The War of Those Who Lack What They Should Have

Caught in an ambush I never saw coming, I was driven to my knees. My martial arts had been crippled, and the eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial and the guards of the Eastern Depot had me surrounded.

"Hah... hah... Did Jin Gu put you up to this? Dancing on the strings of those ink-stained schemers..."

I played dumb, as if I'd been taken in by the civil officials' whispering campaign.

The Three Dukes. The Grand Secretariat. The Six Ministries.

The most useless, spineless, chicken-hearted bastards under heaven. And these were supposed to be the great ministers of the realm? Self-proclaimed scholars and gentlemen whose sense of honor wasn't even fit to stand beside a eunuch's. No guts. No loyalty. Good for absolutely nothing. That was why men who still had everything attached could live under the rule of castrates and not dare make a sound.

I'd missed my chance to cut down Wang Zhen, Superintendent of the Eastern Depot, today. From here on, this country would be nothing but a banquet table for Wang Zhen and the eunuchs who followed him.

"Eunuch Jang, Jin Gu? How dare you call the Lord Director by his childhood name."

"I'm a dead man walking anyway. What's left that I can't say? Bring Jin Gu here."

"If only you'd taken the crumbs the Lord Director tossed you and lived out your natural years. Why did you have to do this? His Lordship is terribly disappointed. Tsk, tsk."

The bastard was trimming his long fingernails, making a show of how much time he had.

She Ping. Director of Writing of the Directorate of Ceremonial, Right Vice Director of the Eastern Depot. The man ranked directly below me — third among all eunuchs.

"You pathetic castrated bastards. It's because of stupid eunuchs like you that the country has fallen to this state. Do you actually believe the Great Ming can win this war?"

Whatever She Ping had to say, I roared it at the eunuchs who were drunk on power and in the process of ruining the nation. They'd normally convulse at the mere mention of the word castrate, but since it was coming from one of their own, She Ping and the other grand eunuchs didn't so much as flinch.

Wang Zhen and the eunuchs who followed him had pulled off a blunder for the ages. Instead of soothing the barbarians who'd been grinding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their teeth and gathering strength, they'd scraped their insides raw. The enraged horde had come pouring in on a surge of spite, and just like that, Datong — the military stronghold northwest of the imperial capital — had been wiped off the map in a single stroke.

And as for Yuzhou, sitting between Datong and the capital — whose land was that? Wang Zhen's hometown. The territory he'd swept up the moment he seized power. If things went south, his entire fortune would fall into barbarian hands. As if a greedy bastard like him would sit still for that.

Wang Zhen had goaded an emperor who'd barely passed twenty — a boy with no experience of war and no knowledge of strategy — into starting a campaign. An emperor who did whatever Wang Zhen said was already a massive problem. The bigger problem was this: if the nominal commander-in-chief was in that state, the actual commander at least needed to be competent. And that madman Wang Zhen had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠decided he'd do the job himself.

Yes, he could fight a little. But what did a creature like him know of war? Of strategy?

"His Majesty and the Lord Director lead an army of five hundred thousand. You think a pack of barbarians can stand against that? You've been playing with those ink-stained scholars so long you can't tell left from right, can you?"

"Bullshit! We're missing something, but we're not missing our eyes! Use the two eyeballs stuck in that skull of yours and look! Three-tenths of them have never held a spear in their lives — three-tenths! Those three-tenths will piss themselves at the mere shadow of an Oirat!"

That was why I'd believed this war was a road to the nation's ruin, and why I'd set out to eliminate Wang Zhen for launching this farce of a campaign. Thanks to those chicken-hearted ink-stains, it had all come to nothing.

"The remaining seven-tenths alone could make a meal of the Oirats. So why don't you worry about your own lifespan instead! Ho-ho-hong!"

She Ping, who knew as much about war and strategy as Wang Zhen — which is to say, not a speck — was spouting this lunacy when a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Right. A dying man sure has a lot of worries. What a loyal subject. A true loyal subject."

The instant that familiar voice reached me, the eunuchs and guards surrounding me dropped to the ground, roaring the hail in unison.

He was here.

The architect of this entire catastrophe. The treacherous minister driving the nation down the road to ruin. The emperor of those who lack what they should have — the Eunuch Emperor, Wang Zhen!

"Wang Zhen...! Our little Jin Gu has arrived."

"Insolence! Such disrespect before the Lord Director!"

"Enough. That's enough."

"Yes, my lord."

She Ping had pressed a blade to my throat, then withdrew at Wang Zhen's command. Third in the ranks, and he still couldn't stop the groveling. What a creature. I shot a look at She Ping, performing his eunuch's part to the letter, then turned to Wang Zhen and opened my mouth.

"Grand Director — no. As your batchmate, I'm asking you. Call off this war. Pacify the Oirats and bolster the Tatars. This is the time for pitting barbarian against barbarian. This cobbled-together war is a certain defeat."

"Batchmate... That's right. It's been a very long time since I heard that word."

Eight young eunuchs bearing a palanquin slowly dropped to their knees, and Wang Zhen stepped down upon their prostrate backs.

Wang Zhen, Grand Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial. The current emperor's childhood tutor in the classics. Master of ten thousand eunuchs, and the dreaded Superintendent of the Eastern Depot. A man who could decide hundreds, thousands of lives with a single word — the emperor in all but name.

In private, the man who'd been castrated on the same day, at the same hour as I had. Officially, the superior ranked directly above me. The greatest treacherous minister and corrupt official the present age would acknowledge.

I waited for Wang Zhen's next words; he seemed briefly lost in sentiment.

"For a traitor who abandoned the loyalty of eunuchs, you stand rather tall."

Wang Zhen's answer was exactly what I'd expected. If this arrogant, greedy castrate had been a man who could be persuaded, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠country would never have come to this.

"Wang Zhen. Serve His Majesty as you would the great road itself. Before the disaster of His Majesty becoming a hostage to the barbarians comes to pass."

"A mere five hundred thousand. Five hundred thousand. An army of five hundred thousand escorts His Majesty, and you expect me to take that seriously?"

"Three-tenths of them have never even held a spear, and you marched this way for the sake of your hometown, didn't you? Mongol cavalry is right on our doorstep. Driving the Son of Heaven into danger to protect your own greed — isn't that going too far, even for you?"

"Hmph...! As ever, you and I have never been compatible. Eunuch She."

Wang Zhen frowned, shaking his head, and called for She Ping. The vile castrated bastard. He'd been hit dead in the bullseye in front of his subordinates and couldn't stand the humiliation. As if a creature like him had any shame left to lose. She Ping and the rest were all equally rotten eunuchs.

"Yes, Lord Director!"

"Luring Grand Eunuch Jang here was an excellent choice. As expected of you, Eunuch She."

"Ho-ho-hong! You flatter me, Lord Director!"

"We can hardly bury a man who betrayed his own kind with any kindness. Throw him off the cliff. From this moment, you are Left Vice Director."

"Yes! I shall serve with all my loyalty! A thousand years! A thousand years! A thousand thousand years!"

A few words from Wang Zhen, and She Ping had taken my place. A man who stood below only one other, and above everyone else — his mouth split in a grin that reached his ears.

"Jang Jinmyeong. Farewell."

"Ho-ho-hong! Fare thee well!"

Thud!

She Ping, who'd mocked me in Wang Zhen's wake, drove his foot into my chest. Struck square by a kick backed by the swift, fierce power of the Sunflower Manual, I flew like a kite with its string cut and began to plunge toward the cliff bottom, where the clouds hung thick and dark.

"Hey! You castrated bastards who won't even live out a single jiazi! You'll live as eunuchs in the next life too! You sons of bitches who'll spend three lifetimes as castrated slaves! Ha! Ha! Ha?!"

I roared with everything I had at the edge of my life.

For a eunuch, mentioning castration was one taboo. The next was this: the fact that, because of the incomplete Sunflower Manual, no method in existence could let them live past sixty. Qi deviation could come as early as their forties, and they'd start dropping dead in their sleep. Once eunuchs passed forty, they lived every day hunted by the fear of death, and that was one of the reasons they'd fallen into the pursuit of pleasure and corruption.

I'd reminded them that the power they enjoyed now could end overnight. The terminal sentence our kind tried so hard to deny. And I'd cursed them to live as those same loathsome eunuchs in the next life — their guts would be boiling by now.

But what good was shouting? My voice wasn't majestic at all. It sounded like a pervert's.

Goddamn eunuch life.

"Nngh... ghk!"

I opened my eyes and tried to move without thinking, then screamed and collapsed again. Pain tore through me from every direction — joints shattered, bones broken — and the ground beneath me was soaked with the blood that had poured from my body.

The last thing I remembered before blacking out was a sudden, violent wind that had seized me in the middle of that endless fall and dragged me back toward the cliff face. That wind must have shoved me in here, and then I'd smashed against the rock. Hence... this.

"What... where is this?"

I forced my eyes open through the agony and took a slow look around. It wasn't a cave. A niche had been carved into the cliff with unnatural evenness — about the height of an average man, three times as wide, three times as deep — and a Buddha had been sculpted into the stone.

"Hhk—!"

Still lying on my back, I craned my neck to look behind me, and nearly let go of my life on the spot.

A monk was sitting there with his back to me.

I jolted, but the first thing that leapt into my mind at the sight of a monk was a fateful encounter. Was this it? After forty-nine years of life, was I finally meeting a fateful encounter of my own?

This was too obvious...

"Master...! Master!"

I squeezed the words out through a mouthful of bloody foam, but the monk neither answered nor so much as twitched. Hey! High monk or blockhead, I don't care — a man is dying here. A man is dying, and you're just going to sit there chanting?

"Mas—?"

I was about to call a third time when something felt wrong. I watched him in silence. His shoulders didn't rise. There was no sound of breathing. Perfect, absolute stillness. No martial artist, no matter how profound his realm, could sit as perfectly motionless as the monk in front of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

"He's dead. He's dead. Why is a monk here? Nngh—!"

I thrashed my screaming body and crawled toward him. The pain was savage, but the hope that I might still live made it bearable. I dragged myself forward with everything I had and closed my fingers on the edge of the monk's crimson kasaya.

And in that instant—

"Wh— what?"

Hisssss.

The monk's body crumbled into dust, like a sandcastle giving way. The shock was one thing. The emptiness was another. Where the monk had been, only a gray monk's robe and a kasaya remained. No jade box of miracle pills. No secret manual that could look down upon the world. I could have washed my eyes and looked again — there was nothing.

Damn it. Of course. What fateful encounter. Some mad bald monk had crawled all the way out here to dig his own grave and mock a dying man.

The grand expectation that had swelled in my chest collapsed in a heap, and hollowness rushed in to take its place. That was when I felt it — something off about the kasaya in my hand.

"Writing...?"

Beneath the kasaya's coarse weave, my fingers found a texture that was soft. Letters. I yanked it close, spread it before my eyes, and found it packed tight with writing.

"What did this stone-headed monk write? We, husband and wife, in the first year of Jianlong... Jianlong? Jianlong... Jianlong... Song Taizu, Zhao Kuangyin!"

Thirty-two years as a eunuch. By that point, the major era names of previous dynasties were common knowledge. The record on the monk's kasaya, beginning with we, husband and wife, sat strangely. The odds that it was the monk's own story were slim. And if it was the first year of Jianlong, this was a record from over five hundred years ago.

I clung to a mind going dim with blood loss and pain, and read the mysterious record as fast as I could.

"...And so, taking the name of our only child, we named it, named it..."

My breath, which had been racing through the text, slowed to a crawl at that passage — a turtle trying to hurry. My eyes had already confirmed the next sentence ahead of my mouth. The four characters that followed made my entire body shudder at once.

"...the Sunflower, the Sunflower Manual."

Insane. The Sunflower Manual? The Sunflower Manu—al?

I couldn't believe it. A hollow laugh escaped me.

"Where does this stone-headed monk get off peddling this nonsense?"

In the present age, no one knew the Sunflower Manual better than I did — than we eunuchs did. A eunuch could learn it upon reaching the rank of Supervisor, the grade below Grand Eunuch and Junior Eunuch; even those of lower rank could learn it if they entered the Eastern Depot or were assigned to attend the imperial clan. I had learned it when the Eastern Depot was founded, and it had been twenty-nine years since that founding. As if I wouldn't recognize a martial art I'd practiced for nearly thirty years.

"It's different. Completely different."

The full text of the Sunflower Manual written on the kasaya had passages that matched or resembled the one I had learned, here and there — but taken as a whole, it was an entirely different thing. The length alone was more than double. In martial arts, a single particle can change the entire interpretation. The gap between the Sunflower Manual on this kasaya and the one I had practiced was wide enough to call them two completely different arts.

"Then this is...?"

I had never crossed the wall into the Transcendent Realm, but I was a master standing at the very edge of the Peak Realm. That meant I was on the level of the heads of the great famous sects — and that meant I could look at the full text of a martial art and tell whether it was genuine or a dog chewing grass. The Sunflower Manual on this kasaya was a high art I had never encountered in my life. A martial art that could, in the literal sense, be called a divine skill.

Worthy of looking down upon all under heaven.

"Damn it. If only my dantian weren't shattered."

But a martial art of the ages sitting before my eyes was useless to me now. My dantian had been destroyed; I couldn't circulate the mind method of the authentic Sunflower Manual. The original text was a painted bun — a feast I could look at and never eat. Learning it to claw my way back to life was out of the question.

"To hell with it. If I can't have it..."

I was dying anyway. Who was I supposed to leave this for?

Spite flared. I crumpled the kasaya inscribed with the original text against the ground, soaked through with my own blood. I meant to blot out every character with it.

And then—

"...no one else will..."

I was still at it when, as if sleep had finally caught up with me, my mind went out in a single instant. Just before my eyes closed, the hand gripping the kasaya burned as if it had been pressed to fire. That was the last of it.

The time allotted to me ended there.

A shed in Yingtianfu, capital of the early Ming.

"Hey, hey. Get up. This one's gonna be something. Twenty years as a knife-man, and I've never seen a kid fall asleep coming in to get his manhood cut off."

You Jiu shook the boy sleeping on the operating table.

"Hey. Jang Jinmyeong. It's your turn, so get up."

"Aaahhm... nngh."

The eighteen-year-old boy Jang Jinmyeong woke with a long yawn.