Chapter 345 v.1.0

The ending is still up for debate. I might add more or I might leave it as is. dunno, but I'm out of time today, so here it is. Enjoy,.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uonncDUqR9KLE16RQQVXf2UW7N5uGlcVG9mk2pW7qCk/edit?usp=sharing

After ninety minutes of smiling and saluting, the seemingly endless stream of guests finally slows to a trickle, giving me time to ease my tortured cheeks and soothe my parched throat. Draining the teacup in a single gulp, I subconsciously nod in thanks at the bowing dark-haired servant while returning the teacup to his proffered tray. As he scurries off to refill the teacup, I question if I’ll ever get used to high society living. It’s stupid, but thanking servants and treating them like people is ‘frowned upon’ and utterly unbecoming of the number one talent in the Empire. Honestly, I’d rather live without servants at all. While having people waiting on you hand and foot sounds nice in practice, I’m way too socially awkward to be comfortable with strangers hanging around all the time. Besides, knowing me, I’ll eventually make friends with the servants and then feel terrible about asking them to tidy up or do my laundry or whatever.

I’m not cut out for this, it’s way too stressful. I’d rather go back to the mountains and wash my own undies.

Resting my forehead against Ping-Ping’s beak, I give the big turtle a conciliatory pat and sigh, wondering if she even cares about these tiny gestures of affection. It’s hard to gauge a turtle’s mood and doubly so when said turtle is so large you can’t really see her whole face at once. With all four legs spread out in a sploot, Ping-Ping is the epitome of chill as she rests her head on the neatly trimmed grass and ignores everything going on around us. Her dark, beady eyes pop open to see what all the fuss is about, revealing a glimmer of gold and maybe even a glimpse into her mind as she wonders why the tiny human is bothering her during nap time.

It’s not fair. When Mila hugs Ping-Ping, the big stupid turtle gives her a hefty nudge and cute squeak, but all I get is patronizing tolerance. Then again, maybe the current environment is stressing her out and this is how she deals with it. She’s already snapped at more than one guest who strayed too close, though thankfully they were only warning snaps and not murderous ones. I wouldn’t blame her if she ate one of these pompous, stuck up nobles either, I’d like to bite one of two of the guests myself, and not in a sexual way. Well, maybe some of them, but this is my wedding banquet, so that seems inappropriate.

I’m so tired. It’s been a really, long and shitty day. I can’t believe it’s been less than 24 hours since I discovered Baledagh wasn’t real, but it’s true.

Banishing all those depressing thoughts, I try to focus on the positives. Today, I was crowned the Number One Talent in the Empire and I got to catch up with old acquaintances. Fung’s dad was proud as a peacock and greeted me with a warm hug, joking about how the Golden Swan Pavilion was still grieving over the loss of my patronage. My war buddies from Sanshu are doing well; Sovanna married Magistrate Chu Tongzu and they seem head over heels in love, with their first child on the way and hopefully more to come soon after. Chu XinYue condensed his Aura and was promoted to Major, while Chun Yimu is now Guard Captain of Sanshu and noticeably slimmer and stronger. Jin ZhiLan is still lovely as always and made a crack about how she’d missed her chance with me while Sang Ryong was visibly uncomfortable in my presence. He thinks I don’t like him, but honestly, I barely even remembered who he was. Still, it was fun watching him squirm.

Of all the people I know, only the Legate, Wu Gam, Mitsue Hideo, Huu, and Yan aren’t here. The first few don’t really matter, but it’s really bumming me out that Huu didn’t come. All three of his parents are here and so is the smelly old half-wolf, but no Huu. He’s clearly going out of his way to avoid me, probably because he found out about my brush with the dark side and doesn’t want my germs to get all over him. I joke, but his reaction is... pragmatic. I can’t blame him for not trusting me at my word when I say I’m no longer Defiled. If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t trust a self-confessed Defiled either, not without a Heavenly Tear of my own to verify things.

Still, he could’ve said something to my face instead of ghosting me like a bad first date...

Yan and her adopted Grandfather aren’t here either and I’m more than a little conflicted regarding her absence. On the one hand, this is Luo-Luo’s wedding banquet and not exactly the best setting to reconnect with an old... slightly more than friend? I dunno what we were, but either way, it’d be weird to toast my latest bride then go find catch up with Yan, no matter how much I miss her. And I do miss her. I miss her wry humour and throaty laugh, her teasing taunts and knowing smirks. I miss sparring and chatting with her, but most importantly, I miss sitting around in relaxed silence with her. It’s a rare thing to spend hours beside someone without saying a word, so comfortable you don’t feel the need to fill the thundering silence.

It’s a strange thing to cherish, but in my eyes, talk is cheap and silence is golden.

Honestly, despite being crowned number 1 rookie, today has been a really shitty day. None of the guests have even mentioned my book of inventions, which sucks. I worked hard on that book, poured my heart and soul into writing the mission statement and making sure the instructions were as clear and concise as possible, but all these people want to talk about are women, weapons, martial arts, and runic shields. They’re a basic bunch of fat-cat socialites, short-sighted fools who can’t see beyond the tip of their noses and understand how game-changing my book really is. They’re so busy keeping up appearances, it makes me wonder if they even remember why we’re having this Imperial Conference in the first place. It’s ridiculous, the Defiled could be marching on Central right now and here I am hosting a party for people I don’t like, in honour of a concubine I don’t trust, and paid for with money I don’t have.

I should just bring everyone home and watch Central burn to the ground. We don’t need the Emperor’s armies to hold the North, and even if we did, it’s not like they’re here to help defend Central either.

I don’t know if it’s my dark mood, complete lack of social graces, standard courtesy from my guests, or a combination of the above, but few guests linger to chat for long. Then again, it could also be thanks to the pungent cloud of pervasive smoke emanating from Guan Suo’s fancy pipe, puffing away nearby like he’s half-chimney rather than half-red panda. Personally, I kinda like the smell, a harsh, herbal scent which soothes the mind, but it’s exacerbating my dry throat and making me cough and wheeze. Plus, I’m worried about young Blackjack sitting atop Ping-Ping’s shell, nose twitching a mile a minute and inhaling all those nasty fumes. My tiniest of bunbuns appears entranced by the black, billowing mass of smoke, watching the cloud with a primal hunger and ambition as if dreaming of soaring through said cloud to take its rightful place as king (or queen) of the skies.

Or maybe Blackjack likes the smell too. Who knows. Either way, it can’t be healthy.

A short distance down the path, the monk stands dressed in clean red and yellow robes, a ceremonial mohawk headdress, and a string of giant wooden beads hanging from the shoulder. With his spade in one hand and a wooden bowl in the other, he stands with eyes closed and bowl held out while chanting sutras and passively soliciting donations from the guests as they walk by. Truth be told, it’s hard not to warn my guests to ignore him. Having seen his true face, it feels like he’s scamming them with an illusion of monk-like behaviour. That said, his chanting is pleasant and relaxing to the ear. He has a deep, resonant voice that’s soothing to listen to, almost like a musical bass line playing on it’s own, strumming at the strings of your subconscious mind. I have no idea what he’s saying or if he’s even trying to convey a message, but it sounds nice which is all that really matters. It’d probably sound better with a few harmonies chanting alongside him, but I don’t think monks do barber shop quartets.

“Enough idling about, look sharp young hero. The next guest is about to arrive. He’s a Lieutenant General from the...”

Brusque as always, Fu Zhu Li, Fung’s manservant/torturer, Sends me the names and titles of my next group of guests. The man is a godsend, secretly info dumping everything he knows about each guest including stuff like past accomplishments and current interests. Honestly, I need someone like this to help me keep track of all the people I meet, and maybe keep me from sticking my foot in my mouth so often. Taking a deep breath, I paste a smile on my face and turn to greet the guests, running through my mental checklist of behaviour and conduct. Back straight, head high, and shoulders square. Hands behind your back, feet shoulder width apart. Look the guest in the eye as he approaches, but not in a challenging fashion. Acknowledge the wife, but don’t stare. Ignore the daughter, because you don’t want her father to get the wrong impression. Thank them for the gift, but stress how their presence itself is an honour. Make a little small talk and mention how you’ve heard of his accomplishments and how he looks even more heroic than described, then modestly accept his return compliment. Now, announce their names and titles then publicly welcome your ‘distinguished’ guests.

Ugh. Get the rope. I don’t wanna do this anymore. The most powerful and influential people like to arrive fashionably late and I’m going hoarse from announcing all their stupid titles and accomplishments. Maybe I’m coming down with the flu or something, I can already feel a tickle in the back of my throat. Luckily, I have a servant waiting nearby whose sole purpose is to keep me hydrated. As the latest guests stride off to join the party, I drink my tea and ask, “Could you maybe use a bigger cup? And add a spoon of honey? My throat is really sore. Thanks.”

Freezing like a deer caught in headlights, dismay flashes across the dark-haired servant’s face as he glances up and around, likely wondering if he’s being played or about to get a lashing. Such is the life of a servant, where polite requests and thanks are reason enough to panic. Reassured by the lack of impending doom, the servant bows and speed-walks away to fulfill my request, wiping his brow as he disappears into the crowd. It’s sad how stressful his job must be, but I’d feel worse if he wasn’t such an idiot. I mean, his tiny tray clearly has enough room both teacup and teapot, but instead of being smart about it, he brings me one cup of tea at a time, running back and forth between his post and the kitchen. More work for him, less tea for me, a lose-lose situation all around.

Such inefficiency, such Sin.

Chuckling beneath my breath, I step away from ‘Smokestack’ Guan Suo for some fresh air and take in the stunning view of the courtyard. Mom and Rustram did a phenomenal job organizing everything in a limited amount of time. Easily larger than a football field, the venue is surrounded on all sides by elegant and luxurious manors, hidden behind low walls and decorated gates. The paper lanterns give off a muted, warm glow, creating a smooth, comfortable ambience beneath the setting sun while hidden musicians play unobtrusive melodies on their stringed instruments. Rocks and trees dot the landscape and work with the babbling brooks and paved pathways to form numerous small, semi-secluded gathering spots for guests to mingle in, though there is a constant flow of people moving between each group. Chatting, laughing, plotting, and planning, it all comes second nature to these aristocrats and socialites, forming alliances and enmities which could last several lifetimes over wine and idle chatter.

I don’t even know his name, but Nan Ping’s Magistrate has done so much for us, lending us his courtyard, servants, cooks, and musicians. I’ll need to send him a thank you gift, maybe a nice painting or a vase or something. A drop in the bucket compared to how much this all must cost, and just thinking about the bottom line puts me in a foul mood. I know Mom said she’d cover the costs, but I fully intend to pay her back, especially after seeing how extravagant everything is. I don’t even like parties, but nooooo, Luo-Luo just had to have her wedding banquet. Stupid amazonian goddess, with her stupid sexy body making things all complicated and troublesome...

Although I know it’s not fair to blame Luo-Luo, I still resent her for causing all this. I’d resent it even more if I’d been forced to mingle with the guests, but thankfully, I’m stuck here greeting guests with a strict time limit on social interaction. Nian Zu, Dad, Yuzhen, and Gerel are all hard at work, their bodies lost in the press of flesh and perfume. To avoid the same fate, Charok volunteered to oversee the kitchen while Sarnai, Alsantset, Lin, and Mila are all with Luo-Luo and getting ready to make their debut together. Husolt and Taduk are hiding away somewhere or the other, but Fung, BoShui, and Zian are the centre of attention, drinking and laughing in one nearby clearing while surrounded by similarly-aged sons and daughters of affluence

After greeting a few more guests, Fu Zhu Li informs me that greeting time is over the banquet is about to begin. Stifling a sigh, I clear my throat, accept that Yan isn’t coming, and silently curse the stupid servant who still hasn’t returned with my honeyed tea. With Ping-Ping hot on my heels, I follow the winding path to the other end of the courtyard where my stage awaits. A literal stage mind you, built so my guests can watch me and my family eat while they dine at their own tables. So ridiculous, but it’s expected, I suppose.

Distracted by a pyramid of fruits, vegetable, and fish, Ping-Ping ambles over to dig into the offerings without so much as a goodbye, abandoning me to take the stage and greet the audience all on my lonesome. Dad, Charok, and the twins are already waiting on stage, dressed in their Sunday best and looking sharp, though their polearms are conspicuously absent. It’s cool, just head up there and join them. Sweet Mother in Heaven, there are so many people staring at me. Why aren’t they clapping? Should they be clapping? Why would they clap, I’m just walking on stage? Oh no... I don’t feel great. Stomach’s queasy, bladder’s full, and I’m light-headed too. Add in the sore throat I really could be coming down with the flu. It shouldn’t be that surprising, the bay is pretty cold and I’ve been swimming every day for a week now. Or maybe it’s just the lack of sleep and the many startling revelations taking its toll on my body. What’s the word for that? Psychosomatic, yea that’s it. It’s just nerves and anxiety, it’ll pass. Focus on something else. Tate and Tali look particularly adorable today, so intimidated by the crowd they’re clinging to their Papa’s leg.

The scene brings to mind a memory I tried my best to forget. The smell of wood smoke permeates the air as I gaze upon a young girl no older than Tali, a native of the lands surrounding Sanshu. Cradled in her mama’s arms, the sweet child’s eyes are red and swollen as she shivers with fright, terrified by the distant flames and nearby strangers. The mother shifts uneasily and soothes her daughter but anger smoulders beneath the surface as Spectres whisper in her ears. I can see them, sense them, hear them coaxing and cajoling her, advising she surrender and accept their strength. ‘It’s the only way’, they whisper, a thousand voices speaking as one, and the mother considers it, but she’s too afraid. She’s alone and outnumbered, lacking weapons and martial training, so how is she supposed to fight us off? She thinks she knows what we want and tells herself she’s been through worse. I see it in her eyes and the set of her jaw, grim resignation and willingness to endure as she prays we leave her daughter alone and let them go free once we’re done.

But that’s not why I’m here. No, I’m going to do far worse.

I convince myself this isn’t me, that Baledagh’s the on making this decision. I can’t blame him either, there’s no other choice. The woman and child are Defiled, or close to it. I can’t let them go free and I can’t bring them with me, so this must be done. My fingers give the signal to kill and two Sentinels move to obey. They’ve killed before, but never like this, slaughtering defenceless villagers without rhyme or reason. I say these people are Defiled, but where’s the proof? All they see is a scared woman and a terrified child, but they obey nonetheless. They march the woman and child out of sight, and after a moment, return without them, their eyes lowered and shoulders slumped, broken and burdened by what they were ordered to do.

Those men are dead now, fallen in the battle to retake Sanshu. I envy them, because at least they now know peace, freed from the sins I forced upon them.

There was so much I didn’t know back then. I didn’t have Blobby, I didn’t understand my ability to Devour, and I didn’t realize the mother and daughter were only Tainted and still able to resist temptation. Were I a stronger man, a smarter man, I wouldn’t have rejected Blobby the first time and could have cleansed those people, could have saved that little girl’s life. Instead, I chose to be weak and stupid, clinging to a fantasy and pretending I was someone else as I ordered the deaths of dozens of innocent people, all because I was afraid of what they might become.

...

Life sucks, I suck, today sucks, and positive mental attitude sucks. There’s should be a limit on how shitty one day can be. I don’t think today could even get any worse.

And no, that is not a challenge.