Chapter Forty-Three: Into the West
The Valley of Peace lay before them, cradled between rolling hills, untouched by war, as if the rest of the world had simply forgotten it. From their vantage point atop the ridge overlooking the valley, Crane and Mei Ling could see the terraced fields cascading down the slopes like golden stairways. The river that cut through the valley sparkled beneath the late autumn sun, winding like a silver ribbon between clusters of bamboo groves and stone bridges arched with the grace of ancient craftsmanship.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Crane felt an ache in his chest as he took it all in. The Valley was exactly as he remembered it—serene, idyllic, untouched by the ruin that had swept across China. It was as if time had slowed here, stubbornly resisting the winds of war that howled just beyond the northern mountains. He had been gone far longer than he ever would have expected. The sight filled him with relief, but also an unease that settled deep within himself.
The peace would not last.
The village itself lay nestled at the valley's heart, its streets lined with red lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. The low murmur of distant laughter and conversation floated up from the town square, where merchants and farmers went about their day, blissfully unaware of how fragile their world had become.
Mei Ling, standing just behind him, let out a quiet breath. "It's beautiful."
Crane swallowed, his gaze lingering on the rooftops below. "Yeah," he said softly. "It is."
But in the pit of his stomach, he knew what was coming. If it was not here already.
The fragrant steam of freshly brewed jasmine tea filled the quiet air of Mr. Ping's Noodle Shop. Afternoon light streamed in through the open doorway, casting warm golden patterns across the stone courtyard.
Mr. Ping sighed contentedly, wrapping his feathers around his teacup. "It's been too quiet lately," he mused, glancing across the table at Li Shan. "Not that I don't appreciate the break, mind you, but usually at this time of day, we'd have customers lining up around the corner."
Li Shan gave a small, tired smile, stirring his tea. "Maybe people are just staying home more these days."
Mr. Ping hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He took a sip, then sighed again—this time, with a note of longing.
"I just wish we'd hear something. Anything."
Li Shan's expression softened. "Po's strong. If anyone can make it through this war, it's him."
Mr. Ping nodded, but before he could respond, his attention was stolen away from motion at the entrance. At first his visage lit up, thinking that it might be paying customers.
A trio of leopards stepped inside.
They looked as if they had spent too much time on the road and too little time caring about anything but their own survival. Their tunics were worn but reinforced with Mongol-style lamellar armor, their fur dusted with the grit of long travel. The leader, a scarred snow leopard with piercing yellow eyes, let his gaze sweep across the empty restaurant before landing on the two gentlemen.
Mr. Ping perked up instantly.
"Oh! Travelers! Perhaps you've heard news—"
With a heavy clunk, the lead leopard dropped a golden metallic tablet onto the table, shattering both of their teacups in an instant.
Mr. Ping's breath caught in his throat.
Li Shan, startled, straightened in his seat, his brow furrowing. "What is that?" he asked, his deep voice steady despite the growing tension. "And what right do you have to barge in here like this?"
The leopard smirked, resting his paw on the table beside the gleaming tablet.
"This," he said, his voice edged with threatening intent, "is the Gereg. It speaks with the authority of the Khan himself."
Mr. Ping felt his feathers bristle. Even he, tucked away in his little shop, knew that they were now in danger.
The leopard continued, his tone mockingly polite. "And with it, we are entitled to… well, whatever we want. Housing. Provisions. Hospitality." He picked up a nearby dumpling from a tray and inspected it idly before taking a bite. "And it seems you are more than able to accommodate."
Mr. Ping swallowed hard, his gaze darting to Li Shan. The panda had gone rigid, his eyes locked on the leopards, his paws curling into fists beneath the table.
The second leopard, a lanky spotted one, wandered toward the walls of the shop, his eyes scanning the posters plastered there. His gaze fell on the largest of them all—an illustration of the Dragon Warrior, resplendent in his signature pose.
The leopard froze.
His brow twitched as he stared at the image, his mouth parting slightly. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes narrowing as they settled on Li Shan.
"Wait…" he muttered. "That face. I know that face."
The lead leopard glanced over. "What are you babbling about?"
The second leopard pointed at the poster, then at Li Shan. "It's him. The panda from the capital. The one that fights for the Khan."
Mr. Ping's heart seized.
The leopards turned in unison, their once-casual arrogance sharpening into something more hostile. The lead one leaned down toward Li Shan, his yellow eyes gleaming.
"What's a panda doing all the way out here?"
The moment stretched, tension building.
And then—
A blur of movement, a gust of wind, and a sharp crack.
The leopards barely had time to react before Crane's talons slammed into the chest of their leader, sending him crashing through a stack of wooden chairs. At the same instant, Mei Ling struck like lightning, delivering a devastating kick to the second leopard's jaw that sent him sprawling across the stonework floor.
The third barely had time to unsheathe his sword before Crane's wings snapped forward, sending a blast of wind that knocked him off his feet and into the back wall with a grunt of pain.
Silence fell over the restaurant once more.
Mr. Ping, stunned, could only let his beak gape as Crane folded his wings, stepping over the unconscious leopard at his feet. His avian eyes searched for more enemies but found none. The leopards had been alone.
"Are you two alright?" he asked the fathers of Po.
Li Shan exhaled, his fists slowly uncurling. "Yes."
Mei Ling nudged one of the groaning leopards with a slight kick. "Didn't even get to finish his dumpling…"
Mr. Ping finally found his voice. "Master Crane! You—how—" He shook himself, his feathers ruffling. "You're back!"
Crane offered a small, tired smile. "Yeah," he said, glancing at the unconscious leopards. "Looks like we got here just in time."
"You did." Li Shan exhaled slowly, his large paws pressing into the table as he steadied himself.
Mr. Ping looked about, hoping others had arrived with the two kung fu masters; seeing they had come alone, he diminished somewhat.
"That leopard," the goose said as he pointed to the one who had recognized Po's face, "he wasn't lying, was he?"
Crane hesitated. He had faced down armies, fought through storms, and defied fate itself—but nothing in his training had prepared him for the sheer devastation in the eyes of a father.
He swallowed, his wings twitching at his sides. "It's… complicated," he admitted. "Po is alive. But not in the way you remember him."
Li Shan straightened in his chair, his massive shoulders stiff. "Explain."
Crane sighed and took a step back, rubbing a wing over his beak before gathering himself. "We were ambushed, pursued by the Mongols," he began. "We tried to protect him, but we were too late. The Dagger of Deng-Wa had already… done something to him."
"Done what?" Li Shan pressed, his voice dangerously close to a growl. "Speak some sense."
"The Khan has a weapon," Crane continued, forcing himself to meet their eyes. "An artifact. A dagger. It—it changed him. It turned him into something else. A beast. A monster." He exhaled sharply, the words bitter as they left his beak.
"And it's my fault."
The room fell into silence for a moment. The panda and the goose looked at the bird master with disbelief.
Mr. Ping shook his head, his small frame trembling. "No," he said, almost desperately. "No, that can't be right. My Po—my Xiao Po… There must be some mistake!"
"There's no mistake," Crane said, his voice heavy with guilt. "I should have been faster, I should have stopped it before it happened. I failed him."
Mei Ling stepped forward.
"That's not true." Her voice had been firm, cutting into their despair. "None of this is your fault. There are forces in this war far beyond the control of any of us. There was no stopping this."
Crane looked downwards in shame, but he didn't argue.
Li Shan inhaled deeply, then turned toward Crane, his expression unreadable.
"Can he be saved?"
Crane hesitated. He wanted to lie, to offer some shred of comfort, but the truth was a cruel one.
"I don't know," he said at last. "But we're going to try. Master Shifu has sent us here to defend the Valley of Peace."
Li Shan held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded solemnly. "Then I will do everything in my power to help you."
Mr. Ping, eyes glistening, nodded as well. "Me too," he said, his voice small but determined.
The bird master couldn't help but be inspired by their determination—there was no time to linger in grief.
"We need to start preparing," Crane said, standing upright. "Now."
Li Shan set his jaw as he rose from his chair. "What do you need us to do?"
"First, we have to secure the valley," Crane said. "If Mongol scouts have made it this far, their army won't be far behind. That means training fighters—anyone with combat experience has to step forward. We don't have the numbers to fight them in open battle, but we can make sure the people here can defend themselves."
Mr. Ping wrung his wings together. "And—and those who can't fight?"
Crane looked at him, his expression firm but sympathetic. "We have to evacuate them. The elderly, the children—anyone who wouldn't survive a siege has to be taken to safety before it's too late."
Li Shan nodded. "I'll see to it. The panda village should still be unknown to these invaders."
The air in the restaurant felt stifling. Crane, needing a moment to clear his head, moved toward the door. The others followed.
As they stepped out onto the street, the golden afternoon light bathed them in warmth, counterbalancing the effects of the cool autumn breeze. High above, the Jade Palace stood atop the mountain, its partially-demolished silhouette stark against the sky.
Mei Ling crossed her arms as she looked up at it. "It's naturally defensible," she observed. "Steep cliffs, one entrance, high vantage point. If we control it, we control the valley."
Crane nodded. "That's the plan. The Jade Palace will be our stronghold. We'll need to move supplies up there immediately. If the Mongols come, the village won't stand for long—but the palace? We can hold it."
Mr. Ping stared up at the towering structure, a conflicted expression on his face. "Po always said the palace was a place of learning… of wisdom. Not war."
Crane's eyes darkened.
"It was." His voice was quieter now, but resolute. "But the world has changed."
A groan from behind them pulled their attention back to the restaurant.
The leopards were beginning to stir.
The scarred one groaned as he pushed himself onto his elbows, blinking rapidly. His companions coughed and winced as they tried to regain their bearings.
Mei Ling sighed, flexing her claws. "Should we finish them off?" she asked, her voice cool and pragmatic.
Crane shook his head. "No."
The leopards tensed, glancing at each other warily.
"They're only scouts," Crane continued. "Killing them won't change what's coming. If they're here, it means the Mongols are already on their way."
The scarred leopard wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth and sneered. "You're making a mistake, bird."
Crane stepped forward, his wings folding neatly against his back. His voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable weight.
"No. You made the mistake when you thought you could walk in here and take whatever you wanted. You're lucky we're not the kind of people you serve."
The leopard's sneer faltered.
Mei Ling's form tensed slightly as she moved towards them. "Now, I suggest you run along before we change our minds."
The leopards hesitated only a moment longer before scrambling to their feet. With a final glare, they staggered away, disappearing down the village road.
Li Shan exhaled slowly. "They'll bring word to their commanders."
"Yes. They will," Crane said as he turned back towards his allies. "And we'll be ready for them."
The Chengdu Plain stretched vast and open beneath the waning sun, a landscape of fertile fields and winding rivers cradled by distant mountains. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and harvested grain, yet any sense of tranquility had long since vanished.
The season was growing long, the days growing short.
To the east, in the shadow of Chengdu's great walls, an army had gathered. Lord Boragal's forces—now no longer just a Mongol horde, but a growing coalition of Chinese defectors and provincial warriors—spread across the plain like a tide threatening to overrun the city. Tents of felt and silk dotted the landscape, forming a sprawling encampment that pulsed with restless energy. Banners bearing the sigils of Lord Boragal's growing ranks of allies snapped in the cool Sichuan breeze, their once-disparate symbols now bound together under a single cause.
Now, Chengdu alone stood independent of the rebels. Its high stone walls, reinforced with watchtowers and redoubts, had been built to repel sieges. The rooftops of Song-style pavilions peeked beyond the ramparts, their dark, sloping tiles glistening from recent rain. Beyond the gates, nestled between the city's canals and bustling markets, lay the magistrate's yamen—a fortress-like hall that now served as the seat of resistance.
At the forefront of the standoff, a delegation from Chengdu had come forth to stand along the eastern walls. Clad in stately Song robes of deep blue and black, the city's magistrate—an elder rhinoceros—carried himself with quiet dignity, his sleeves fluttering in the wind. His entourage of officials, soldiers, and scholars stood rigid beside him, their faces pale but resolute.
Just below the walls, Boragal's vanguard waited in silence. Mongol elite warriors, covered in thick gilded lamellar, eyed them closely with bows slung across their backs. Chinese fighters, donning armor taken from ransacked imperial garrisons, stood alongside them, gripping spears and swords with tight-knuckled readiness. In the weeks since first entering Sichuan, the rebels had taken just as many strongholds by persuasion as by force. At the center of the gathering, beneath a dark purple banner embroidered with the emblem of Boragal, The Demon of Dūnhuáng, the rebel commanders watched and waited.
The magistrate's voice rang clear across the plain, unwavering despite the weight of the moment. "This city will not yield to warlords and pretenders," he declared. "Chengdu has stood for generations as a bastion of order, and it shall remain so. Not in twenty years could you take this city!"
A stir ran through the assembled soldiers—discontent, perhaps even amusement. From the ranks of the rebels, various cries rang out, mocking the rhino's proclamation.
A shift rippled through the rebel encampment, a surge of energy as idle warriors suddenly rose to their feet. Some climbed onto carts or hoisted themselves atop wooden palisades, their eager murmurs swelling into a unified chant. It was not the name of Boragal they called, nor Tai Lung, but something more primal—something that had taken on a legend of its own.
"The Demon! The Demon! The Demon!"
The ranks of soldiers parted, and through the crowd, he emerged.
Lord Boragal strode forward with the ease of someone who had already won. His resplendent violet cloak billowed behind him, his darkened-steel chestplate gleaming in the sinking light. His golden eyes fixed upon the walls of Chengdu like a predator eyeing prey that had foolishly refused to flee.
"Is that so?" Boragal called back, his voice cutting through the deafening cheers. His lips curled slightly, amused. "Twenty years, you say?"
Atop the walls, the magistrate stiffened. Over the years, he had stood firm against Mongol warlords, imperial decree, and famine alike; but now, for the first time, doubt crept into his features.
"You."
The word fell from the old rhino's mouth, heavy with recognition.
Boragal tilted his head, considering him with vague curiosity. "Ah. So you remember me."
The magistrate exhaled sharply through his nostrils. "I know exactly what you are, Tai Lung."
A murmur ran through the imperial ranks, uneasy whispers traveling like wildfire. The name Tai Lung had long since faded into legend, but now, faced with the leopard himself, there was no mistaking him.
Boragal's smirk deepened. "Then you know why I'm here," he said. "You know what I offer." He spread his arms as if beckoning the city itself to come forward. "Join us. Join something greater than yourself. If you do, I will grant Chengdu its rightful place in the new order."
The magistrate lifted his chin, defiant. "There is no order in what you seek—only conquest."
Boragal sighed, shaking his head. He preferred it like this, anyway.
"So be it."
His paw brushed against the golden clasp at his shoulder, and with a flick, his cape fell away.
Before it even hit the ground, the snow leopard was airborne.
Gasps of shock barely had time to register before Boragal's claws sank into the stone of the battlements. His form was a blur, a streak of grey and shadow that scaled the walls as though gravity were beneath him. Soldiers scrambled to react, but before the first weapon could be raised, The Demon of Dūnhuáng was upon them.
Steel flashed. Blood sprayed.
The first Song warrior fell with a sharp cry, his sword knocked from his grasp before Boragal's claws tore across his chest. Another lunged, but the leopard pivoted—ducking low, his leg sweeping beneath his opponent and sending him over the edge of the wall with a strangled yell.
The rebel forces roared in triumph from below, their voices merging into a singular war cry that echoed across the plain.
Boragal did not slow. He moved like a storm, weaving through the defenders with terrifying grace. A halberd swung toward him; he caught the shaft, yanked the soldier forward, and drove his knee into the large yak's ribs before tossing him aside like he weighed nothing.
Three more fell. Then four. Then five.
The Chengdu defenders faltered, horror dawning in their eyes.
The magistrate gritted his teeth. "Enough," he growled, gripping his battleaxe and charging.
Boragal met him head-on, placing a leg under the hilt of a wayward saber and flicking it up into his paw.
Their weapons clashed, the force of the impact sending sparks skittering across the stone. The rhino was strong—he had spent a lifetime wielding the weight of law and steel—but Boragal was faster. He deflected a second strike, twisted, and drove his palm into the magistrate's torso.
The old warrior staggered, and Boragal's leg shot forward.
The kick caught the magistrate square in the chest, lifting the rhino clean off his hooves. With a thunderous crash, he plummeted backward, over the battlements, and into the inner gate courtyard below.
Silence fell over the wall.
The defenders stood frozen, staring in disbelief as their leader tumbled from sight.
Boragal landed in a crouch atop the stonework, peering down at the fallen magistrate with mild interest.
Below, the rhino groaned, forcing himself up onto one knee. His body ached, his breath came ragged, but he still reached for his weapon.
Boragal grinned.
"Still standing?" he mused, before dropping down into the courtyard with deadly ease.
The magistrate rose, gripping his axe tightly. "You've fooled them," he said, shaking his head. "You've fooled so many into thinking you're something you're not."
Boragal chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Oh really? And what do you think I am?"
The rhino lifted his weapon into a ready stance.
"I was there, Tai Lung," he said darkly. "I was one of the Anvil of Heaven. You killed many of my brothers."
Boragal stilled.
For the first time, his golden eyes flickered—not with fear, but with something else.
Recognition.
Followed closely by hatred.
Boragal's eyes burned, his grip tightening around the hilt of his saber. Recognition settled like a weight in his chest, pressing against something dark, something long-buried.
The Anvil of Heaven.
His claws flexed. The memories surged—chains, confinement, the weight of iron pressing against his wrists and ankles. They had watched him, judged him, held him down. His golden gaze darkened into something lethal.
In an instant, he moved.
The saber carved a brutal arc through the air, slicing straight through the magistrate's defenses. The rhino barely had time to react before Boragal's blade sank into his torso, cutting through armor, through flesh, through bone.
The magistrate staggered, eyes wide with shock as blood began to seep into his robes. His grip on his axe weakened, his knees buckling beneath him. He tried to speak, but only a choked gasp escaped.
Boragal stepped closer, leaning in, his voice a low growl. "I remember you too." He twisted the blade. "Send my regards to your brothers."
With one final, savage wrench, he ripped the sword free and cast it aside. The magistrate collapsed to his knees, coughing weakly, his life pooling around him in dark crimson.
And then he fell.
A breathless silence filled the courtyard.
The Chengdu guards, watching in horror, let out a collective roar of fury. Swords were drawn, halberds lowered, and in an instant, the city's defenders surged toward him.
Boragal did not flinch.
With a single, fluid motion, he pivoted, vaulting backward onto the wooden beam of the gate's inner mechanism. Before his pursuers could reach him, his claws lashed out—tearing through the thick ropes that held the city's mighty doors shut.
The great gates groaned, wood splintering as the weight of the rebels outside pressed against them. And then, with a deafening crack, they burst open. The flood began.
Boragal landed lightly as his warriors poured in like a wave of steel and fury. Mongols stormed the streets and their Chinese rebel allies surged forward with banners flying high, and within moments, the sounds of battle engulfed Chengdu in a frenzied roar.
And Boragal?
He simply walked.
Calmly, effortlessly, he moved through the chaos, his bloodstained fur catching the drafts of the dying day's breeze. Cries of victory, the clash of weapons, the wailing of the fallen—all of it faded behind him as he stepped out of the city, back onto the field where his great army had waited. He gave a deep exhale, the adrenaline fading from his veins.
Boragal moved like a specter across the battlefield, his steps slow but unwavering. Behind him, the city he had just cracked open like an egg was already being consumed by fire and steel. The clash of metal, the screams of the conquered, the triumphant cries of his warriors—none of it touched him now. He had done what needed to be done.
The banners of his growing empire fluttered above the field, caught in the evening winds. More of his warriors rushed past him, eager to claim what remained of Chengdu for their own. He ignored them, his focus fixed solely on the path ahead.
At the heart of the encampment, his great tent stood like a monolith, its entrance flanked by torches whose flames danced in the twilight. It was an edifice worthy of the army he commanded—adorned with violet banners, Mongol braids woven into the fabric alongside Chinese silk. A throne awaited him inside, its back carved with the sigils of his empire-to-be.
He pushed through the heavy flaps and entered.
The interior was dimly lit, illuminated only by braziers and the last rays of sunlight filtering through the entrance. He strode to the throne, settling into it with a slow exhale. The weight of conquest pressed against him, not as a burden, but as a tangible presence—a mountain he had climbed, step by brutal step.
This was what he had built.
From the scattered remains of his past, from the ashes of his disgrace, he had forged something indomitable. His name—no, Boragal's name—now carried the weight of an empire-in-the-making. Chengdu had been the last great holdout in the west. Now, nothing stood between him and—
A voice cut through his thoughts.
"That's quite a view."
His golden eyes snapped open.
The voice was familiar. Too familiar.
He turned his head slightly, and there, standing just beyond the flickering light of the brazier, was a figure clad in shadows and firelit amber.
Tigress.
She had entered his domain without fanfare, without the weight of ceremony. She stood as if she had always belonged there, the low lights glinting against her stripes.
Boragal tilted his head, lips curling into something that was not quite a smirk, not quite a snarl.
"Well," he murmured, reclining slightly on his throne. "It seems you've made your choice at last."
Tigress didn't move from the edge of the firelight. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, her expression carved from stone.
"I haven't made any choice that I wasn't forced into," she said coolly.
Boragal chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Ah. So you're here against your will, then?"
"I'm here," she corrected, her voice steady, "because my friends need me. And if standing against Khasar means fighting alongside you, then so be it."
Boragal's gaze lingered on her, searching for something beneath the surface of her words. He had expected resistance, but not this. Not this cold, measured resignation.
"And here I thought this might be the beginning of a reconciliation." He tilted his head. "We were once kin, after all."
Tigress scoffed. "Don't mistake necessity for forgiveness," she said, stepping forward just enough for the firelight to illuminate the sharp glint in her eyes. "This isn't about the past. It's about stopping the Khan."
Boragal watched her for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he leaned back in his throne, one clawed finger tapping idly against the armrest.
"I suppose that will have to do," he mused.
Tigress held his gaze for another breath, then turned sharply on her heel and stepped out of the tent without another word.
Boragal watched her go, the faintest trace of a smirk lingering on his lips.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "this will certainly be interesting."
Author's Notes:
- Thank you for reading! And thanks especially to TheGreatYing for beta reading on this one!
- It was a lot of fun to write this chapter, I hope you enjoyed the appearance of Ping and Li Shan, as well as Tai Lung's confrontation with one of The Anvil of Heaven
- It may not be readily apparent, so I thought I would mention that there should be a noticeable timejump between this and the last chapter - probably a month or so at least
- All thoughts/feedback are more than welcome! Let me know what you think!
- Thanks again, and until next time...