was never going to!"

"Why not? Aren't you doing the work? I know there's constant demand for iron." The third daughter narrowed her large eyes and looked at her little brother.

"We are! We're working! But it doesn't happen like you think. The capital's port makes it easy enough to get iron ore, but we don't have fuel! Straw and sheep shit isn't enough to make an oven hot enough to melt metal. Kindling and charcoal are too expensive—and even if we could afford them, the city is overflowing with trade goods. Customers prefer higher-quality metalwork from abroad. We could work all we like, and we'd still have to sell for the lowest price."

"Then make more valuable items!" the third sister said. She clearly thought this should have been obvious.

"We will! But do you have any idea how much groundwork has to be laid before we can do that? Didn't you yourself get our father's help until the wine from our region started selling?"

"Ahem! Well, yes, but..." The third sister looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"I'm with Fifth Brother," said a heretofore quiet man in his mid-twenties, raising his hand. They seemed to be speaking in order of age, which would make him the sixth son. Rikuson could only watch the siblings bicker, as inert as the chair he sat in. "Ceramics, too, are difficult to manufacture without fuel. I'm as happy as any of you to see the western capital growing by leaps and bounds as it has been, but at the same time, prices are going up. Especially for fuel, as our limited supply is split among more and more people. That's a simple fact of life."

Unlike the fifth son, the sixth spoke calmly and rationally, but what he was saying was much the same.

"Guess that makes me last," the seventh son began. He still had a baby face, but his cheeks and ears were riddled with scars. "As far as I'm concerned, you can oppose this war if you want. But I'm going to add thirty percent to the price of the wool from my flocks."

"Wh-What?! Why?!" Demanded the eldest daughter, who was in charge of textiles.

"I've been holding down the price for ages now. Mother and Father and Grandpa have been talking among themselves—she's family, they say. Give her a good price, they say. But when I'm in charge, I want to do business at the proper price. Honestly? Thirty percent is still a gesture of goodwill. It's just like our brothers said—as the western capital grows, prices go up. So why shouldn't the price of wool to make your textiles go up too?"

The fifth and sixth sons nodded in agreement with the seventh.

"Thirty percent at a stroke? That's absurd," the eldest daughter replied. "The price would normally increase in smaller steps!"

"And while that price is creeping up, the rest of us are going to die!" the seventh son exclaimed, staring daggers at his eldest sister. "Thanks to the insect swarm, my livestock have run away and my tents are in tatters. I would be willing to buy food, but no one will even sell to me—do you know what that's like? I've already had to sell a tenth of the livestock I had left. I know I can't get a fair price now for what I've already sold you. I was selling what wool and butter I had left to buy food, but now I can't even do that. You know, I've also been keeping down the price of sheep dung for the ironworks and pottery kilns. This winter looks like it's going to be a cold one. I won't have extra fuel to sell, and it's going to be all I can do to buy food for myself. Go ahead and whine about how I should cut family members a deal. It won't help. Because there'll be no one to give you a discount if I'm dead!"

The seventh son, Rikuson saw, was the youngest, but also the most combative of the siblings. The eldest daughter was scowling.

The seventh son seemed to have more he wanted to say. He looked Gyokuou. "Eldest Brother. This being the case, I ask you, this year, to open the supplies."

"The supplies," Gyoku-ou repeated.

"You know what I mean. I assume it's safe to be explicit here?" The seventh son's gaze swept those around the table. Just for a second, Rikuson felt the young man meet his eyes. "If I raise the price of wool and have coal to rely on, we might just survive. Somehow."

Rikuson only just managed to maintain his air of cool detachment at the seventh son's words. He was surprised to realize his heart was pounding, but he succeeded—he hoped—in looking genially perplexed. Why, what's that? his expression seemed to say.

"The burning stone? Yes, I need it too," said the sixth son.

"And me! Give some to me!" said the fifth.

Coal—the burning stone. As the name implied, it was a rock that would burn when you set fire to it. It wasn't mined in the central regions; there was scant use for it there, so it wasn't seen as valuable, but the same was not true of I-sei Province. Coal was often burned here to help stay warm in a cold year. It was essential.

By now, Rikuson had a firm grasp on relations between the siblings. The older ones, whose businesses were successful, sought stability and didn't want war. But the younger ones had been forced to the brink by the insect swarm and could find themselves collapsing at any moment. That was where Gyoku-ou found his opening.

"In the long view, the benefits are numerous. If we capture Shaoh, we take its mine as well," Gyoku-ou said. "Moving coal via the ports will be easy, as will transporting goods into the interior. Our iron and ceramic works will grow, and no one will have to freeze to death ever again." He spoke clearly, fluently; the speech was well rehearsed.

Dahai rose from his seat. "You've done all your planning from behind a desk,

Brother. Worse—you can't possibly know this will work. What makes you think Shaoh will fall so easily? How can you be sure they have a mine from which we can get coal? Shaoh is a neutral country. If Li attacks them unprovoked, other nations will not stand quietly by. You would anger Father, and worse, you would anger the Emperor. His love for our sister You won't save you then, not even with your nephew in line for the throne! The Yi were destroyed; you think they won't destroy us?"

Rikuson's heart started pounding again.

"The destruction of the Yi clan was unavoidable," Gyoku-ou said sadly, setting off murmuring among the brothers and sisters.

Rikuson took a deep breath. Calm down, he ordered himself. He looked around and saw that the siblings each had one of two expressions on their faces. The older ones looked anxious, while the younger ones looked lost. He realized that the youngest of them, everyone from the fifth son on down, had never learned the details of what had happened seventeen years before.

"The Yi clan attracted the attention of the empress regnant," Gyoku-ou said. "If they had been left to their own devices, the whole western capital might have been obliterated. Rotten fruit can spoil the box it's stored in, so that both must be thrown away. It was unavoidable."

He refrained from saying why they had drawn the empress's attention.

It was the second son who sighed deeply, rising from his own chair to put himself between Gyoku-ou and Dahai. "Both of you, calm down," he said. "Calm yourself, Dahai. I can see at least that our brother is trying to come up with some way to help the western capital flourish. We're all on edge because of the swarm. What will we do if you, who stand above them, chafe and fret as well?"

"But Second Brother..."

"Don't misunderstand. I oppose Brother Gyoku-ou's suggestion, as you do.

The fuel question is a crucial one, but not one that can be rushed. Right now, I believe we should be focusing on recovering from the disaster that has befallen us. Yes, it will be painful, but didn't Father teach us siblings to help each other? And you, Eldest Brother, can you not wait a little while, until the heir apparent has grown older?"

At that, Gyoku-ou began to laugh. "Heh heh... Ha ha ha! How many years would you have me wait, little brother? What certainty do we even have that my nephew will safely ascend the throne?"

"Esteemed Brother Ou, you go too far!" the third sister said, striking the table.

Gyoku-ou's eyes went wide. "You will call me Gyoku-ou!" he bellowed, raising his voice for the first time.

His anger put the third sister back on her heels; her own eyes widened slightly, but in dismay. She had committed a faux pas, and she knew it. "I apologize, Elder Brother Gyoku-ou," she said.

Almost immediately, the smile returned to Gyoku-ou's face. "It's nothing. So long as you realize."

The other siblings looked at him afresh. Until a moment ago, Rikuson would have said they were exchanging their opinions freely and without restraint, but when he saw how they reacted to Gyoku-ou's shouting, he sensed a yawning gulf between them. Gyokuen had thirteen children, but only two of them carried "Gyoku" in their names: Gyoku-ou and Empress Gyokuyou.

The father of thirteen children he might have been, but Gyokuen had only ever had one successor, Gyoku-ou. As the one guaranteed to inherit, that made his might among his siblings absolute. His younger brothers and sisters could push back against Gyoku-ou only so far as he allowed them to. His outburst had reminded them of this fact. It had shown them that they held this discussion at Gyoku-ou's pleasure alone. They were supporting actors whom Gyoku-ou had gathered on his stage.

Needless to say, "anonymous advisor" was not a speaking part. And that's exactly what Rikuson was.

The mood in the room had become intensely uncomfortable. The second son hesitantly returned to his seat.

The talk, Rikuson thought, might normally have been more amicable, but the insect swarm had left everyone living reduced lives for nearly three months now. Gyokuen's own children were unlikely to starve, but the weight of the responsibilities they bore frayed their nerves.

"I am not speaking of groundless fears," Gyoku-ou said. "I speak of the truth. Do you know how many of His Majesty's children have perished in the rear palace in these latter days?"

The brothers and sisters looked at each other in silence.

"You don't? Then let us ask someone who comes from that region. Rikuson, how many of the Emperor's honored children have left the world long before their time?"

Now all attention turned to Rikuson. So much for that minor role: he had been given a name. To have all of the siblings looking at him was almost unbearable, but there was nothing he could do except answer.

"When he was still the prince-in-waiting, one. Since his accession to the throne, three of his children have died prematurely."

"There you have it. Think how young the heir apparent still is. One cannot be certain of a child's life until at least seven years of age."

Children of the Imperial family were raised in better circumstances than those of the common folk, but even so, an infant could die all too easily, and even a grown child might still succumb to illness.

"Our younger sister You has a son, the heir apparent, and a daughter, a princess. But another of the royal consorts has a son nearly the same age as the heir apparent as well. You's child may stand next in line for the throne, but can we be sure he will stay there?"

By invoking this other woman, Gyoku-ou raised the prospect not only of death by illness, but of assassination.

"Do you mean to imply that Consort Lihua would make an attempt on the life of the heir apparent?" Dahai asked. Gyoku-ou shook his head.

"Ha ha ha. Is there not someone far more terrible than Consort Lihua?" He thrust a hand toward the window—toward the plaza where a state ceremony was presently being conducted.

"Eldest Brother, what are you saying?!" The second brother slammed his fist on the table and jumped from his chair.

"Elder Brother Gyoku-ou, I cannot countenance that utterance," said the eldest sister; she and the third sister both shook their heads. The other siblings likewise looked uneasy, each turning to their attendants. Rikuson hadn't been paying much attention to them—he had his hands full trying to watch all the siblings—but they, too, were obviously shaken by Gyoku-ou's words.

"Why not? Surely it's clear why none of the royal offspring seem to survive. His Majesty loves his own brother, the Moon Prince, more than he does the children born in the rear palace." That set the table buzzing.

"That can't be... Wait, could it?" someone asked.

"The Moon Prince?" someone else said.

Some were shocked, but to others, it seemed to make sense. Rikuson, for his part, wasn't sure how to react. The Moon Prince had spent years avoiding the public eye on the pretext of being weakened with illness. There were no other members of the royal bloodline, and there had always been rumors that the current Emperor doted upon his younger brother. They were both children of the same mother, after all. The Moon Prince was kept from public duties on account of His Majesty's overprotectiveness, some said.

When the younger brother had at last appeared, though, it turned out that he was as beautiful and as gossamer as a celestial nymph—and that he was also a hale young man as skilled in the military arts as the administrative. But what rocked the people who saw him was more than the revelation that the Emperor's younger brother was not a man to be dismissed. It was because, under the name Jinshi, this man had spent years running the rear palace, pretending to be a eunuch. What was more shocking still was when he chose to make his public appearance: on the occasion of the crushing of the Shi clan.

Ever since his days as a "eunuch,"the Moon Prince's beauty had attracted

much attention, not just from women but from men as well. The revelation of Jinshi's true identity had caused much consternation among the actual eunuchs of the rear palace; Rikuson had seen it himself. Many wondered whether they ought to retire, or perhaps hang themselves or cut their bellies.

When the Emperor was asked why he had allowed a member of the royal family to pretend to be a eunuch, he'd replied, "To search out corruption." Indeed, the Shi clan, rulers of Shihoku Province, had attempted a rebellion; their destruction was fresh in the memory.

"And what is this love you speak of?" The third daughter was blushing. She seemed to have another meaning of love in mind, but no one bothered to point that out. The possibility was indeed implied.

"Have you not heard the stories? About whether the Moon Prince is really the son of the former emperor?" Gyoku-ou said.

"Yes, but that's all they are—hearsay. Even our father said the Moon Prince was much like the former emperor in the sovereign's younger days. Then who do you propose was the father?" the second son asked, exasperated by the entire topic.

Gyoku-ou's expression never faltered. "At that time, the Empress Dowager was simply the empress. Only so many people could get close to a woman in her position. If it wasn't His Former Majesty, it could only have been a family member." Gyoku-ou grinned—an expression that the people of the western capital might have considered heroic. What he spoke of now, however, was foul. "Say, His Present Majesty."

"You're suggesting that the Moon Prince might be the Emperor's own son?" the fifth brother asked, going pale. Not only the other siblings but their attendants began muttering to each other.

With the many nomadic tribes in I-sei Province, marriage among relatives was common—but relations between a parent and child were taboo.

"Is it so hard to imagine?" asked Gyoku-ou. "The former emperor was interested only in children—and the Empress Dowager was not that young, but still young. Closer in age to our current sovereign than the former one, I daresay. Consanguinity has never stopped the Imperial family before. There are records of past members having children with nieces or half-sisters."

"This is beyond absurd! What you're suggesting is absolutely unthinkable!" Dahai shouted. All his deference toward his eldest brother had evaporated.

"And yet it explains everything. The 'Imperial younger brother' resembles His

Majesty? Well, a son resembles his father. His Majesty dotes upon the Moon Prince? So does a father upon his son. Finally, no children were raised in the rear palace for many years—to allow his eldest son to be certain to inherit the throne."

The eldest sister marched up to Gyoku-ou, pressing closer and closer to him. "You mean to say that His Majesty never intended for any of his other children to survive to adulthood? That the other infants were murdered, and the Crown Prince will be too? With what proof? What proof do you have?!" Her lady-inwaiting, somewhat reluctantly, held her mistress back.

"She's right! On what grounds can you say this?" the third daughter demanded. "If it ever came out that you were making such accusations based on nothing but speculation, we would be lucky to meet the fate of the Yi—or even the Shi—clan!"

"You want proof? Then let me tell you a story." Gyoku-ou, unbothered by the hubbub that had broken out around him, slowly uncrossed and recrossed his legs. "When the Imperial younger brother was born, almost all of the ladies-inwaiting who had attended the empress until that time were released from service. One of them was married off to a man in I-sei Province, and her husband happened to be an acquaintance of mine. Tragically, her husband died, after which she came to me with a request. She said she had something very important to say about the Imperial younger brother."

Gyoku-ou couldn't have looked more pleased with himself.

"Is... Is this true?" the eldest sister asked, slowly backing away.

"Oh, it's true. It was last year. Just after His Majesty's younger brother had been in the western capital, as it happens."

Dahai gave Gyoku-ou a doubtful look. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"This is the first I've spoken of it. It seemed very strange that she would come

to me with her story, but I thought the least I could do was hear her out. Yet almost immediately after that, this former lady-in-waiting died—run over by a carriage in a terrible accident." He spread his hands mournfully. The implication was clear: he wanted them to believe someone had tried to shut the woman up.

Rikuson felt himself break out in a damp sweat.

This man, Gyoku-ou, had a perfect facade.

He knew how to set the stage.

And he knew how to needle others in their weakest places.

He had no real proof of his claims, yet he would succeed in sowing doubt in the minds of everyone in the room about the circumstances of the Moon Prince's birth. He talked circles around them and invited them to this conclusion.

"Do you think the Moon Prince would deign to listen to what I have said? Would it be best I not speak of it? Does he know, or does he not know?" Gyokuou's voice rang around the room as he declaimed. His gestures and motions were as studied as an actor's on the stage, and his tale, which by all rights should have been laughable, fell sweetly on the ear.

"Our father desired and desires the flourishing of the western capital. Is that what we will gain by simply wagging our tails at the Imperial family? If you say we should be their dogs, then I say we should have been destroyed seventeen years ago!"

The Yi clan was named after the dog of the zodiac, and Gyoku-ou played on their name now to invoke the memory of their clan. The younger brothers and sisters who had opposed their elder no longer looked so certain. They had begun to wonder if they should meekly support the Imperial family or not.

This, Rikuson saw, was what made Gyoku-ou so frightening. He would make them do that which they did not wish to.

He knew now why he had been called here. It was a provocation: Gyoku-ou did not care if the Imperial younger brother found out about this. That was why he had chosen Rikuson, a hamstrung man. Just as the bat was neither bird nor beast, so Rikuson belonged neither to the royal capital nor the western city.

Gyoku-ou's tone filled Rikuson's mind. It challenged him to speak if he dared —and asked what it would matter if he did.

"Now, we must get ready," Gyoku-ou said. "We cannot let the ceremony conclude without our presence. All of you, go, prepare."

At Gyoku-ou's urging, the siblings parted ways, with heavy hearts and long faces.

Finally, only Dahai among them was left. Before he left the room, he turned to look at Gyoku-ou. "Eldest Brother. This ceremony we go to..."

"I'll mind my manners for today. I know your hearts are not yet settled."

Rikuson wasn't sure whether he found that reassuring. He stayed in his chair, stock-still, staring at the ground.

Chapter 19: The Weeping Wind (Part One)

It was all right. All was well, Gyoku-ou kept telling himself. Soon, all would be over. Soon, it would all be taken care of.

He felt as if a thread that had been wound around his feet were soon to be cut. Meanwhile, he was moving to slash the countless threads wound around his neck.

The nightmare that had plagued him for nearly thirty years would be dispelled.

Soon. All very soon.

He picked up a flight feather that sat on the shelf. It came from a hawk his mother had especially adored. When she died, the bird passed soon after, as if following her into the next life. He remembered his distress when she had asked him to take care of the hawk for her. He didn't know how to care for a bird and had never expected to.

"You'll protect this town, won't you?" he remembered his mother saying. She was such a kind woman; she had never resented anyone in her life. His father, Gyokuen, had called her Seibo, the Western Mother, because he had wished to make her the most venerated mother in all of I-sei Province.

She had told Gyoku-ou that his name, which meant Jade Nightingale, came from a bird that lived in the lands far to the east. He wished, though, that she had named him after the eagle instead. A strong name.

"Daddy saves Mommy. Like the hero in a play!"

He wished, then, that he hadn't been named after a weak bird like the nightingale. He wished he had a stronger name.

Just as Gyoku-ou set the feather down, there came a knock at the door.

"Enter," he said.

"Master Gyoku-ou, there's someone who would like an audience with you.

Will you receive them?" asked his aide, coming into the room.

Gyoku-ou was in his office in the administrative building, getting changed. The discussion with his siblings had gone long, and he wanted to hurry to the ceremony. He had no time to entertain visitors.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"A man named Takubatsu, from a village to the northwest. What will you do, sir?"

The question meant: Did he want a guard in the room? Gyoku-ou was in a hurry; whatever this was, he wanted it to be over quickly. "Don't bother with a guard. And I want you out of here too."

Takubatsu was Gyoku-ou's milk brother. Takubatsu's mother had been an enslaved former Windreader. Seibo, out of compassion for a fellow tribe member, had freed the woman from slavery and brought her to her own residence. Takubatsu's mother had been close to Seibo, and this had led to her becoming Gyoku-ou's nursemaid. Gyoku-ou remembered his mother and his nurse looking after the bird together.

Gyoku-ou finished changing as the aide showed Takubatsu into the room.

"Pardon me," Takubatsu said and came to stand before Gyoku-ou. He was an unimposing figure, with unruly black hair and pale eyes that betrayed foreign blood in his veins. Gyoku-ou's nursemaid had had her son before she was freed from slavery—his father had been her owner.

Takubatsu had worked at the main house along with his mother, but when his mother fell ill, he had quit his job. Gyokuen had told the nursemaid she had done well and given her some money, and she and her son had moved to a quiet farming village.

Gyoku-ou and Takubatsu hadn't had any contact to speak of after that. Takubatsu had probably been occupied acclimating himself to his new surroundings. Gyoku-ou, for his part, was just as happy to have Takubatsu out of the picture—he'd seemed rather too much like an older brother.

According to Seibo, however, after going to the village, Gyoku-ou's former nursemaid had grown sedentary and senile. After working herself to the bone as a slave, old age seemed to catch up with her quickly.

Takubatsu had come to ask favors of Gyokuen several times when his life grew hard, and Gyokuen gave Takubatsu work. But more and more farmers came to imitate Takubatsu, trying to borrow money from Gyoku-ou's father. Most of them were also former slaves that his mother had freed. This, Gyokuou had always thought, was what it meant to return evil for good. He never ceased to be amazed by his father's softness.

"What is it? It's unusual for you to come yourself," he said now, suppressing his desire to demand why Takubatsu had to come at such a busy moment. Gyokuen wasn't even in the city.

Takubatsu might have been Gyoku-ou's milk brother, but it had been some time since they had seen each other. To be perfectly blunt, Gyoku-ou wanted to hurry up and finish this conversation. He had no wish to even see Takubatsu's face.

"I'm sorry to show up unannounced," Takubatsu said. "But there's something I simply must know."

When had they seen each other last? Gyoku-ou had been fifteen when his nursemaid left the estate. Until then, Takubatsu, who was a year older than him, had acted like his older brother.

At the time, Gyoku-ou didn't care, but now it rankled him to no end. Still, he couldn't summon the motivation to shout and bluster. He would handle this like an adult.

"Let's be frank with each other. I happen to be busy. I have a state ceremony to attend in a few minutes," Gyoku-ou said.

"Then in the spirit of frankness, I'll simply ask: Do you mean to go to war with Shaoh?" Takubatsu glared at him.

"If that turns out to be the only option, then yes. We have to," Gyoku-ou replied, adjusting his collar as he spoke.

"But you're the one who put us in that position! Why? Tell me that! You always used to say that you wanted to be just like Master Gyokuen—to go to other places, build relationships with other people, help the business thrive.

You wanted to help the western capital become great! You have children, grandchildren. You want to put your family in danger? Because that's what you'll be doing if you start a war!"

Takubatsu was shouting. Gyoku-ou's milk brother. He'd always looked so large to Gyoku-ou—but now he seemed small and shabby. His mother's decline had left him unable to get a decent job, which left him poor, and so he had come to Gyoku-ou's father to wheedle and beg. Gyoku-ou had thought perhaps he'd come today to do it again, but no. This was what he wanted to talk about?

"Yes, I did—but as you say, that was the past. And also as you say, my first duty must be to protect my family."

Takubatsu was talking about the halcyon days of Gyoku-ou's youth, when the sky was always blue and no doubt had troubled him.

"As you can see, the western capital is in danger. The people are exhausted by the ravages of the insect swarm. If I am to supply what they lack, some sacrifice must be made, must it not?"

"It's our leaders' job to avoid precisely such sacrifices! If Master Gyokuen were here, he would be searching for some other way—any other way. Have you searched? Even the honored Imperial younger brother has done his part!"

Gyoku-ou found Takubatsu's voice grating. The man had colicky hair and pale eyes. Signs of foreign blood. There was nothing about Takubatsu that Gyoku-ou liked—not the way he looked, not the way he acted.

"That is not your concern. I told you, I have business to attend to. I'm going to be part of a state ceremony. I'm out of time to entertain you."

"A state ceremony where you'll whip the people into a war frenzy, no doubt. It was always one of your greatest talents—give you a stage, and you could sway any audience. Just as our younger brothers and sisters looked shaken earlier."

"Shut up!" Gyoku-ou bellowed in spite of himself. He had to be careful. The bureaucrats had left the two of them alone, but they might come in if they heard shouting. He couldn't have that.

"Of course it's my concern. I'm your older brother."

Gyoku-ou regarded Takubatsu with an absolute chill in his eyes.

He couldn't have his aides hearing talk like that. No one could.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. "Milk brothers we may be, yes. If you want to go around playing at being the elder, I can smile and play along. But you are not my older brother."

"I know you wish I weren't," Takubatsu said slowly. "Master Gyokuen and Lady Seibo both raised you that way. And I'm sure my own mother agreed with them."

Takubatsu threw a book on the table, a weathered lump of sheepskin parchment. It was a family register. Obviously quite an old one—decades old, perhaps. Gyoku-ou's milk brother began flipping the pages.

"Too bad for you it's all written right here."

Seibo's name was there. Listed as her child was a name Gyoku-ou didn't recognize. They had been born, however, in the same year as Gyoku-ou.

"The story was that my mother left Master Gyokuen's household because she was sick. But it was only a cover. Master Gyokuen put us out of his house in order to hide me and my mother." The words came easily now, smoothly. "I'm told I was the son of a Shaohnese merchant. The man lost his children to sickness and accidents, one after another, and when his family was all gone, he recalled a child he'd had with a forgotten slave."

Gyoku-ou was silent. He had a ceremony to get to, but he couldn't leave this man alone while he was taking his little trip down memory lane.

"Eventually that merchant found his way to Master Gyokuen, didn't he? Did you think nothing when you saw him?"

Gyoku-ou didn't answer. It had been a few days after Takubatsu and his mother had left. A foreign man Gyoku-ou had never seen before came to the mansion and had taken Gyoku-ou by the shoulders. He spoke in rapid Shaohnese; Gyoku-ou had some trouble following him, but he could tell the man was exclaiming, "My son! My son!"

This foreign man had red hair and pale-green eyes. His eye color much resembled Takubatsu's, as did his unruly hair. But his facial features and his sturdy build were the spitting image of an older Gyoku-ou.

The foreigner had mistaken Gyoku-ou for Takubatsu. Before Gyoku-ou could push the man away, Seibo was between them. She hugged Gyoku-ou close and gave the foreign man a fearful look.

Gyoku-ou had heard that his mother was a former Windreader. He'd heard that she had left her life on the plains to join his father in doing business—and that she freed former members of the tribe who had been enslaved.

But that was wrong. Those steps were out of order.

It was Gyokuen who had freed the Windreader slaves, including Seibo and Gyoku-ou's nurse mother. Then, Seibo had become Gyokuen's wife and begun doing business with him.

As slaves, she and the nursemaid had been owned by the same man. When Gyokuen had taken her in, Seibo had already been with child by a foreign father. The foreigner, never knowing this, sold his slave, Seibo, to Gyokuen.

"You and I, Gyoku-ou, are sons of the same father," Takubatsu said. He sounded so calm, when Gyoku-ou didn't want to hear this—but even plugging his ears would not be enough to block out the truth. "My mother told me everything. I'm sure she meant to take the secret to her grave, if she hadn't gone senile. I'm sure she never meant to speak of your true father. I believe she truly was overjoyed by Master Gyokuen and Lady Seibo's marriage."

Takubatsu's mother had revealed how Gyokuen and Seibo had known each other all along, and indeed had been engaged to be married. Then another tribe had attacked, and Seibo and Gyoku-ou's milk mother had been sold into slavery. Their master had helped himself to his slaves, the nursemaid giving birth to Takubatsu and Seibo becoming pregnant with Gyoku-ou. Gyokuen had bought the slaves, giving them decent work and a place to live. Gyokuen had sought Seibo's hand in marriage, but she refused him, on the grounds that she was already pregnant.

"This is your true name," Takubatsu said.

In order to take up residence in I-sei Province, it was necessary to establish a family register, which would be kept at the administrative office in the western capital, overseen by the Yi clan.

Gyokuen promised Seibo that even if the child was not his by blood, he would raise it as if it were. She gave in, and the boy was renamed Gyoku-ou.

It was then that the nursemaid began working in Gyokuen's household, and Takubatsu became Gyoku-ou's milk brother.

Gyoku-ou had been so young that he didn't remember any of this.

He clawed at his knees under the table. He knew. He knew all of it. He didn't need Takubatsu to tell him—Gyoku-ou knew the truth. And still, he had to be Gyokuen's eldest son.

Righteousness was with his father. Justice in the form of protecting the western capital. It was what Seibo had wanted. To accomplish it, Gyokuen's eldest son, Gyoku-ou, had to be perfect.

The evil necessary to attain Gyokuen's justice? Compared to other leaders, it was hardly evil at all. Gyoku-ou's father was simply that good a man.

Gyoku-ou remembered how the former slaves failed at the unfamiliar practice of farming, again and again, and came to his father for money. Gyokuen, ever kind, lent it to them. What they couldn't repay, he allowed them to pay off by working in his fields at the harvest. It was as gentle a loan as had ever been offered. In fact, considering the time and effort necessary to teach them, the borrowers came out ahead. Yet in spite of this, Gyoku-ou's father was never greedy. Perhaps a man with deep pockets could simply, literally afford to help others like this.

Even then, there were limits to what could be permitted. They were broken by the first slaves Gyokuen had freed. People who knew about Gyoku-ou's origins.

As they say, the quiet pheasant is not shot.

Gyokuen truly loved Gyoku-ou. Those audacious enough to try to threaten him disappeared one by one. Be they former slaves, or be they members of the Windreader tribe who knew Seibo, they vanished. They had to. The Jade must remain unblemished.

If Gyoku-ou was to succeed his father, then anyone who stood in the way must be eliminated.

"Where exactly did you get this register?"

"Big Lin had it hidden. I got it from him."

Takubatsu seemed to be talking about something that had stirred up the household some time ago. Even Gyoku-ou had heard about it.

"The so-called Small Lin, the one who disappeared—that was you? That means you've been working on this for a while. But why?"

After a moment, Takubatsu said, "Master Gyokuen asked me to. He said that if Big Lin seemed to be hiding any papers from long ago, to let him know. He told me to burn anything I found. That was why he periodically called me here." Now it all made sense. "I see," Gyoku-ou said.

Gyokuen had, as ever, had his son's interests at heart. He'd given Gyoku-ou hell for what he'd done to the Yi clan those seventeen years ago, but even then he hadn't disinherited him. Gyoku-ou worked on Gyokuen's behalf. So that the people would venerate him, so that charity could be given to the weak, so that everyone would see him as a hero upon whom they could rely.

Gyoku-ou knew his father would forgive what he did. For Gyoku-ou, who would take over from his father, was the perfect politician, unblemished, always thinking of what would help the western capital thrive.

That was how he knew that what he was doing now was right.

"If you really care about the western capital, please, stop this nonsense about attacking other countries," Takubatsu said. "If you won't..." He took a knife from the folds of his robe.

Gyoku-ou didn't so much as take a step back. However, he couldn't spend any more time on this matter. He forced his coursing blood to cool and let out a great sigh. "Very well," he said. "I won't do anything."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes. But only let me go to this ceremony. If I don't appear, the mood will go sour. I don't want to damage the Imperial younger brother's reputation."

"Yes... Very well. But I'm going to keep this family register close. I fully intend to raise the matter with Master Gyokuen."

With that, Takubatsu put the knife on the table and picked up the register instead. Gyoku-ou trusted that he wouldn't tell anyone what he knew.

"I want you to know one thing, Takubatsu. For the western capital, for I-sei

Province, there is nothing I won't do."

"I know that. You always told me how much you wanted to be a great man like Master Gyokuen." Takubatsu actually smiled.

"Exactly."

"To you, he is a noble father—and I, too, see him as a father I can respect more than anyone else."

Gyoku-ou didn't speak, but at that, a thread snapped within him. He'd meant to remain calm at this moment no matter what happened. But it was bad enough for Takubatsu to call Gyoku-ou his younger brother. Now he called Gyokuen his father.

Gyoku-ou had to be Gyokuen's eldest son. Had to be his pride, the leader of the western capital...

"Hrngh!" Takubatsu exclaimed.

Before Gyoku-ou knew what had happened, he realized there was a knife in his right hand and a sheathe in his left. Something slick ran along his palm.

"Wh... Why?" Takubatsu's eyes were wide, and bloody foam dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His blood poured down the table and onto the floor; the family register he'd been holding dropped from his hands and into the red pool.

"Because you're in my way."

With the knife still lodged in Takubatsu, Gyoku-ou's mind turned to the events of the past.

How he'd wished to be like his father, longed for his father to validate him.

Gyokuen loomed so large in his mind. Gyoku-ou had grown large too—but it wasn't the same.

At first, he hadn't much minded.

Gyokuen and Seibo had handled business together, and the family had been surrounded by servants. Gyokuen was a brilliant businessman, and Seibo was every bit as sharp as him. A hugely capable woman, she would find out what he needed, and then she would act to get it.

Gyoku-ou had wanted for nothing in his upbringing. Only, when he was five years old, another woman and her daughter came to live with them.

Gyokuen fawned over to the new child—a little sister to Gyoku-ou, still just two years old. Seibo was nearly as smitten as her husband. The new woman was also kind to Gyoku-ou.

Two years after that, a third woman arrived, bringing a little brother.

Then there was a fourth and a fifth...

The family got bigger and bigger. Each time it did, Gyoku-ou worried. To him, it felt like a jar full of honey being gradually diluted with water.

Gyokuen always picked intelligent women. One was a master of horsemanship, another skilled in arithmetic. Each of them passed on their particular talents to their offspring. The women supported Gyoku-ou's father, and their children in turn helped them.

Through the bonds of family, the newly arrived You household became great in the western capital. At the same time, Gyoku-ou felt the bond joining him to Gyokuen weakening.

Yet it proved otherwise. Gyokuen chose Gyoku-ou for his successor. Seibo was still Gyokuen's official wife; the other women were only consorts. Surely, it was only Gyoku-ou who could rule the western capital as Gyokuen had. Not his younger brothers or sisters.

Even after he discovered that he was not Gyokuen's real son, Gyoku-ou maintained his equanimity. So what if they weren't connected by blood? Gyokuen valued Gyoku-ou most of all. He couldn't have cared more for him if he'd been his own flesh and blood.

So it was that Gyoku-ou was able to be kind and gentle to his younger siblings. Tolerant of them. Gyoku-ou alone was like a cuckoo's chick, a different creature from his brothers and sisters, but so long as his father treated him as his eldest son, Gyoku-ou meant to play the part of the elder brother to the hilt.

The very last mother and child that Gyokuen welcomed into his house, however, Gyoku-ou could not tolerate. They had red hair and pale-green eyes— just like the master who had tormented Seibo when she was a slave.

Bit by bit the curses overflowed, the way ink might stain a piece of parchment.

The patter of blood dripping to the floor brought Gyoku-ou back to reality.

"...oku...o..." Takubatsu looked at him with bloodshot eyes and said something, his voice a whisper, but Gyoku-ou couldn't hear it.

Gyoku-ou flipped the knife around in his hand and gutted Takubatsu.

Unable to speak anymore, he only glared at Gyoku-ou with baleful eyes.

"One final mercy for a milk brother," Gyoku-ou said, and then he pulled the knife out before driving it past Takubatsu's ribs and into his heart. Takubatsu groaned, twitched, and died.

The knife had belonged to Takubatsu. He'd tried to attack Gyoku-ou, only to meet his end by his own weapon. Yes, that would do for a scenario.

Gyoku-ou picked up the family register, wrapped it in a cloth, and placed it in a drawer.

He was right—someone had heard the shouting. There was a rush of footsteps that stopped outside the door, followed by a knock.

"Master Gyoku-ou? Is everything all right?" a voice asked.

"Come in," he said.

"M—Master Gyoku-ou?!"

It wasn't his aide who entered, but Rikuson. He'd been at the conference with them—he must have come to check on Gyoku-ou when he was running late. "What in the world happened here?" Rikuson asked, maintaining an air of calm despite his obvious shock. This was the man that Gyoku-ou's father had sent him from the royal capital to be his adjutant. He knew enough not to immediately make a scene.

"You're telling me you can't guess?" Gyoku-ou asked.

"This man... He's the one who sought an audience with you a few minutes ago, isn't he?"

Rikuson must have seen Takubatsu when he spoke to the aide.

"That's right. He was my milk brother, in fact, so I indulged him. He came to beg for money, but when he saw he couldn't wheedle anything out of me, he became enraged." Gyoku-ou showed him Takubatsu's knife.

"You did this, sir?"

"Yes. What, you think the likes of him could overpower me?"

Gyoku-ou's face was still twitching. Takubatsu had brought this upon himself. Talking as if he and not Gyoku-ou were Gyokuen's eldest son.

Gyoku-ou placed the knife on the table. He would have to change quickly and get some perfume to cover the smell of blood.

"Not at all, Master Gyoku-ou. Your strength he could not best." Rikuson knelt down and looked at Takubatsu's body. Inspecting the wounds, it seemed like.

"I didn't want to do it, but he left me no choice. I wanted to settle things amicably. I have a ceremony to attend. But he tried to stand in my way. Good riddance to him."

Rikuson's gaze was empty as it drifted from Takubatsu to Gyoku-ou and back.

"Yes... Of course."

Then, for a second, Gyoku-ou lost sight of Rikuson. He turned—where had he gone?—to find the other man right next to him.

"Here's what I'll tell everyone," Rikuson said, and his expression was cold, except for a glint of flame deep in his eyes. What was this? "Master Gyoku-ou was attacked by a traitor..."

Suddenly, Gyoku-ou felt very warm.

"...and he met his end."

What did that mean? Gyoku-ou was still trying to understand when he collapsed.

He found himself face-to-face with Takubatsu. There was blood all over the floor; he could hear it flowing out.

"I arrived too late to save him, but I was able to stop the traitor," Rikuson said.

What did that mean? What was he talking about? Gyoku-ou didn't understand. He opened his mouth to say something but found he couldn't speak. There was a bloody foam at the corner of his mouth.

He gasped. Still no voice came out, but only a groan, like the warbling of a bird.

"Don't make that face. Don't pretend you don't know why. You'll be able to be the star." Rikuson's face was expressionless, but there were tears in his eyes. "The hero of a tragedy." The tears ran down his cheeks and fell to the floor.

He couldn't do anything—not like this. He couldn't do anything for the western capital.

He couldn't rule the city as his father's son.

He couldn't go to Shaoh and rescue the slaves, as his father had done.

He'd planned to punish the man who had put his mother through hell.

Gyoku-ou was Gyokuen's eldest son. He wouldn't let anyone usurp that place from him.

All he had to do was erase every last shred of evidence that Gyokuen wasn't his father.

There was nothing he wouldn't do to achieve that.

Even if it meant bringing down the Yi clan, which had sullied its hands with wrongdoing for the benefit of the western capital.

One day, one day when it was all gone, he was going to rule secure in

Gyokuen's place...

The clatter of a carriage, the neighing of the horses, the creak of the wheels, the shouting of the driver.

The sounds of the marketplace, the shouts of the merchants, the burble of the crowd, the laughter of children.

The dry air and exhausted earth. Though the land had scant blessings, people here lived bravely and well. He was going to make them more prosperous, richer.

Not anymore.

And so it was only then that Gyoku-ou realized something.

It was strange. Wrong.

Why, when he was meant to inherit the leadership of the western capital in Gyokuen's place? Why, when it fell to him to help the city grow?

Why, with all that being true, would he put the western capital in danger?

He felt the threads that had bound him for so many years unraveling one by one.

Threads that had held him for decades snapped and gave way, and he was free.

Gyoku-ou's life scattered like a string of jade beads, and the man who had cut it was right there before his eyes, on his face a mixture of hatred and pity.

Who are you?

That was the last thought Gyoku-ou had.

He would think no more, do no more.

He would not make the western capital flourish as his father had.

He had sought to be a hero, but his life ended in utter anticlimax.

Chapter 20: The Weeping Wind (Part Two)

His mother had often said to him, "When you grow up, you'll become the wind."

When he came of age at fifteen, he would go out into the world—but until then, she told him, he must study all that the world had to offer. Two more years of this learning lay ahead of him...

Become the wind, she told him, and blow so that the air of the western reaches might stay clear.

It was a memory from the time before Rikuson was called Rikuson.

The women protected the town while the men roamed across the plains: this was what he had been taught. He was sad to know he would have to leave home someday, but if he could become the wind, if he could be of help to his mother and his older sister, then he was glad of that.

He enjoyed his afternoon walks, trying to decide how he could best use the pocket change they gave him, how to get something good for it and not waste it. What should he spend it on that would be satisfying? That was its own kind of study. Many of his male relatives who went out on their own became merchants, and Rikuson expected that was the path he, too, would choose.

He went from shop to shop, comparing flavors and prices and quantities, until he found the best dried fruit or goat's milk and bought it. Then, he would go to the Shogi hall.

It was full of adults with time to kill jawing with each other—and there was much information to be had there. Rikuson might be able to hear even more talk at the tavern, but he wasn't yet of age and they wouldn't let him in.

There were plenty of drunks at the Shogi hall too—but once in a while you could run into a true master.

"Oh, hey there, kiddo. Back again?" asked an old man sitting at a Shogi board.

He was a former secretary at the administrative building. He was mostly retired now, but he was collecting materials for some sort of new history he was compiling. He was the best Shogi player in the western capital. Everyone called him Big Lin.

"Uh-huh." Rikuson seated himself beside Big Lin and studied the board. Sticking close to him would keep the nastier drunks away.

Then Rikuson tilted his head. "Huh?" Big Lin was losing this game. You didn't see that often. Rikuson looked at his opponent and saw a man still more or less in the bloom of youth, but ragged, filthy. His face bore a fine stubble, his clothes were grimy, and his hair was barely tied in place. His outfit was nice enough, but it seemed his circumstances weren't. He looked feeble, and had no tan; he didn't seem to be a resident of the western capital. But his eyes—his eyes glinted like those of a fox.

"I see you have a little Pawn with you," the man said—a Shogi piece. He wore a monocle over one of his fox-like eyes, an imported piece, but on this guy everything looked crude instead of fancy.

What did he mean by that? He seemed to be talking about Rikuson. He bristled at the expression, his hands balling into fists. "Who are you calling a Pawn?" he demanded.

"Don't get upset, kid. Lakan's just that kind of creature," Big Lin said calmly.

"But he called me a Pawn!"

"What's wrong with that? Most people, he just calls 'em Go stones."

"Go stones..."

Rikuson wasn't sure what the difference was between a Go stone and a Pawn. He looked at the board as he pondered the question. This "Lakan" might look suspicious and might mock everyone he met—but he backed it up by being a tremendous Shogi player. This was the first time Rikuson had ever seen Big Lin losing a game. Even if Big Lin wasn't quite the player he had been in his youth, at the peak of his powers, people still called him the Shogi sage; it almost didn't seem possible that he could lose. But this visitor seemed to be holding him to fifty-fifty in their games.

Curious, Rikuson came back the next day, and the day after that. Lakan was always there. (Did he even have a job?) When he wasn't at the Shogi hall, Rikuson found out, he was at the Go hall. All he did was play games.

One day, Big Lin wasn't there; Lakan was playing with some other people, but he looked awfully bored by it.

"It's him again," someone said. "The Yi boy!"

No one would have dared to say such a thing in the presence of Big Lin, but they felt no need to restrain themselves when Rikuson was alone.

Yi boy. A child of the Yi clan; that was what they were calling him. The Yi clan ruled the western capital, but there were many who resented their unique system of inheritance and were all too ready to speak ill of them.

Generation to generation, the Yi clan was ruled by women; any boys who were born left their homes when they came of age. Yi women did not have husbands, and didn't know who the fathers of their children were. Like animals, some sneered.

Rikuson knew that such contempt was to be expected. Many members of the nomadic tribes passed through the western capital, and those tribes had always had a strong patriarchal bent. They even denigrated children of unknown fathers as "Yi spawn."

For all that, Rikuson still felt the pride of knowing that the Yi had protected these western reaches for centuries.

Without Big Lin there, he did the next best thing and sat down beside Lakan. They'd met several times now, but the other man had made no effort to remember Rikuson. In fact, he made no effort to remember anybody. He just sat in front of his Shogi board; if someone put a few coins on the table, he would play. That was it. The most he might do is compare someone to a Shogi piece based on whether they were weak or strong, or perhaps by some other standard.

"Mister, don't you remember faces?"

"I don't get people's faces," Lakan said. He might be a grown-up, but he didn't talk like one.

"What's to get? You see them a few times, you remember them, right?"

"I only see Go stones. Or Shogi pieces if I'm lucky."

This made no sense to Rikuson, but he didn't think Lakan was lying. Distinguishing people's faces was probably no easier for him than telling livestock apart was for most people. Among the nomadic tribes, it was said that some herdsmen could distinguish each and every one of their sheep—but Rikuson could never do that. Maybe Lakan saw people's faces the same way Rikuson saw sheep.

"Well, what do you do when you really need to remember who someone is?"

Lakan was silent for a moment. As he mulled over Rikuson's question, he continued a merciless game of Shogi. His opponent blanched, acknowledged he was defeated, and put some coins on the table. Maybe Lakan was supporting himself by wagering on Shogi games?

Finally he said, "I remember them by the shape of their ears, or their height. I look at the quality of their hair. Memorize the stink of their sweat. Or I listen for the pitch of their voice..."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just remember their face?"

"I don't get faces. I can see people have eyes and a nose and a mouth, but when I try to put them together, they get all tangled up and all I can see is a Go stone. Now, the size of a person's nostrils, the length of their eyelashes—those, I can understand."

So he didn't remember an entire face, just specific details about it. That sounded exhausting. No wonder he only did it for the most important people.

"Did you come from the central region, mister?" Rikuson asked.

"Yeah, and one of these days I'll go back. I've got to." Lakan casually smashed his next opponent as he spoke.

"The central region," Rikuson murmured. His mother had told him to become the wind and blow on his way, but would she approve of him going as far as the royal capital? If wind he was to be, he wanted to travel as far as wind might.

"Mister," he said. "If I become big and famous in the central region, will you give me a job?"

"Hrm? You move up from being a Pawn, sure."

"All right. It's a deal."

His sister had taught him that it was always a good thing to make connections. Rikuson didn't know if he would become a merchant or not, but it couldn't hurt to get to know everyone he could.

In the evenings, the whole clan ate together. Rikuson was surrounded by women. The bloodline produced a lot of them to begin with, and since the only other boy had come of age last year, Rikuson was the only male child left.

There were three little girls, though, sisters born in successive years. Cousins of Rikuson. They looked much alike—the same father, perhaps. They were three, four, and five years old, and while the oldest had proved quite smart, the younger two couldn't really talk yet, and Rikuson often found himself obliged to look after them.

His older sister was already past the age of adulthood and was accepted among the grown-ups.

He listened to the adults talk as he fed his cousins. They spoke of food provisions, imported goods, and Li's exports.

Rikuson's mother was a central figure in the clan. Her younger sister, Rikuson's aunt, was the current ruler of the Yi; she had not borne any daughters, and as things stood it was Rikuson's older sister, well qualified by age and ability, who was next in line to lead. So people went out of their way to include Rikuson's sister in their discussions.

From what he overheard, Rikuson gathered that foreign trade was in a bad place right now. They had been in the red for years, to the point that the central region was giving them a hard time about it. Long ago, they had produced copious quantities of high-quality paper, but these days there was only inferior stuff to be had. Paper, light and convenient to transport, had been a major product for them, and Rikuson's mother and the others struggled to find a replacement for it.

Worse, there had been an insect plague in I-sei Province. The increased farmlands, themselves the natural result of the western capital's burgeoning population, were to blame. All the royal capital could see was the harvest numbers, and since those remained high, they refused to send any support. But the extra people meant even less food to go around.

"We should bring out the black stone," his aunt said. His mother, and his sister, and his mother's older sister, and all the women of the clan could only nod their assent.

Rikuson did not know what the black stone was; he just continued feeding bread to his three-year-old cousin.

In the evenings, his sister and mother would teach him the history of I-sei Province.

When the nation of Li was founded, they said, the three children from the belly of Wang Mu, the Mother Royal, became the leaders of the three provinces.

At first the Yi clan, which ruled the west, struggled terribly. In this land, the tendency to put men ahead of women was especially strong. People mocked the Yi because their progenitor was a woman; people took advantage of them and at one point it seemed the clan might fall apart. Sycophants tried to steal their name with flattery, while others sought to do it through force.

So, in order that their clan might not be seized from within, they adopted a matriarchal system. They did not bring husbands into their houses. All their successors were women.

Special roles emerged for men of the Yi clan. One of them was to become the wind. The wind—or again, hearers of things.

They went here and there in I-sei Province, gathering information. As merchants, as nomads. Those who became nomads later came to be known as the Windreader tribe, and could employ birds and keep the bugs at bay.

Only, there had been a miscalculation. The Windreader tribe had been destroyed decades ago.

There had been several Windreader tribes, and one of them ceased their regular communication with the Yi. For years, decades, then centuries, they maintained their separation from the clan. The Yi would occasionally send a boy to try to strengthen the bonds of blood, but there were no guarantees that the tribe would swear allegiance to a former clan leader indefinitely. Eventually, there appeared some who sought to profit by communicating with other countries.

Then came the attack. The Windreader tribe that was no longer communicating with the Yi was tragically annihilated by another tribe. Some idiot had decided that the ability to control birds must be passed down by blood and had kidnapped one of their women, trying to gain the power for himself. Then, in order that he would have a monopoly on the power, he killed the others and sold any survivors into slavery.

The Yi could not abide the Windreaders who had spurned to communicate with them. They broke up the remaining Windreaders as well, sending those with any useful abilities to live in town. Once in a while, Rikuson understood, they also quietly disposed of anyone who would misuse the tribe's avian practices.

If the Windreader tribe had continued to exist, another choice would have been open to Rikuson. He could have wandered the plains as one of their members.

Rikuson's mother and sister never did teach him how to handle the birds, but they taught him how to ward off the insects, and told him about how things worked in the farming villages that continued to dot the area. If another plague broke out, the Yi men who lived around the province would be better prepared than anyone.

One of the men who had left the Yi clan often visited Rikuson's house. He was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a gentle smile. His name was

Gyokuen. In the western capital, he was sometimes called "the new You." He had a full, kindly face, and he often gave Rikuson candy.

"He looks like a very intelligent boy. Might I take him as my son?" he asked Rikuson's mother.

"Please. You're joking," she replied. "People already laugh at you, say you have too many wives. You old womanizer."

"Ahh, so long as I can keep my wives and children in style, there's no problem."

Rikuson found he was surprised by this revelation: for all his modest looks, Gyokuen loved women.

Gyokuen was an important merchant in the western capital. He had begun producing textiles and pottery to export instead of paper, and controlled the importation of glassware. He began making grape wine in I-sei Province and sold it alongside the foreign kind. Some people with highly cultivated tastes preferred the imported wine, but there was also a market for the much cheaper, less acidic local variety.

"And there you have it. I'm going to be taking a visit to Shaoh to do some buying, in order to support my wife and children."

"Well, well. Can the household survive with its master gone for so long?"

"My children are now mostly grown. My eldest has a wife and child of his own. Anyway, so long as my quick-witted wife is around, everything will be taken care of."

"I've heard about your oldest son. They say he's very capable."

"Ah, yes. He's an excellent worker. But I do have some misgivings about him." "Like what?"

"He's set on helping the western capital flourish, and I applaud that, but at the same time he has...an exclusionary bent. He hates foreigners." Gyokuen's normally composed face darkened.

"This eldest son of yours, he's Seibo's child, isn't he? Surely you don't need to worry about her boy?"

"Seibo? Only my family uses that name, and only in private. How do you know it?"

"Hah. People talk, you know. They say the 'new Mister You' has many concubines, but treasures his true wife most of all. Rumor is that he disregards the western chieftain and calls his wife Seibo, 'the western mother.'"

Rikuson's mother grinned at Gyokuen, who couldn't help but smile in response. "It seems you've got me there," he said. "But enough about my family. There's something more important afoot. Have I heard correctly that you've begun giving out the black stone?"

There was that phrase again, Rikuson thought.

"Yes. The poor harvest, you know—no other choice. I think you've got a bit of a hand in that particular trade yourself," Rikuson's mother said. His older sister listened silently. Rikuson seemed to be the only one who didn't know what they were talking about.

"Yes, but I'm doing it on the up-and-up. If you're having trouble, I should be able to give you at least some support."

Rikuson's mother and sister both looked grave.

"It's time for you to go to sleep," his sister said, trying to shoo him out of the room.

"But I'm not tired," said Rikuson.

"It's late enough. Time for bed."

She chased him into the bedroom next door. Frustrated, Rikuson pretended to go to sleep, but soon he had his ear pressed to the wall, listening.

"And what would we have to do to earn your support?" He heard his mother's voice, slightly muffled by the wall.

"Please. You make me sound uncharitable."

"Yi men are raised to give nothing away as merchants. And you are an Yi man, aren't you, Gyokuen?"

"Got me again." After a brief pause, he said, "I want you to let me borrow the family register."

The family register. That was a record of where the people in I-sei Province

had come from and when they had arrived. There were those without a register, but if they wanted to do business in the western capital, they would have to make one—have to prove who and what they were.

"Absolutely not. That's an official document. If you want to 'borrow' it, I can only assume you want to change something. That would explain why you're talking to me and not the chieftain."

"You won't budge on this?" Gyokuen asked.

"No. Anyway, the family register is already on loan—to Big Lin, as reference material."

"Oh..." Gyokuen sounded disappointed.

"Why would you want to change the family register, anyway?"

"It's about that eldest child of mine."

"Your son?"

"Yes. Gyoku-ou. The register contains the honest truth about his origins. I think he hates foreigners because he realized where he comes from."

Rikuson continued to eavesdrop, although he was somewhat lost by this conversation.

"There's no end of former Windreaders who come to make demands of me on my wife's account. My business has grown considerably. Imagine what people would say if my own successor had no blood connection to me. If you believe that the western capital needs the 'new You' family, then please, help me."

Although he couldn't see him, Rikuson could almost picture the distress on Gyokuen's face.

"Your first wife, Seibo... She came from the Windreaders herself, didn't she?" Rikuson's mother asked.

"Yes, that's right. From the traitor tribe of Windreaders that I was supposed to join. I should have been her husband there. Should have deepened and strengthened our ties."

This was the Windreader tribe that had been destroyed so long ago.

"Yes, my wife was from the tribe that betrayed us. But it was the adults who committed that treachery. The children knew nothing of it. Whenever I saw her after that, she always looked just as she had those years ago. We did see each other a number of times, you know."

Rikuson wanted to hear more, but he sensed his sister coming over to the bedroom and quickly dived into bed.

"Sister... What is the black stone?" he asked, trying to sound sleepy.

"It's not something you need to know about yet," she said.

"But you told me... You told me to study. That I shouldn't be ignorant."

His sister paused, then said, "The black stone is coal. A rock that burns. We have to dig and dig and dig in the western mountains for it."

"What makes it...so special?"

"When there's a bad harvest, many families barely have enough to eat and can't buy fuel, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"We give it to those families."

"Huh..."

That didn't sound like such a bad thing.

"But it's hard to dig up the stone, right?" Rikuson asked.

"Yes, very hard. We use slaves."

"'Slaves'?"

His sister didn't look very happy about it. "We don't want to, but we do. The more they mine, the quicker they're freed. I've heard that the quickest workers get out in five years."

"What about the slowest?"

"Decades. Some of them used to be Windreaders, you know."

"And them... You won't let them go?"

His sister shook her head. "They betrayed us. Your late grandmother happened to find them as slaves and heard the story. They said they'd planned to take the secret of how to use the birds and go to another country with it. They said it was foolish, having women rulers and making the men leave. Over such a long time as nomads, I guess they started to think that other lands were right to put men ahead of women."

"And that's why Grandma sent them to the mine?"

"Yes. She thought that if they dug well, she could free them. She bought several more former Windreader slaves. But those people said they'd been tricked. Apparently they thought Grandmother would free them even if they sat around doing nothing. Gyokuen, he's too soft on people. He frees slaves as soon as he buys them."

Rikuson's sister seemed to see this as a problem. Rikuson wanted to ask more questions, about Gyokuen and his wife and his eldest son, but he refrained. It would be too obvious that he had been eavesdropping.

"But if the slaves work hard in the mine, eventually they can be free and leave, right?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's dangerous work. The ones who have been there for decades, maybe that shows they aren't doing anything. Maybe they think we're the ones who are evil and wrong." They, she added, must hate us.

They must hate us.

At whom had his sister's words been directed?

He didn't know. He did know, however, that the Yi clan was held in contempt by a great many.

There was a commotion that day, starting first thing in the morning. People surrounded the mansion; they seemed to be voicing some kind of complaint. Rikuson held his terrified cousins and tried to comfort them, but he didn't know what was happening any more than they did.

"Elder Sister, what is this? What's all the noise outside?" he asked.

"It's nothing. Everything is fine," she said. But it clearly wasn't. Her face was bloodless, pale.

Their mother came and spoke to his cousins' mother. A different aunt from the one who led the clan, the cousins' mother was the youngest sister of Rikuson's mother, well separated in years.

"Go out the back. Take the children with you," Rikuson's mother said. The children included him. "The house of Gyokuen's newest wife—the new You family, you know them—isn't far. I'm sure you remember her. The former dancing girl? Her children are almost the same age as yours. You're close with her."

"B-But—"

"No buts! Take them and go!" Rikuson's mother said, her tone commanding. She all but chased her sister out of the house, and Rikuson along with her.

His mother and his other aunt, the leader of the clan, went out front. They stood there talking to the mob, which looked like it was at a breaking point. Rikuson understood that they were buying time.

"Let's go, while we have the chance."

Rikuson, his aunt, and his cousins slipped out the back of the house. When they went to the house of Gyokuen's newest wife, they found a woman with red hair and green eyes. When she saw Rikuson and the others, she gestured them around to a back entrance.

"Wh-What in the world is going on?" the cousins' mother asked. Unlike Rikuson's mother and other aunt, she was an easygoing woman, and was rarely included in the household discussions on even terms with his mother and the others. She didn't fully grasp what was happening.

"They're saying the Yi clan has been dishonest—and that it's been reported to the central government!" The red-haired woman looked down as she spoke, her eyes shaded by long eyelashes.

"Dishonest?" Rikuson's aunt asked.

"Yes... They say they've been lying about the amount of coal we mined."

"The black stone? Now they have a problem?" his aunt said, incensed. She sounded like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"It gets worse," the red-haired woman said.

"Worse?"

"They say the clan is making claims beyond its station—that it claims to have within the clan a man descended from the Imperial lineage, and that they Yi say this makes them the rightful heirs to the throne. And so an Imperial edict was issued...for the destruction of the traitors who would usurp the Imperial family."

"No... That's not possible."

Rikuson's aunt and the red-haired woman glanced at him.

"Surely the charges are false," the woman said.

"Of course they are!"

"But who is the father?"

"W-Well..."

The Yi clan had a custom of not being explicit about who a child's father was. This had been the way of their clan ever since, one time, a man had appeared claiming to be the father of the chieftain's child in a bid to take over the clan. Even Rikuson didn't know who his father was.

"It's true that my sister went to the royal capital sometime before the boy was born, but the times don't match up. He can't be an Imperial child, and we certainly can't insist that the father identify himself!"

His aunt was right: the Yi clan would never force a father to come forward and identify himself. Rikuson had relatives who were suspected of being the children of actors or foreign dignitaries, but no one said anything publicly. That was how the women of the Yi clan did politics.

"I can't believe the central government would be foolish enough to take such a claim at face value—and to threaten to destroy us over it! Who even sent them such bogus claims?"

"I heard..." the red-haired woman started, and then she paused. "My family's... Master Gyokuen's seal was used in the letter."

"What?" The aunt's eyes went wide. Rikuson's little cousins, distressed by their mother's outburst, began to cry. He could do nothing except try to comfort them.

"Are you okay?" asked a little girl, coming over to them. She had red hair and green eyes herself. She began to comfort the young cousins.

"You, dear, would you take the children inside and entertain them?"

"Yes, Mother," the red-haired girl said, taking the cousins by the hands. She tugged on Rikuson's hand too, but he shook his head, refusing.

"Then you're saying Master Gyokuen did this?!" Rikuson's aunt demanded.

"No. My honored husband is on a trip to distant Shaoh. I'm sorry. I really don't know anything else about it," the red-haired woman said.

"Then... Then..."

"Come, you must change. I have a nursemaid's outfit; you can use that. The way you're dressed now, everyone will know you're from the Yi clan." Rikuson's aunt crumpled. The cousins were led away to a children's room.

Rikuson wondered if it was safe to trust this red-haired woman.

And then he understood which one of them should absolutely not be there.

"N-No, stop!" the red-haired woman said, trying to hold him back, but he brushed her hand away and returned to the mansion. To talk of the mines was to talk of the black stone. Everything his mother and the others were doing, they were doing for I-sei Province. But the royal capital, which judged everything purely on the basis of superficial numbers, didn't understand that.

The second problem, the false charges—Rikuson was key to it.

If I... If I'm there...

Even if he went to them, there was nothing he could do. And yet he had to go. An inexplicable sense of duty compelled him.

The mob was pressing in around the mansion. The people had knocked down and jumped on top of the guards, beating them with all their pent-up fury. Some onlookers hooted and shouted. Others looked pained by what was happening—but no one moved to help.

You never know what people will do in extreme circumstances.

That was something his mother had told him.

The atmosphere was almost festive. At times, people found violence pleasurable, and there were those who found the Yi clan repugnant, disgusted by the women who dared to rule the western capital.

Rikuson heard a shout like rending silk.

Was that—? No. No, it wasn't. It wasn't his older sister. Nor his mother.

He recognized some of the voices, but as terrible as it seemed, Rikuson had his priorities.

Pushing past men fixated only on violence and looting, he headed for the room where his sister and mother always were. Female clan members reached out, but he went by, silently repeating, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Now that these men had an excuse, they had turned into devils given over to their hunger.

Rikuson was bathed in sweat. His clenched fists were soaked; he panted and his tongue hung out of his mouth like an actual dog. The more water his body excreted, the more parched his throat became.

Each time he seemed about to cross paths with someone, he quickly hid.

Despite his efforts, though, he was pinioned just outside his mother's room. Rikuson kicked his feet, struggling.

"What are you doing here?!" someone whispered. It was his sister. Her face white, she clapped a hand over Rikuson's mouth before he could shout. She looked different, somehow, from usual. She'd bundled up her hair and tied it with a scarf and was wearing men's clothing.

"Older Sister. Where's our mother? Why are you dressed like that?"

"Mother's inside. And I'm just borrowing your coming-of-age ceremony clothes."

"What?"

It was the outfit they had made for Rikuson's coming-of-age two years hence. Assuming he would grow, they'd made it a little large; his mother had been planning to spend a long time embroidering it.

Hardly knowing what was going on, Rikuson found himself dragged into another room. His mother had a sword in her hand, the tip soaked in blood. Men lay dead all around her.

"Mother!" Rikuson said, but before he could speak further something was shoved into his mouth. His sister had torn up some cloth and rolled it up as a gag. Rikuson almost choked.

"Shut up, be quiet," his sister commanded. "You talk too loud."

"You mustn't be noticed. You absolutely must not," added his mother.

She and his sister bound Rikuson's hands and feet and stuffed him into a large chest. Then they closed the lid and placed a heavy stone weight on top.

"You must protect the western lands. That's what the Yi men do. Employ any means, use any people you must." His sister smiled. He could see her teeth.

"Are we safe from fire here?"

"Yes, I should think so. There's not much that will burn—and I'm sure they want to use the building again, anyway."

Rikuson didn't know what they were talking about. He could only stare out through the woven mesh of the chest.

"This doesn't look half bad on me, does it, Mother?"

"No, not at all. I think that's exactly what he'd look like in a few years. Now, don't speak."

"I know."

Rikuson understood then what they were going to do. At that moment, he was the only male child in the Yi clan. If it was true that the mob believed the clan were Imperial pretenders, they would come after Rikuson.

His sister meant to serve as his body double.

Rikuson made another choked noise, but the gag kept him from crying out. His hands and feet were bound and he couldn't move. But he could hear the mob drawing in, the bestial yells and the smell of oil and blood.

His mother brandished the sword.

Her swordsmanship was like a dance, the tip of the blade tracing perfect arcs through the air—but the strokes were light, ephemeral. They only nicked her opponents.

Stop! You have to stop this!

Rikuson bit down on the gag. Spit spilled around the edges, the bottom of the chest growing slick with saliva and tears.

He couldn't do anything, and it agonized him.

He didn't want to remember what was about to happen to his sister, to his mother. But the face of the man who would perpetrate that outrage—his face, alone, Rikuson had to commit to memory.

He couldn't blink.

He knew that face. A member of the "new You" family he'd seen just once, on a visit to their household.

Gyokuen's eldest son.

The front teeth glistening with saliva. The tanned skin. The bony hands. The shape of his ears and the quality of his hair. His voice, which carried like an actor's. Rikuson didn't just remember his face. He used all five senses to drink in as much information as he could, packing it into his brain. So that he would never forget...

As this man did his violence, there was righteousness in his eyes. An egoistic, worthless justice prepared to do anything, even evil, if it was necessary.

But also, a justice that would do anything to protect what mattered to him.

The Yi clan was about to be destroyed on a twisted pretext.

Rikuson's emotions boiled within him; he felt as if a hot stone were being pressed against him. All the water seemed to be evaporating from his body, and yet he was still so hot that he felt he might begin to steam.

Him. He did this!

The man grabbed Rikuson's sister by the head, dragging her along by her hair.

Rikuson wanted to beat the man. He wanted to kill him. But he couldn't. Even if he could get out of this chest, the man would slaughter Rikuson before he could land a blow.

His sister and mother had known. That was why they had shut Rikuson in here. Why they had tied him up so he couldn't do anything.

No more tears came to Rikuson's eyes. He only cursed himself for his weakness, for being small and stupid and unable to do anything.

The rage and the curses were too much for Rikuson's mind, and at some point he lost consciousness. He was brought around by a sound.

Were the men, the mob, still there? He couldn't bear it any longer. Whatever it took, he would kill them.

Rikuson began to flail in the chest like a potato bug. Eventually, he succeeded in causing the stone weight to fall off the lid. He crawled and shuffled and pressed his face into the ground until he managed to get the gag out of his mouth; then he shouted in a hoarse voice, "I'll gill you!"

Rikuson glowered as hard as he could at a man in front of him who was kneeling before the battered corpse of Rikuson's mother and weeping.

"How could it turn out like this?" the man asked. He was plump; Rikuson remembered seeing a soft smile on his face.

It was Gyokuen.

Rikuson pitched forward, crawling toward Gyokuen and grabbing onto his feet. Normally, he might have been able to deal with things more rationally. The tears in Gyokuen's eyes were of pity and regret; this was not a man on whom Rikuson needed to take revenge.

Yet at the same time, he was the father of the man Rikuson hated more than any other.

Gyokuen said nothing, only comforted Rikuson as the boy bit at him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

He didn't care that Rikuson's teeth sank into his leg; he didn't care that the blood flowed. Gyokuen only kept trying to offer Rikuson comfort.

Gyokuen took the battered, filthy Rikuson to the home of the woman with red hair.

His aunt and cousins were still there. Unlike his mother and sister, his aunt had never come out front, and no one knew she belonged to the Yi clan. She was dressed as a nursemaid, hidden.

"You're leaving, brother?" asked the oldest of the trio of sisters, Haku-u, tugging on his sleeve.

"Yes. I'll be going a bit far away."

Rikuson couldn't stay in the western capital anymore. If he did, he was sure he would forget his mother's and sister's words. He could never forgive Gyokuen's eldest son, Gyoku-ou, or those who had joined him in attacking the Yi. He could only harm the people who lived in this city. Though it took every ounce of his strength, he turned his back on his cousins.

"Hey..." A red-haired child called out to him. She was the one they called You, he thought.

"Yes, what?" Rikuson didn't have time to be sweet and gentle just because she was so young.

"Do you hate Brother Gyoku-ou?"

"I don't even want to hear his name."

"Really? He hates me too. I wonder, will he come after me someday?"

Rikuson paused. "If he does, maybe I'll help you. If I feel like it." With that, Rikuson boarded his carriage.

The carriage clattered along, carrying Rikuson to the port.

Much as it angered him, he had no choice but to turn to Gyokuen for help. A child of thirteen had no way to support himself on his own. There was someone in the capital, he was told, who'd once belonged to the Yi clan. This person had just lost a son Rikuson's age, a boy who looked much like him, and this person was willing to take Rikuson in.

"Don't worry about the family register. You can simply take over his name," Gyokuen said. He didn't intend to make the same mistake twice.

Rikuson still held a grudge against Gyokuen. This man had called himself the source of it all—so Rikuson thought he had a right to know why he and his had been attacked.

"Someone from the You family did it—while you were away! Why?! Was it your oldest son?!" Rikuson demanded.

Gyokuen, distressed, whispered, "Yes. Ou, it was Ou. My other sons had no hand in this."

"Why! Why?! Why would he do something so awful?!"

"The register. I think he wanted to bury the truth. The uprising was a perfect cover. That boy, he's not mine by blood, you see. His mother was a former slave, and his father is a foreigner. As a survivor of a former Windreader tribe, maybe he hated the Yi clan."

"I know what you mean..." Rikuson remembered the talk about lending the family register to Gyokuen, about changing it, and he tried his best to put it all together in his head. "You think you can escape the blame, just because he's not your child?"

Gyokuen shook his head. "All the blame lies with me. I should have acknowledged Ou as my son from the start. I should have made sure everything was in order so that nothing would trouble him."

"Then you shouldn't have kept collecting concubines! No wonder they call you Womanizing You!" Rikuson spat. Gyokuen shrank into himself. "Gyoku-ou wasn't your real son, but you kept giving him little brothers and sisters! Isn't that why he thought it was worth instigating a rebellion over a stupid family register?!"

"You're right. Yes, you're right. But it's not just Ou. None of my other children are mine by blood."

"What?" Rikuson was set back on his heels. When the man had so many wives and offspring...how?

"I think it may just be that I'm not physically able to produce children. My first wife gave birth to Ou, yes, but she and I were never able to conceive a child together. I feel terrible, but though I tried with others, it was never any use."

Rikuson worked his mouth open and shut. "So... So all of the others are...?

What about that girl, the one they call You?"

"A merchant with no offspring could never hold his head up. I sought out widows who were already pregnant—the most intelligent women I could find." Gyokuen looked out the carriage window. "Life in the western capital is hard for a mother and child with no husband or father to care for them. But that vulnerability was also an opportunity. As a merchant, I offered an absolute contract. I guaranteed to provide for them and their children, and in exchange the mothers would furnish me with their skills in a particular field. Moreover, Ou alone was to be my true son, so that no one would get any ideas of taking over the family from him. That part was a secret from my children."

"So you..."

"They all believe I'm their real father. Or at least they did. But Ou found out. He discovered he wasn't my son by birth. And there were many who threatened to use the truth of his circumstances against him."

Rikuson looked, and saw only a plump man holding his head in his hands.

"Money shut most of them up, but some wanted more. It was my intention to simply always treat Gyoku-ou as my true son." But all Gyokuen's work had been in vain.

"Even once he knew I wasn't his father, Ou continued to act as if I were. So I taught him things. Told him things that would help him."

"Huh." Rikuson could not have cared less. If he found room to sympathize, then he would have to forgive—and if that happened, then he would prefer never to have heard any of this.

"In the course of conducting business alongside me, Ou began to fixate on the black stone. Many of his supporters in this rebellion were people who bore a grudge against the Yi clan—including many former Windreaders. Many of them had been working in the mines, you understand."

That must have been where Gyoku-ou had learned of the deception around the quantity of black stone being extracted.

"So the whole reason he brought down the Yi clan was because of the Windreaders' misplaced resentment? Aren't you going to punish your 'son'? If you're an Yi man, if you're a protector of western capital, then you can at least do that much!"

"Yes, a desire for revenge as a member of the Windreaders was one of his reasons. Destroying the family register was another. But there was a third."

"How many reasons did he need?"

Gyokuen looked at Rikuson. "Ou was under the misimpression that a child of the Yi clan was my true son." At that, Rikuson bit his lip.

"He looks like a very intelligent boy. Might I take him as my son?"

Gyokuen had wanted to take in an Yi child. Rikuson had heard him negotiating with his mother himself. Had that offhanded joke motivated the destruction of his entire clan?

That was why Gyoku-ou had invented the talk about the Imperial bloodline: to wipe out Rikuson.

His sister had been a fool. It was she who should have survived, not him. She was so much more important.

Why had she let Rikuson live?

And why should he speak to Gyokuen now?

Rikuson was seized by the desire to throw himself at Gyokuen and beat him to a pulp. They were in a carriage; maybe Rikuson could fling him out of it.

Gyokuen still had the wound on his leg from where he had bitten him; even a child like Rikuson could kill one portly man like Gyokuen, if he was willing to go down with him.

He remembered what his sister had said.

"You must protect the western lands. That's what the Yi men do. Employ any means, use any people you must."

Rikuson couldn't let himself die here. In order not to harm the western lands, he would go to the central region, to a place where no one knew who Rikuson was.

He bit his lip and let his nails dig into his knees. Somehow he managed to swallow the killing urge with the saliva in his mouth.

"Was the last reason the central authority? That stupid Imperial edict?"

He remembered the red-haired woman talking about it. The Emperor must be incompetent. He thought he remembered hearing that the Empress Dowager was in such thorough control of politics that people called her the Empress Regnant. Without the fig leaf of that edict, Gyoku-ou, even Gyoku-ou, wouldn't have been able to destroy the Yi clan.

"I'm given to understand that that edict wasn't what the government really wanted."

"Excuse me?" Rikuson said, aghast. What, had they somehow accidentally issued the wrong edict?

"It bore the Emperor's seal, but not that of the Empress Regnant—ahem, I mean, the Empress Dowager."

So it had been issued by the puppet, not the puppeteer? Was that the problem?

"His Majesty's health has been poor for some years now, and his mother, the

Empress Dowager, is no longer a young woman herself."

"And with one poorly conceived edict, they..."

"Yes. They knew the accusations of imperial bastardy were unfounded, but the deception about the quantities of black stone that had been mined, that couldn't be hidden forever."

"Y-Yes, but..."

So the Yi clan bore fault as well. The way they had shored up poor harvests and bad circumstances with the black stone had worked until now, but it was bound to fall apart eventually.

"That's why I am going to take this opportunity to seize mining rights from the central government," Gyokuen said.

"What?"

The pudgy, frail man had fire in his eyes. "The government doesn't understand coal's true value. In the royal capital, it fetches a mere fraction of what it's worth here. And therein lies an opportunity."

"You mean..."

"I will use that poorly conceived edict as my bargaining chip. It left a power vacuum in the west—and that is a grave problem." Now Rikuson saw in Gyokuen's eyes the assurance of a merchant in his element. "When I bring you to the central region, I will also appear at court as a member of the former Yi clan, to formally protest. This was done under my seal, so I bear responsibility."

"But that would mean defying the government. What... What would happen to you? To your family?" Rikuson didn't care in the least what happened to Gyokuen's idiot son Ou, but then there was his wife, the woman who had harbored his cousins. She might not be related by blood, but he didn't want to see her dragged into this.

"Here, look at this." Gyokuen produced a basket from the floor by his feet. Inside were several pigeons. "This is why I sought to expand my business. He who controls the information controls the markets. They can hang me for my remonstrance; it won't matter. The birds will let my family know before anything can happen to them, and not one of my wives is a weak woman, to be easily undone. We will not be snuffed out." He pounded his belly as if it were a great drum. "Still not convinced?"

"No... Not yet." Rikuson's mind and emotions couldn't keep up. He was still a child. He couldn't tell whether an adult was lying.

"In that case, allow me to suggest some paperwork."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a businessman. And I favor those who will help to make the western capital great."

A results-oriented mindset—he was a businessman indeed.

"At the same time, I flirt with danger. Almost by definition, my life will be shorter than my children's. I fear that, when I am gone, one of them may grow greedy and try something."

That seemed like something the man Ou would do, Rikuson thought. In fact, he already had.

"Should that happen, I want you to eliminate that child. And then you must protect the western capital."

"What the hell...?"

Didn't that still work out to him becoming Gyokuen's successor after all? He would sooner die.

"After all this, now you're going to ask me to wipe your ass?" Rikuson demanded.

"That's not what I'm doing. This is the fate of men who become the wind."

"Men who become the wind..."

Gyokuen, Rikuson realized, was just the kind of man his mother and sister had said he was.

It was a low-down, dirty way to get him. When he put it like that, Rikuson had no choice but to accept. No choice but to learn the same stubbornness under a gentle smile.

Rikuson would take his craggy heart and hone it with a polishing stone, working and working until it was smooth and beautiful. And then he would make himself sharp as a sword, prepared to strike down anyone, anyone at all, when the need arose.

"I believe we've arrived."

Rikuson climbed out of the carriage to find himself at the port. There he saw a man behaving very strangely.

"No ships! No! You can't make me get on one!" There he was, a full-grown man, clinging to a post and throwing a tantrum like a child.

"You have to get on the ship or you can't get home. Come on, we finally found one to take you..."

"But—ships! I can't! No ships!"

Rikuson recognized the man—it was Lakan. "Mister? What are you doing?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Hrm? Who're you? A shrimpy Pawn..."

Lakan had completely forgotten about Rikuson. He was used to that by now, but it was still annoying.

"You're going back to the capital, aren't you? Well, I think you'd have a better time on a boat than going overland." Lurching around in a carriage and lurching around on a ship weren't that different, so better to go with the quicker trip, Rikuson thought.

"Gnrr," Lakan grumbled, but he shuffled onto the boat.

"You really can't remember people's faces, can you, Mister? Are you going to be all right?"

"Hrm... I guess it might be a problem when I make it in the world."

"Then when you make your fortune, hire me! I'll remember everyone's faces for you and never forget. It'll be good for you."

"Hm, yeah, all right."

It was the simplest of conversations—he never imagined that a decade later, it would actually come true. By then, the man who had come to be known as the freak strategist had completely forgotten about Rikuson.

In the end, the Yi clan was destroyed. Even in the face of a formal protest, the central government didn't acknowledge that the Imperial edict had been mistaken, but they seemed to have reached a compromise.

Witness:

Item. Survivors of the Yi clan would not be hunted down.

Item. The name I-sei, the Western Yi, Province would be retained.

Item. Gyokuen, not "of the Yi clan" but "formerly of the Yi clan," would rule the western capital.

Item. I-sei Province would not pay taxes on the coal it mined—as a form of hush money. Unofficially, of course.

The Yi clan remained disgraced, but Gyokuen had chosen the flourishing of Isei Province over honor. As much as it pained Rikuson to admit it, Gyokuen was his foremost model of a man who sought the good of the western capital before all else.

Chapter 21: The Strategist Takes Command

Amid the blood, Rikuson stood ruminating on the past.

The current administrative building was within the Yi clan mansion; in fact, for his office, Gyoku-ou had chosen the very room that Rikuson's mother had once used.

He lay stabbed to death in the place where he had committed that outrage seventeen years ago. It was almost too perfect.

Rikuson had returned to the western capital on Gyokuen's orders, but when he had discovered that his immediate superior would be the one man he remembered more clearly than any other, he thought he might go mad. He had endured, however, so that he might honor his sister's last words. When Gyokuou had asked him if he was part of the La clan, Rikuson had gone beyond anger; he found all he could do was laugh. The man he could never forget, it turned out, didn't remember him at all.

This was the man that Gyokuen had raised as his son, for all his flaws. He might not have a blood connection to his father, but he had the talent to help the western lands grow and be great. Perhaps the only thing to truly regret about him was his sense of inferiority. The realization that he was not Gyokuen's true child had twisted him.

He had sought, not to make the western lands great, nor to protect them, but to use them as a means of attacking Shaoh. Perhaps he wanted to eradicate the source of his own blood.

That, Rikuson could not overlook.

The stage was too perfect, like it had been set for him.

Rikuson drew out the knife and knelt next to the man Gyoku-ou had killed.

People came rushing in. "What's going on in here?" one said. Then they saw the bloodstained floor and Rikuson with the two bodies.

"Wh-What in the world is this, Master Rikuson?!" Gyoku-ou's aide asked. The others with him started chattering noisily. One lady-in-waiting gave a shriek.

"It is as you see," Rikuson said. "When I entered, he was already dead. I simply found an opportunity to take the knife and killed the traitor in return. It was all I could do."

"Is this true?" the aide said, eyeing him. Indeed, everyone looked at Rikuson suspiciously.

Of course. It was only natural for them to suspect him. Everyone there knew that Rikuson had been received with little hospitality, and they knew it was possible he was not to be trusted. He would have to play this very, very carefully.

Or, no. Perhaps it would be better to be buried in the same place as his mother and older sister...

The thoughts were hardly through his head when someone said, "He was already murdered when you entered the room. So you killed the rebel—is that not right?"

It was, of all people, Lakan standing there. He looked half asleep and wasn't even wearing his monocle. Weren't they in the middle of a state ceremony? What was he doing here?

"Master Lakan. What happened to the ceremony?"

"I was sleepy, so I ducked out."

Ah, Rikuson thought, it was all over now. There was no hiding anything from Lakan. He had neither good intentions nor bad, but would simply lay out the facts. Rikuson gripped the knife: if he was found out here, it would allow him to die in the same place as his mother and sister.

"You heard the man," Lakan said to those around them.

"Wh-What do you mean, Grand Commandant Kan?"

"Hrm? He's telling the truth. He killed the rebel who killed the man. Where's the crime in that? If anything, this is all your fault for leaving such scant security."

"Wha?" said the aide, thrown for a loop by this accusation.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

There was much murmuring, but the general consensus was that if Grand Commandant Kan said it, then that was that, and everyone began to withdraw. Their suspicion of Rikuson had been dispelled in an instant.

Rikuson wondered, briefly, if he could live with this. Yet at the same time, he was relieved to have kept his promise to his sister.

"We can talk about this later. For now, you had better change," the aide said to him. The lady-in-waiting who had screamed earlier tremblingly held out a handkerchief to Rikuson. She was slim; Rikuson had seen her several times before.

"Are you here for work, Miss Chue?" he whispered in her ear.

"Aww, how'd you know it was me?" Her face looked completely different, but the voice was that of the cheerful lady-in-waiting.

"He was served up to me on a silver platter. I thought there must have been someone behind it."

The way nobody came to the office, even though circumstances were suspicious. Yes, Gyoku-ou had told them all to clear out, but it was a bit too convenient.

Rikuson understood: it had been Gyoku-ou's destiny to die, even if it hadn't been Rikuson who did it.

"Ohh. Was it too obvious?" Chue asked, but she didn't deny it. "How'd you know it was me? I changed my hair color and the size of my eyes!"

"It was the shape of your ears. You have the loveliest ears, Miss Chue."

"Eep! Are you really studying the ears of a married woman that closely?" The voice was Chue's, but the nervous body language looked like a completely different person. She'd brought Rikuson a change of clothes, while managing to appear thoroughly horrified by the blood all over him.

"Do you think I'm going to meet my end when the physician begins his investigation?" Rikuson asked offhandedly.

"Dr. You is the physician in charge here. He's a very dedicated worker, but a flexible thinker—and more than anything, he wants the western capital to be peaceful. Miss Maomao, now, she might start digging out of sheer curiosity.

And the other two doctors, they've got their personal quirks."

"I see what you mean. I'll make it my business not to see Maomao again after this." The thought saddened Rikuson, but there was no avoiding it. He could not take back what he had done.

"Good plan. Oh, and if you would be quiet about me too?" Chue said, not neglecting to hush him up.

"I certainly will. Might I make one request in exchange?"

"What would that be?" Rikuson could hear the distinctive voice clearly in his ear, yet to any onlookers, Chue might not even seem to be moving her lips. Her disguise was nearly perfect; even Rikuson might not have recognized her if they hadn't spent so many days together in the farming village.

"You collected a little something from the room earlier, didn't you, Miss Chue?"

She'd been so subtle about it that anyone else might not have noticed. But Rikuson saw that the position of Chue's hand was a little different after she had entered the room than before.

"Aww, why do you have to be so sharp?" she said. Then she added, "Small Lin is the real victim here, isn't he?" She was surprisingly frank about it.

"In that case, he must have come here to make some demand on the basis of that stolen thing. Specifically, a family register, yes?"

"Please, don't say any more. Miss Chue's head might not stay attached to her shoulders!" Chue said, although she didn't sound very worried. She was, however, taking care that there was no one else around.

"Might I ask that you dispose of this object you obtained as quickly as possible?" Rikuson did not and would not forgive Gyoku-ou, but neither did he intend to besmirch his memory.

"I'll have to ask my superiors."

"It would benefit everyone, getting rid of that thing. What if it became public knowledge that the Empress's real father was some nobody from nowhere?" Rikuson sensed that Chue already knew the truth.

"I know, I know, it wouldn't be any fun at all." She still sounded unruffled, but her face was slightly more tense than before. She must be a very capable spy. Rikuson wondered if she might simply snuff him out, but he liked to think she wouldn't.

If someone investigated the family register, it was possible that they might uncover Empress Gyokuyou's true father. One could see who her mother's previous husband had been, and even if he were dead, his family could be investigated. That would be no good at all.

"Miss Chue knows why this family register is bad news for her, but what makes you want to get rid of it, Mister Rikuson?"

"It's nothing special. It's simply, if you make a deal with someone and then their secret is exposed, the deal becomes worthless, doesn't it?"

He wasn't doing this for Gyoku-ou—the man who would have foolishly exposed the entire western region to danger. That great mass of inferiority toward Gyokuen.

There was one reason, and one reason only, that Rikuson wanted to destroy the family register—and that was because he felt a duty to Gyokuen.

"Understood! I'll talk to my superiors about it." Chue handed Rikuson the change of clothes, and then she went off somewhere, disguise and all.

"It doesn't seem like she directly serves the Moon Prince," Rikuson mused, but he wouldn't pry any deeper. For one thing, he now had a guilty conscience.

Rikuson went back to his room, where he closed the door and knelt down. He desperately wanted to change his bloodied clothes, but his body wouldn't move.

"I don't understand. It's supposed to be over." Tears began falling from his eyes. Ploop-ploop-ploop. "Am I wrong? Is it only just beginning?"

He sniffled like a crying child. As a grown adult, it was embarrassing—but at that moment he felt his mother and sister watching over him. What's more, for some reason, Lakan had covered for him.

"I didn't lie...but he should have known it wasn't the truth."

What an uncharacteristic thing his former boss had done, he thought.

His next thought was that he would go on. In order to protect the western lands, he would live, he would continue to be the wind.

Chapter 22: The Imperial Younger Brother's Complaint

Even in a completely different part of the estate, Maomao could hear the women sobbing. From the second floor of the annex, she could see the line out front.

"My, my, how awful," Chue said, as if it had nothing to do with her. "They say funerals are supposed to be solemn, but they certainly make a spectacle of it here in the west."

"I think this is pretty solemn by their standards." Maomao stepped away from the window and looked at the grasses on the table, a selection of herbs she'd found that grew on the plains. Chue had picked them for her. She'd just been trying to organize and use everything when she'd received some disturbing news. Gyoku-ou, it seemed, had been killed.

She'd wondered what was up yesterday, when only Gyoku-ou's brothers and sisters had been at the ceremony, and he hadn't appeared at all.

They said he'd been murdered by a farmer who had repeatedly approached him for money. Maomao was half surprised to hear it—but the other half of her feelings included understanding, a strange relief, and a certain amount of anxiety.

"A farmer? Really?" she asked.

"Uh-huh. I think you already know, Miss Maomao. About how Master Gyokuou could be a bit too charitable."

That was a nice way of putting it, but what Chue meant was the way he lent out money.

"Fair point. I think the people on the receiving end should know that the person lending them the money isn't a god. What were the conditions of the loan?" Maomao asked, figuring that if anyone would know, it would be Chue with her ample information.

"You're right; it's exactly like you say. He didn't lend money unconditionally. He basically asked that they give their help when there was an emergency, but I don't think people could really picture an emergency. It might be different in the more westerly villages, but there are no instances of the barbarian tribes attacking the western capital."

Those problems seemed so far away geographically, and if nothing else, certainly people didn't expect war to break out in their lifetimes. That was what had led to the recent rebellion. Gyoku-ou had appeared to cover for Jinshi while actually stirring up the people to war—but it ended up being what got him killed.

"I guess I can't say I don't sympathize." Maomao understood, at least somewhat, how the farmer who had killed Gyoku-ou must have felt. People always thought things didn't concern them until the sparks drifted down on their own heads. And the poorer one was, the less one could think about anything that wasn't right in front of their nose. But that narrow vision could also blind one with desire. "Can I ask something? What happened with the killer?"

"He was killed right back. But still, the farmer's family was informed before things became public."

Chue helpfully explained what Maomao had actually wanted to know. If someone made an attempt on the life of an Imperial family member, their entire family could be destroyed. And while Gyoku-ou wasn't a member of the Imperial line, he was the older brother of Empress Gyokuyou and son of Gyokuen. Maomao and the others might not have a very favorable impression of him, but he had much support in the western capital. Even if the murderer was already dead himself, the murderer's family could still be in danger.

"Do you think the family was able to get away?"

"Miss Chue wouldn't know. I can tell you that mob justice is against the law in the western capital, but still, if they didn't get out of here, they could be in some trouble."

Illegal the act might be, but it was impossible to know how effective the law would actually be at restraining people. The uprising had come knocking at the door of the annex where the Imperial younger brother was staying. The people were clearly not in their right minds.

"Anything else you want to ask, Miss Maomao?" Chue sat in her chair with an indolent smile on her face. Maomao sat too, with a half-withered medicinal herb in her hands. She planned to pick the leaves off the branches and dry them.

Was it really a farmer who killed him? She thought about asking the question outright, then stopped herself. Instead she said, "What's going to happen next? He was the acting regional governor, after all. He was handling a lot of work."

"Yes, about that..." Chue picked up a branch to help. She could be a bit loosey-goosey, but she was also a capable lady-in-waiting, and now she mimicked what Maomao was doing, dexterously plucking leaves off the branch. "Last year—well, for about a year by now, I guess—Mister Rikuson has been taking care of a lot of the work. It will go with what he was already doing as aide, and with one little exception, there should be no problem at all."

"Why do I have a feeling that little exception is crucial?"

"Because it is. There's no one to serve as the face of the operation. Bad news, bad news."

"Ahh..." Maomao understood. But at the same time, she had a question.

"Given the actual work involved, it makes sense for Mister Rikuson to do it, but he does come from the central region," Chue said. His response to the insect swarm had amply demonstrated his ability to lead, but he wasn't powerful enough to be Gyoku-ou's successor.

"Master Gyokuen has lots of kids, right? Master Gyoku-ou's younger brothers and sisters. There was that, um...Dahai, was it? Who runs the port?" Maomao ventured.

"Right. Yes, there's him. Gyoku-ou has six younger brothers alone. Not to mention a son of his own, although his brothers and sisters would probably be first in line."

"Can't one of them do it?"

"Well, the thing is..." Chue sounded like she didn't quite want to say. "They all have specialized jobs, you see."

"Specialized jobs? Like what?"

"Like boats, or pottery. Lots of craftsmen in that family! No matter how competent he is, a farmer like Lahan's Brother would never be able to rule a nation, right?"

Maomao tried to imagine Lahan's Brother doing desk work instead of tossing a hoe over his shoulder. He could probably manage it, she figured—but he would also be ten times more effective out in the fields. Not to mention, those who stood at the very top couldn't be merely ordinary. Even the most exceptional could expect to be replaced if they made a single mistake.

"I'm thinking he could have afforded one more person with good political sense," Maomao said.

"He probably just didn't want anyone to fight with his eldest son. And if you think about it, it's actually Empress Gyokuyou who rose highest in the world, politically speaking. It sounds like Master Gyoku-ou's son hasn't had much training yet—they figured, why rush while his father was alive?"

"I guess that makes a certain kind of sense."

You couldn't go much higher in the world than forging a marriage connection with the Emperor. Gyokuen, a merchant, had succeeded in becoming His Majesty's father-in-law.

But that left them back at square one: Who was going to lead the western capital?

"I guess we can't expect Master Gyokuen to come back to the western capital at this point," Maomao said.

"In his position, it would be tricky. Even if it is his true son who died, I don't think it would bring him back to the western capital now. I think there's going to be some pretty uncomfortable conversations for the Moon Prince after the funeral. You can't avoid the question of whether it was really a farmer from the western capital who did it."

How kind of her: this was precisely the subject in which Maomao was keenly interested.

Gyoku-ou had been a thorn in Jinshi's side with all his talk of war, true enough —but he was an even bigger thorn now that he had gone and died.

"There's a few other bigwig types around, right? Can't they do something about this?"

"Oh, Miss Chue couldn't possibly tell you. But there is one thing I know for certain." She leaned in very close to Maomao.

"Y-Yes? What?" Maomao asked, somewhat cowed.

"No matter what the outcome, the Moon Prince will come home very tired. This calls for a medicinal brew that will whisk away the fatigue—ideally something not too bitter."

"I'll see what I can do," Maomao mumbled. She plucked some more leaves and wondered whether the quack had eaten through all of the honey they'd brought.

True to Chue's prediction, Jinshi was profoundly tired the next day. It was so bad that even the quack, who could usually be readily tricked into concluding his examination without comment, began to worry that the Moon Prince might be ill.

"I'm just tired. That's all. You can go," Jinshi snapped, and the quack shuffled out dejectedly. Maomao, however, remained.

Well, this is awkward.

It was the first time they'd really seen each other since his little "charging" episode. Still, Jinshi obviously wasn't faking his exhaustion, and Maomao was overcome with wondering what could have happened.

His usual entourage must have already known, because they looked like they were under a collective cloud. What tiring tale had he told them?

"You can go ahead and sit down," Jinshi said, so Maomao sat. She'd already given the draught she'd created to Suiren. "Ask me what happened."

"What happened, sir?" Maomao asked obediently.

"You'll never believe it!"

It had been quite a while, Maomao reflected, since Jinshi had looked quite so spent in front of his retainers. Sometimes he got like this when only Gaoshun was around, but...

With Suiren, Taomei, Chue, and Basen?

Not to mention, Baryou was probably out of sight somewhere nearby.

Jinshi flaunted his listlessness in front of all of them. Maomao might have expected Suiren or Taomei to scold him, but no reprimands were forthcoming. It showed just how justifiable his listlessness was.

Suiren set the medicine gently in front of Jinshi. In fact, it was closer to a broth; Maomao had settled on a sort of soup because trying too hard to mask bitterness with sweetness could result in a just plain weird flavor. She'd put in vegetables along with medicinal herbs that helped with fatigue, and stewed it with plenty of milk and butter until the sinewy meat was soft enough that it would be easy to chew.

To be perfectly honest, many of the ingredients were rather crude for an imperial palate, but Maomao had at least tried to pick ingredients that she thought would be most effective. The broth was green—it was still medicine, in the end—but it should taste all right. The quack, Chue, and Lihaku had all given it their stamp of approval.

"Mmmhh." Jinshi took a mouthful of soup and then let out a breath. He was sure taking his time, considering he had begged her to listen to him. The important thing was that the soup seemed to agree with him, because he went back for another spoonful, and then another, trying all the different ingredients.

I guess he's just that hungry, Maomao thought. Once he'd had a mouthful, it seemed like he couldn't stop, and he ate everything. He wiped his glistening lips with the back of his hand—not very princely behavior, but appropriate to a young man his age.

The next moment, though, he suddenly looked ready. He straightened up, and he didn't seem so tired anymore—talk about your quick changes.

"We discussed who would be the leader of the western region going forward, but it was all a lot of going in circles, as we expected," he said.

"I should imagine, sir," Maomao replied with a quick glance at Taomei. If it had been just Suiren or Chue there, that would be one thing, but Taomei's eyes scared her. She had to act somewhat formal and distant because she could never be quite sure what aspect of her attitude Taomei might take to be disrespectful.

"Sir Gyokuen's other sons unanimously rejected the idea of stepping forward themselves. They each excel in his own field, but none is suited to politics. That goes for all of them. Meanwhile, Sir Gyoku-ou's child isn't yet studied enough in politics, or so I'm told. He's not powerful enough to suddenly assign him acting governor." Jinshi sounded emphatic. His fists were clenched. "So we considered Sir Gyoku-ou's aides. They're competent enough at their jobs, but none of them had the mettle to stand at the top."

"I suppose they're the kind of people who are more comfortable assisting." "Right."

Sometimes that's just how people were. Not everyone longed to rise relentlessly in the world. There were those who didn't need a high station, so long as they had enough to eat. It seemed all of Gyoku-ou's aides had possessed this disposition.

Did he go out of his way to surround himself with people like that, or did they just gravitate toward him?

If someone wanted a little bit of prestige but didn't want to have to stand at the very top, they might be happier as an aide. Even if the ones who were too diligent could get too invested in their work and end up with stomach problems.

"We asked around among the most important and influential people in the western capital, but the answer was always no. From a mercantile perspective, it seems the disadvantages outweighed the gains."

"They're very much a merchant people, aren't they, sir?"

"Yes, that's how this town works. It's all well and good if someone has as

much power as Sir Gyokuen did, but the other merchants are all about as powerful as each other."

Maomao didn't know how many influential merchants there were in the western capital, but if one put himself forward too eagerly, he might well be crushed by the others. Besides, everyone had their hands full dealing with the fallout from the swarm, and it was hard to blame them if they didn't want to take on more work.

"I thought there was one person who might fit the bill..." Jinshi said.

"Yes? Who was that?"

"Rikuson."

Yes, Maomao realized, of course Jinshi would think of him. His name had even occurred to her, after all. Above all, Chue would certainly have given a full report.

"You seem oddly...accepting of that idea," Jinshi said, looking mildly annoyed.

Better get out ahead of this before he remembers the whole marriage proposal business and it turns silly.

"Sir, when the swarm came, I saw him stay completely calm and take action.

Besides, he has the guts to survive as the freak's right-hand man, doesn't he?" Objectively speaking, he was highly capable.

"Yes! Miss Chue agrees with this!" Chue said, her hand shooting into the air. A pair of predatory eyes gleamed to one side.

"Yes, well, he excused himself on the grounds that he had been sent here on behalf of the central government."

"Figures."

Given that Rikuson had come from the central region, it would be best if he didn't stick his neck out too far. All just as Chue had said.

If he was from the western capital himself, maybe things would be different...

"Hrm?" Maomao said. Something about her own thought nagged at her, but she assumed it was just her imagination and ignored it.

"In fact, Rikuson said that I should lead this place!"

"He what?!" Maomao exclaimed; even she couldn't keep herself from jumping out of her seat and talking at the top of her lungs.

The predatory eyes now lighted on Maomao. She lowered herself back into her chair, feeling a tad queasy. "What do you suppose he was thinking, sir?" she asked with studied politeness.

"Exactly what he said, I suspect. Daily business could continue as normal, with the aides handling everything. But he thought I should remain as the 'face.' Curse! That! Man! Rikuson!" Yikes.

No wonder he was so tired. He seemed to be emphasizing his main point.

"But if he came here 'on behalf,' I'm nothing more than a visitor. Am I wrong?" Jinshi asked, looking to her.

"No, sir."

"By all rights, I could be back in the capital by now couldn't I? Why does everyone simply stand around and look at me? Eh?"

"Of course, sir..."

She remembered him saying that this trip would be three months at the shortest. But he never said how long it might be at the longest.

How many months has it been now? Maomao counted on her fingers. More than five months that they had spent in the western capital. Including the boat trip to get here, it had been more than half a year since they'd left the royal capital. Frankly, she wished Gyoku-ou had had the good grace to be more mindful when he got killed. Uh, not that she was glad he was dead, but couldn't he have waited to kick the bucket until after he had resolved the

misunderstandings about Jinshi, about the Imperial younger brother? He'd only fired the people up for war.

How much trouble could one old bastard cause?

Then again, what would have happened if he'd survived?

If a man with so much influence in the region had really pressed for war, even Jinshi, an Imperial family member, could only have resisted him for so long. It might have been possible to at least avoid actual war with Shaoh, but...

"But Master J-Jinshi," Maomao said, using his name with some hesitation. The predator's eyes were terrifying. "You intended to remain regardless, right?"

Jinshi didn't say anything to that—meaning it was true. If he had really found it so unbearable, he could easily have just gone back home the moment the swarm hit. Considering his position, nobody could or would have complained; in fact, he'd no doubt received a letter or two encouraging him to do just that.

But that would have left the people ragged in body and soul from the swarm, with the foreign tribes attacking and no one to lead and guide them. Even in the midst of a deeply unpleasant situation, Jinshi was using his head.

"We can't just leave the western capital like this, can we?" Maomao asked.

"You're absolutely right." Jinshi heaved a sigh. He was back to looking tired, and he was taking little glances at Maomao.

"What is it, sir?"

"Under the present circumstances, I think that it would be safest to return to the central region."

Safest for whom to return, Maomao wondered, but then she realized—he meant her.

"I suppose it would be," she allowed. He might have sent her away for her nominal safety, but she had still ended up swarmed by grasshoppers. Then an insurrection had come right to her doorstep. But this was a mistake, here. "You can't tell me to go home, sir, not now. I guarantee you'd lose your freak strategist too." She drove the point home.

I'd love to go home. God, how I would.

She would carry on. She had to write letters to the madam and Yao and Enen.

"If we ask ourselves, how much of a loss is the freak strategist really to the central authority, I think the honest answer is, not very much. In fact, he's probably more use to them here, don't you think? Even if he can make life a little noisy. And he has a Shogi companion and everything."

"But—"

"If you want to send me off to wherever, well, if I'm just a pawn who makes no difference to the strategic situation, I guess I have no right to object. Am I a pawn to you, Master Jinshi?" He was silent.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me?"

"Yes. I want to..." He started to answer, but refused to look her in the eye.

Finally he said, "I want to have another bowl of that stew."

"Sure," Maomao said after a second. "I'll go get some more."

Apparently, she figured, this was his way of saying that she was useful enough to keep around.

She hoped the quack doctor hadn't eaten the rest of the stew as a midnight snack. She had a naughty little thought that maybe she should have put a sign on it: For Imperial use only.

Epilogue

As you will.

That was the entirety of the letter to Rikuson.

He thought of the red-haired girl, You. Gyokuen's youngest child, the daughter of an attractive traveling performer, raised so that she could one day go to the central region. She had harbored the survivors of the Yi clan. He was sure that Haku-u and her sisters, likewise, had been saved by the girl whose smile never faltered.

Just as Gyokuen had predicted, You grew up beautiful, and he had changed her name to Gyokuyou. He sent her to the rear palace, and now she had risen to become Empress.

Gyoku-ou had sought to follow in the footsteps of his father Gyokuen, whatever form that took.

Though she did it in her own way, Gyokuyou was the same.

What Gyokuen valued more than anything was the protection of the western capital. Gyoku-ou had sought to make it flourish, while Gyokuyou had worked to ingratiate herself with the central authority.

The trio whom Rikuson had once treated as little sisters had also grown up beautiful. He only saw them again after Gyokuyou had become Empress. The three of them served among her ladies-in-waiting; they had left the rear palace with her and lived in the Empress's palace.

The younger sisters didn't remember Rikuson, but the eldest, Haku-u, knew him. This even though he had abandoned his past name and was living as someone else. Perhaps it was his fault for scrutinizing the sisters too closely as they went past.

Haku-u got in touch with him—in part because he was a familiar face, but in part to urge him, as a surviving member of the Yi clan, to return to the western capital and become its leader. But that was unthinkable. Rikuson was the son of a rebel; he was not supposed to exist.

He thought that perhaps Haku-u was seeking to return the Yi to their former power—but in the decade and more since they had parted ways, she had grown into a loyal lady-in-waiting of Gyokuen's daughter Gyokuyou.

Why, then, did she seek to have Rikuson rule the western capital?

He was soon presented with the opportunity to find out. On last year's visit to the city, Rikuson had taken part in Lakan's place.

He was haunted by the possibility that someone would recognize him, or figure out who he truly was, and he cringed every moment of the journey. To his amazement, however, he was treated just like all the other guests—and nothing more. No one knew he was a son of the clan that had once held the western capital in the palm of its hand. Most notably, Gyoku-ou appeared to pay Rikuson no particular mind at all.

The western capital was flourishing. Much more, he thought, than it likely ever had under the Yi. Never mind the tragedy of the past; the inhabitants of this city were businesspeople through and through. In light of the wealth the city now enjoyed, what had happened could almost be dismissed as a necessary evil.

Rikuson, though, was alert to the shadows that flourishing cast.

During his brief stay in the western capital, Gyokuen summoned him.

"What do you think of the western capital?" he had asked.

Gyokuen had seen it, the twistedness that afflicted Gyoku-ou. What might begin as a small distortion, if left unaddressed for decades, could ultimately warp beyond repair. Moreover, it was now decided that Gyokuen would go to the central region. No doubt he was contemplating what Gyoku-ou would do without him to act as a check.

Rikuson had known that Gyoku-ou was not worthy of trust.

It was Rikuson whom Gyokuen chose to act as his check in the western capital.

"Why don't you do something about him yourself?!" Rikuson had demanded, adopting a vehement tone that he hadn't used in more than ten years. Even though he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't speak that way again after he became Rikuson.

So it was that he came back to the western capital, Gyokuen having chosen him personally.

He was to be Gyoku-ou's watchman—and, should anything happen, his executioner...

Rikuson suspected Gyokuyou knew about Gyokuen's decision. She sent letters to him via Haku-u. Always using pigeons. How Rikuson had sweated while the Imperial younger brother tried to find out how the bandits were communicating! The pigeons were a special means of communication, not something to be shared with the Imperial family.

As you will.

He couldn't act in accordance with the content of Empress Gyokuyou's letter.

He had worried; all this time, he had worried about it.

If only the man Gyoku-ou had acknowledged his own responsibility, sometime, somehow.

"Could I have been more unlucky?"

If he could have been only Gyoku-ou's watchman.

Why did that bastard have to be so warped?

Why had no one tried to repair him?

Why had they made Rikuson do it?

No... That's not true at all.

Rikuson had wished for this, longed for it.

To take revenge at last for his mother and sister.

And his wish had been granted.

"Now I no longer feel like doing anything at all," he said at length.

He tried to pass off the responsibility to someone else, tried to nominate someone other than himself to lead the western capital now that Gyoku-ou was gone. In a time of peace, there might have been a few takers, but no one wanted to step into the role of acting governor with the crisis of the insect swarm still fresh.

He even started to hear people say that he himself should take the position, and that was when he finally gave voice to his thoughts: "I think you, Moon

Prince, might be appropriate."

The Imperial younger brother had gone slack-jawed. Rikuson genuinely felt bad. But he did have an insolent little thought, that at least then he would have company in the misery of being overworked.

"What shall I do?"

Rikuson was well and truly burned out. He could summon no desire to do anything, and even tried to push the things he didn't want to do onto other people. In fact, he was ducking work at that very moment, reclining in the branches of a tree.

The purpose for which he had lived for more than ten years was gone, leaving a yawning emptiness in its place. It would not have been surprising had he simply died.

What Rikuson had done was unforgivable—but at the same time, they had lost their chance to punish him. It was cruel, and mean, and dirty. Rikuson found his own existence repulsive and hideous.

Sunlight peeked among the leaves, and small birds fluttered through the air.

"Birds..."

When he saw them gliding effortlessly through the sky, it brought back memories of a time when he had believed that he would become the wind. When the day came for his coming-of-age ceremony, he would put on the embroidered outfit. Then he might become a merchant, or a sailor, or journey somewhere far away. Back then, so many and such grand dreams had been there for him to dream.

"Far away..."

That might be good, he thought, as he climbed down from the tree. Go somewhere there was no one else, live a wandering life, and finally fall dead in the fields somewhere.

Suddenly, he thought he heard a voice: "No, you can't!"

Rikuson looked around, but there was no one there. Just the wind blowing and the birds flying.

"Aren't you going to do something for the western capital?"

He was just hearing things. The wind and the birdsong had somehow sounded to him like a young woman's voice.

Nonetheless, he said as if in answer, "Must I labor on, Elder Sister?" The wind gusted, a great cry.

"Ha ha ha! Now you're just being mean." Rikuson laughed and lay down on the ground. The sky spread above him, wide and blue, and the breeze felt lovely on his skin.

That journey would have to wait. He could go after the life had returned to the western capital, after people once again greeted each other with a smile as they passed by.

All to give his mother and sister what they had wished for.

For them, he could toil for a little longer.