Chapter 8#

Execution#

Mijin’s entire face was buried in shadow. His shoulders were taut, his stomach churning violently. The fish hadn’t fully settled yet when the flavor of the mutton surged back up, but he refused to throw it up. He forced it down with a hard swallow.

Mi. Wu. Ye.

When those three syllables left Sha Que’s lips, they rose above even the authority of Milinan. A second-rate, rankless team leader, leaning in so close to Mijin’s ear, had trampled the sovereign’s decree as easily as crushing grass beneath a foot.

Mijin would remember this moment—that faint stinging sensation creeping in from his ear, following Sha Que’s gaze all the way down to his chest. He had swallowed down more than the mutton just now; he had swallowed that sting too. He would keep it in his heart.

“Your life is very precious,” Sha Que continued to whisper. “There are plenty of people outside who want you dead. Once you enter Senluo, you can ask around—someone will always be willing to do it. Eating and vomiting like this will only wear out your stomach. It won’t kill you.”

“What do you know about me?” A lingering taint of blood filled Mijin’s mouth. “What if I don’t want to throw up at all?”

“Then why are you swallowing so hard?” Sha Que pulled back slightly, his expression veiled in a faint, gauze-like luminescence. “Gulu-dong—you startled me.”

Mijin turned his face, his eyes sharp as a blade: “Why did you call me Mi-Wu-Ye?”

“Because you…” Sha Que lowered his gaze, studying Mijin the way one might study a fluffy ball of fur caught in one’s palm, “…have been hoping I’d call you Mi-Wu-Ye (a nobody).”

The dishes on the low table had gone cold. Candle flames wavered. Their silhouettes overlapped, then slowly drifted apart under the light, no bigger than a bean.

Mijin laughed, abruptly and without warmth. He pressed his hands down, and in a slow, oppressive lean forward, said: “Wild guessing.”

“I hear drunks always insist they’re sober, so what do people whose thoughts are seen through always say?” Sha Que showed not a shred of fear. “You called me in and gave me a dagger—have you been waiting a long time for me to stab you?”

“Did you need to guess that?” Mijin flicked the dagger aside with a finger. “I thought that if I gave you a dagger, you’d understand my deeper meaning.”

“You can’t blame me for that,” Sha Que said, unusually apologetic. “I really should have stabbed you, but I’m officially off duty tonight.”

That was the unvarnished truth. If that companion hadn’t appeared last night, Sha Que would have been more than happy to send him down the road to the underworld. But the companion’s arrival had thrown the plan into disarray. By the rules, Sha Que had to stand by and wait for the next order. The pouch served as a token of command; this time it had only contained one Tian Shou wuzhu coin, which meant that aside from going to Senluo, Sha Que was not permitted to take any other action for the time being.

“So you can’t just do whatever you want after all,” Mijin lowered his head. “More pitiable than I thought.”

“That’s right,” Sha Que raised both hands, cradling them loosely beneath Mijin’s face, as though playing a game of service. “I’m extraordinarily pitiable. Every day—walking, sitting, lying down—I have to read people’s faces. I can’t even eat in peace.”

He was mocking him, just as Mijin had mocked Sha Que moments ago in front of the guards, daring him to make a move.

“I hear some targets can only be killed once. Miss the chance, and there’s no future opportunity.” Mijin’s gaze was steeped in viciousness.

“I never need an opportunity to kill someone. When it’s time to die, even eight hundred Palace Guards won’t save you.” Sha Que met that gaze head-on, unhurried. “Besides, you don’t truly want to die at all.”

Someone who wanted to die wouldn’t have fought to survive the way he did last night.

“You certainly don’t want to hear me say, ‘You did nothing wrong, Your Highness. I understand everything—you must have been forced to kill your father.’” Sha Que mimicked the words to perfection. “‘You surely had your own reasons.’ ‘Out of respect for all that you’ve endured, I’ll spare you.’ Those words—have those generals and guards been hounding you with them? They weep as they speak, kneeling at your feet, pouring on their earnest comforts. But you don’t want them. The words you long to hear are not these.”

Their eyes met, as though facing a mirror where truth and falsehood were reversed. Mijin waited for him to continue.

Sha Que enunciated clearly: “You just want to hear someone call you a nobody.”

How could those hollow comforts ever be enough?

Mijin had committed a sin. Without the force of others to redirect his guilt, it could only turn upon himself, doubled in weight. That was why he had called Sha Que in, hoping this untraceable, uncontrolled assassin would deliver a few more cuts. Accepting the word “Wu-Ye”—a nobody—beyond the pressure of circumstance, was also his own form of punishment.

Sha Que understood: what Mijin wanted was not death, but pain. He saw himself as a sinner who could not yet die. Punishing himself alone wasn’t enough—he needed someone else to inflict the punishment too. That was the sole purpose of tonight’s dinner.

That was why Sha Que had laughed so from below the steps. He had always killed too quickly before; those people were all too dull. Only Mijin made it interesting.

Mijin felt that stinging pain again—as though his skin had been peeled back, exposing the wolfish ambitions within to the open air. His stomach clenched once more. He had heard that after a snake finishes eating, it always coils up to digest alone, but now there was nowhere for him to curl in on himself. He should show some ferocity, let this assassin know that seeing through another person’s heart was a sure way to invite disaster.

A wick-spark crackled. In the distance, the bronze lamp with a silver head and bear’s body was the first to snuff out.

The low table clattered lightly. Mijin seized Sha Que’s hands—the ones resting beneath his own face—but Sha Que let himself lean sideways, his leg shooting out to kick the side of the table. The table lurched again with a heavy clang, and dishes, plates, and chopsticks all jumped.

Xu Daochun at the door called out immediately: “Your Highness, do you need anything?”

“His Highness has finished eating,” Sha Que said, “and suddenly he’s abou—”

Mijin couldn’t control Sha Que’s mouth, but he had another method. He reversed his hands, forcing Sha Que’s own hands over Sha Que’s own mouth.

The two of them had never washed their hands after slicing apart the grilled lamb. The grease and meat-tang smeared across Sha Que’s face, and Sha Que felt a wave of nausea rise. He twisted his head away in revulsion, mumbling through the obstruction with hatred: “Wu kai! (Get off me!)”

He didn’t want to be all greasy and dirty!

Xu Daochun grew alert: “Abou-what? Your Highness? Your Highness?”

Miluo’s head had already been packed away. Their return journey was imminent, and there was no time to wait for Mijin to have another episode. If they failed to leave Ayu City by the day after tomorrow, Milinan would fly into a rage. And when that happened—regardless of what temperament Mijin was in—Xu Daochun would tie him up and drag him away if necessary!

Mijin had finally won a round. He hauled Sha Que by force and called toward the door: “I was spacing out!”

Sha Que was going to kick the three-legged lotus lamp nearby. When Mijin didn’t let him, he kicked Mijin instead. The low table had long been shoved aside, and the two of them shoved and grappled on the floor mats like two utterly undisciplined cubs, caring only about venting their frustration.

“I told you to wash your hands before touching me!” Mijin’s wide ceremonial robe had been twisted into a tangle by Sha Que’s struggling, and he refused to let Sha Que speak.

He had meant to frighten Sha Que a little, but he quickly sensed something was wrong.

Mijin had been in the throes of his episode last night and hadn’t noticed: Sha Que was very light. Generally speaking, for someone of Sha Que’s build, even on the thinner side, it shouldn’t be this light. Yet now, pinned between Mijin’s arms, he felt as weightless as a feather.

That weightlessness genuinely stunned Mijin. His arms were holding nothing but lightness—and by the time he snapped back to awareness, Sha Que had already kicked over the three-legged lotus lamp.

Xu Daochun abandoned all pretense of protocol and swung the door open, then screamed: “FIRE! Someone, quickly—FIRE!”

Sha Que wrenched himself free, scrambled up from the floor, and ran. Outside, footsteps erupted into chaos as the night guards all rushed toward the chambers. Sha Que took two steps down the stairs, hadn’t even caught his breath, and came hurtling back with a clatter-clatter-clatter.

“Protect His Highness!” Sha Que shouted into the chorus of voices, raising the wooden bucket he’d snatched from someone and splashing its entire contents over Mijin. “Don’t let him catch fire!”

Mijin took it right in the face. He turned his head, seething: “SHA—SAN—QING!”

Well, that solved it. Now there was truly no need to throw up at all!