Chapter 9#

Dzi Bead#

One day later, Jin Mingshi divided the Fucheng Guards under his command in two. He would personally escort Mi Jin back to the capital with one thousand soldiers, while the remaining four thousand would stay put, awaiting the new city lord’s arrival.

The territory of Bright King Mi Luo spanned two kingdoms. With Ayou City at its heart, Xiangling Plain was unquestionably his stronghold. Heading northwest from Xiangling Plain was the Nie clan’s Dazhen, and heading southeast was the Mi clan’s Zhonggu.

In his edict, Mi Linan described Mi Luo as having “led three rebel tribes in retreat to the northern lands” — a flagrant falsehood. Mi Luo had departed Senluo under the pretext of marching north to reinforce Zhao Prefecture, where he fought several battles against Dazhen’s frontier commander Ji Baibao on Xiangling Plain. In the end, Ji Baibao was outmatched and forced to retreat. The generals of Dazhen held council, expecting Mi Luo to withdraw once Zhao Prefecture was secured. Instead, he pressed forward with unbroken momentum and charged into Xiangling Plain. With three tribes and one garrison — thirty thousand troops in total — racing through the night, advancing like an unstoppable force, he swallowed Xiangling Plain whole.

When the battle reports reached Dazhen’s capital, the young Nie emperor — barely past his twentieth year — first sobbed uncontrollably, then cried out, “Not a single man among this whole hall — all spineless worms!” before collapsing in a dead faint. Meanwhile, in Senluo, Mi Linan was overjoyed upon receiving the reports. Without even changing his robes, he shouted, “My son is a Qilin’s seed — who in this world can match him!” and summoned his ministers to bestow further honors upon Mi Luo upon his victorious return to the capital.

But Mi Luo did not return. Relying on the formidable generals and strategists under his command, he seized two more of Mi Linan’s prefectures — Zhao and Yuan — leaving Zhonggu’s northwestern map gnawed at like a dog’s bone. From then on, the northeastern reaches of the Eastern Plains became a three-way standoff.

Over the past twenty years, Mi Luo had allied with the eastern tribes in an attempt to resist Mi Linan’s encroachment. But Mi Linan reconciled with the Nangu kingdom to the southwest. He imported Nangu’s horses and built new fortresses in the northwest, boxing Mi Luo into Xiangling Plain in a half-encirclement, forbidding the Bright King’s forces from advancing any further south.

Now Mi Luo lay dead at Mi Jin’s hands. The eastern tribes each went their own way — within the span of a few days, some submitted to Zhonggu, some threw in with Dazhen, and others scattered into the wilderness. With Mi Jin as guarantor, Ayou City had not yet descended into chaos, but every other city and prefecture had been crushed under Zhonggu’s iron fist.

Yuan Prefecture suffered the worst of it. The prefect of Yuan, Diao Qin, refused to surrender. He had first believed Mi Luo’s death to be a fabrication by Zhonggu, but upon learning that Ayou City had already fallen into enemy hands, tears of old age streamed down his face.

“Life’s affairs are brief as a spring dream, human bonds as thin as autumn clouds[1].” In the downpour, Diao Qin gazed out beyond the city wall. “I still recall the campaigns Your Majesty and I fought on Xiangling Plain — six battles, six victories, never once defeated. That year, His Majesty was only twenty-four. I watched him couch his spear astride his horse, radiating magnificence, time and again leading the vanguard, crashing into enemy formations and breaking their lines. I thought to myself: even Nie Youwei, who unified the Eastern Plains in his day, could have done no better! That this world should be graced with Mi Luo — it must be because the gods, seeing so much suffering, wished to bestow a Qilin’s seed to console all living beings.”

Rain ran down his wrinkled face. He sighed, heavy with melancholy.

“Twenty years ago, His Majesty withdrew to Ayou City. I petitioned him repeatedly to campaign east against the tribes, but he would not hear of it. The rumors outside say it was that woman who muddled his mind, that she made him lay down his spear and abandon warfare forever. Master — you are also a priest of the Qiming Sect. Tell me: was any of this that woman’s fault?”

Behind Diao Qin stood a priest in white robes, adorned with a Dzi bead and golden flowers. He, too, was an old man. He shook his head slowly and said to Diao Qin: “All things are governed by fate. His Majesty is a Qilin’s seed bestowed by heaven — how could he easily be deceived? He refused to campaign east because he did not wish for Xiangling Plain to become another Lusui Plain. Twenty years, Prefect — look at Yuan Plain, then look at Xiangling Plain. The people live in peace, merchants travel in unbroken streams — who in the world does not envy it? The Queen Consort walked the mortal world in white robes, traveling among the tribes, spending more time apart from His Majesty than together — was that not also in service of ‘justice under heaven’? Prefect, if fault must be assigned, then the ones who most deserve to confess their faults are us!”

“Indeed…” Diao Qin’s gaze was hollow. He turned to the banner atop the wall — the Bright King’s Golden Black Serpent flag. “It is us… If we had not clung so stubbornly to our own views, how could His Majesty have been driven to such extremes?”

The mere thought that Mi Luo was dead overwhelmed him. He gripped the wall, and through his choked voice, said to the priest: “Master, go. My Diao clan — twelve souls — owe everything to His Majesty’s great kindness. This battle is lost beyond remedy, and I must die in service to my lord. The one battering our gates is Tian Ruping. He once failed to hold Yuan Prefecture, and under the pincer of His Majesty and me, fled in panic. For this, he drew Mi Linan’s furious reproof. That man is narrow and petty — now that he means to take Yuan, he will slaughter the garrison to vent his personal grudge!”

The war drums thundered outside. The priest looked up at the heavens and spoke softly: “The Qiming Sect has long declined. If His Majesty, in his great compassion, had not taken us in and allowed us to eke out our existence within his borders, the Qiming Sect would have vanished from this world long ago. You tell me to go — but where would I go? Prefect, I have heard that when you rode to war with His Majesty, you charged forward even with arrows in your flesh. Could I have the fortune today to witness with my own eyes the might of Yuan Prefecture’s First Valiant Hawk?”

“An old man with a rusted blade — what ‘might’ is there to speak of?” Diao Qin descended the steps and took a helmet from his adjutant. He turned and looked once more at Yuan Prefecture. “The world fears most a hero past his prime. This body of mine is nothing compared to those days. Master, I fear I will disappoint you today!”

“Do not belittle yourself, Prefect.” The priest did not follow him but stood upon the city wall, laughing freely. “Whether we win this battle or not changes nothing in the grand scheme of the world. But whether we fight with courage or without — that concerns the very name we rebels bear. Prefect, in this battle, I share your fate, life and death together!”

Diao Qin laughed aloud. He mounted his horse, faced the city gate on the verge of shattering, and drew his long saber. “Master, in my next life, I will still drink wine and debate the Dao with you — heaven may not see me, Diao Qin, with the ferocity of a tiger! Soldiers — kill the enemy! Kill the enemy!”

The city gate burst open. Diao Qin charged at the forefront. His old horse crashed into the black tide of Zhonggu soldiers, and astonishingly, was unstoppable. The wind and rain on the wall surged violently. The priest removed his Dzi bead and golden flowers, offering them to the heavens, letting the storm tear at his white robes as he cried out: “O exalted Axiya! Thirty years — could you not spare a shred of pity for your children? If you still have eyes, then lend the Qiming one more tongue of karmic fire!”

The Golden Black Serpent banner snapped and whipped in the gale. The priest raised both arms, chanting scriptures in a great voice. For nearly thirty years, no Qiming priest in the Eastern Plains had ever summoned karmic fire. So the rain fell like snapped beads, pelting down upon the priest’s body.

The arrows came. One pierced through the priest’s chest, sending him tumbling from the city wall. Together with Diao Qin, thrown from his horse, he was swallowed by an endless sea of iron hooves.

The black tide moved like a serpent, swallowing Xiangling Plain.

At that very moment, Mi Jin woke. He rested his head on his arm. The long chain of Dzi beads, agate, and golden flowers wound around his chest was growing warm. He clutched it, and the Dzi bead slipped and dangled in midair, swaying back and forth with the rocking of the carriage.

Mother.

Mi Jin gazed at the Dzi bead. The chain was woven in a peculiar style — each end was adorned with an exquisitely crafted golden flower, one half strung with red agate, interspersed with several glass beads that seemed to hold flickers of flame within. The Dzi bead sat at the very center, and on either side of it coiled a snake-shaped white bone clasp.

From outside came the faint sound of Xu Daochun’s complaints. Mi Jin wound the long chain back around his left hand, rose, and lifted the curtain, asking Long Shan, who was driving the carriage: “What is he fussing about?”

“He thinks the ox cart is too slow.” Long Shan glanced over that way for a moment. “That baldy won’t part with any horses.”

Horses were military provisions. Apart from Mi Linan’s own carriage, only specially permitted members of the imperial clan and the Three Excellencies were permitted to ride in horse-drawn carriages. Ordinary officials and prominent aristocratic clans could only travel in ox carts. The four horses pulling Mi Jin’s carriage had once been Mi Luo’s.

“Not a single one of that lot is worth a damn.” Long Shan turned back and said to Mi Jin: “Before we departed, they carved up our horses. The brothers are all stuck walking behind.”

“Let them have them.” Mi Jin’s face was expressionless. “The horses are useless now anyway. Half of these eight hundred men will scatter once they enter Senluo.”

“Among them are ones my brother specially selected and raised for the Crown Prince.” Long Shan cracked his whip, thoroughly indignant. “If I’d known they’d be ruined by this lot, I should have just slaughtered them myself the other day.”

“What a waste that would be.” Mi Jin tilted his head up slightly, a storm brewing in his eyes. “It’s not a waste to give them away.”

Long Shan had endured plenty of hardship these past few days from Jin Mingshi and Yuchi Liang. His older brother was Long Xiang — Mi Luo’s adoptive son, six years his senior. The brothers hailed from the eastern lands. They were orphans the Queen Consort had brought back from outside. Originally, since the Queen Consort traveled frequently and worried Mi Jin would have no one to play with, she found him these two companions.

Long Xiang had been precocious. From childhood, he led his younger brother in swearing they would become Mi Jin’s right and left hand. When they were small, Mi Jin complained that their Eastern Plains speech was terrible and kept running off, unwilling to play with them. The brothers had no choice but to chase after him — across rooftops, down palace walls — until they nearly resorted to riding horses to catch him.

The three of them had been awkward together until Mi Luo witnessed it one day. He kicked each of them once — one kick apiece. Somehow, it worked. All three stopped feeling embarrassed, and things improved.

Later, as they grew older, Ayou City had become a paradise. The eastern tribes came to pay their respects, and frequently bickered before Mi Luo — either someone had stolen someone’s horses or occupied someone’s land. When Mi Luo wanted to slack off, he would prop Mi Jin up on a desk and collapse on the rug to sleep.

When Mi Jin could barely recognize a handful of characters, he already dared to adjudicate miscellaneous disputes for the various tribes. He would sit cross-legged on the desk — in one ear, the thunderous snoring of his father; in the other, the chiefs of every tribe shouting, “That’s my sheep, these are my horses!” Sheep and horses, Mi Jin could tally without difficulty. But when matters involved feuds and blood vendettas between tribes, he was lost. At that point, Mi Luo would haul over Long Xiang and Long Shan, calf-like, and set one on each side of him.

Mi Jin taught the brothers Eastern Plains speech, and in turn they taught him the languages of the various tribes. So ten and some years passed, and though the three were not blood brothers, they were closer than kin. Now Long Xiang’s head was also locked in Mi Jin’s precious box — the very brother he had killed himself.

“Crown Prince,” Long Shan said, “that one — shifty eyes, keeps glancing over at us.”

Mi Jin disliked sunlight. He held up the curtain and asked casually: “Which one?”

Long Shan pointed with his whip. “That one — right there.”

Mi Jin looked over. It was an unremarkable-looking, foolish-looking boy named something like Little Dog. His gaze shifted slightly — then froze, colliding with someone else’s.

Cha Que had washed his face clean today. Slacking off in the ranks, the moment he caught any sunlight it was catastrophic — every Senluo ghoul around him looked caked in dust and as if they hadn’t tidied themselves at all. Yuchi Liang was lecturing them again. Cha Que’s eyes had been wandering just now — the man was clearly not listening.

This guy.

Mi Jin did not want to meet Cha Que’s eyes. He looked away, but the assassin was still watching him. He wanted to go back inside the carriage, then after a moment changed his mind and decided to teach Cha Que a lesson first. So he shifted his gaze back.

Cha Que was looking at Mi Jin — and not looking at Mi Jin. Yuchi Liang’s words poured into one ear and flowed out the other, unchanged. In his mind there was only one thought:

The road to Senluo is so long, and this nuisance’s carriage is so large.