Back to the Imperial Palace (3)

"Ahem! Now that's a well-written letter. You've raised a remarkable grandson, sir. Hahaha!"

Gao Yousong tucked my letter swiftly into his robes as he spoke.

He had understood me perfectly.

I had spent twenty-nine years in the Eastern Depot. At the same time, I had served in the Directorate of Ceremonial, the supreme organ that governed the ten thousand eunuchs of the palace. Those two careers had left me with a catalog of scandals committed to memory—and I had just used one of them on Gao Yousong.

He had risen to a second-rank minister not long after I entered the Eastern Depot, so the Depot had shaken his past down to the last grain of dirt. I had just laid bare a shame he believed no living soul had ever uncovered. The man was terrified out of his wits.

"You flatter me, Your Excellency."

I clasped my hands and bowed with all due courtesy. He was, after all, a third-rank high official, and appearances had to be observed. To think I was bending at the waist for a man I wouldn't have spared a glance before my regression. The feeling was thoroughly unpleasant.

"Ahem! Clan Head Jong, this official has given the matter careful thought. The possibility you raised, when weighed properly, remains far from certain—yet the disruption an investigation would inflict upon Yuwol Pavilion's business is a certainty ten times in ten. An entirely certain one, in fact."

"I beg your pardon?"

Gao Yousong was in a hurry to extract himself from Yuwol Pavilion at the earliest possible instant, and the face of Jong Jin-su—who only moments before had worn a look of supreme self-satisfaction—twisted all at once. He did not need to hear another word. He already knew the affair had gone wrong.

The family, on the other hand, looked puzzled by how completely a single letter of mine had reversed the situation—but Gao Yousong's decision itself was exactly what they had wanted, and color returned to their faces.

"One cannot, on the strength of uncertain suspicion alone, inflict a certain injury upon the livelihoods of dozens of innocent people. I will not authorize an investigation. Any inquiries you require may be conducted outside Yuwol Pavilion."

"Your Excellency! Why the sudden—?"

Whatever else could be said of him, Gao Yousong had not won his rank at a gambling table. His handling of the matter ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was swift, and the logic was not half bad. He was, in fact, correct. Their suspicions were nothing more than suspicions, while the damage to our side was as plain as fire in dry grass.

"Let me be perfectly clear. From this hour forward, I forbid the three clans from any and all contact with Yuwol Pavilion. However! Inquiries related to the incident, made through the Grand Madam, shall be permitted. If you wish to speak with the lodging guests, you will wait until they depart and meet them individually. Is that understood? Ahem!"

Having poured out the speech without a hitch, Gao Yousong flicked a sidelong glance at me, as if seeking confirmation, and cleared his throat.

I nodded—just barely, just enough to be seen—and our eyes met.

That much would do. He had left Jong Jin-su a rat-hole: the man could not meet the rest of the family, but he could still put questions to the Grand Matriarch. A seasoned judgment. Even when you drive a rat, you leave it a path to run. Corner it completely, and it turns and bites the cat. Gao Yousong knew that as well as I did.

"Your Excellency! Just a moment—give me a few minutes to speak with you in private—!"

"Well then, this official has duties waiting. You clan heads may take your leave as well. Grand Madam, I'll come spend a little money one of these days. That grandson of yours is remarkably clever—he has the face of a future Grand Secretary. The road ahead for Yuwol Pavilion is bright—bright indeed! Hahaha!"

Gao Yousong shook off Jong Jin-su—whose face had gone the color of dirt as he pleaded—and swept from the room with an exaggerated belly laugh.

Hey. Ease up, will you? You're making the whole room awkward. Don't you know that too much is worse than too little?

Jong Jin-su and the other two clan heads withdrew in a state split evenly between stunned disbelief and fury at Yuwol Pavilion and Gao Yousong alike.

Before they left, they asked me what I had written in the letter. As if I would tell them. I said only that I had composed an old anecdote capturing our sense of injustice, and that Gao Yousong had simply been gracious enough to take it well—that he seemed, all in all, a thoroughly impartial official. I laid every bit of the credit at Gao Yousong's feet.

The three clans' arrows had to fly at him, not at me. My martial arts had not yet reached a level worth mentioning, and I had no appetite whatsoever for unnecessary trouble.

"They're practically sealing the pavilion off."

"They are. Shall I go down and speak with Clan Head Jong?"

From the Grand Matriarch's rooms on the fifth floor, she and my wet nurse looked down and let out a light sigh. The Gangnyeong Jong Clan and the other two houses had ringed the pavilion and were attempting to converse with every lodging guest who tried to leave.

"Leave them. What good comes of poking a viper that's already coiled to strike? If they happen upon a master of peculiar temper, they'll be the ones who pay for it."

"Yes, Grand Matriarch."

The three clans were being remarkably polite about it. As the Grand Matriarch said, they were afraid of giving offense to some hidden expert whom neither their names nor their numbers could overawe. This was the imperial capital, so the odds were low—but if they ran afoul of a concealed master of the heterodox path or the demonic path, they could take a beating that would rattle their ancestors. Cross the wrong hot-tempered brute, and there would be blood.

The Seven Masters of the Heterodox Path. The Ten Demon Lords of the Demonic Path. Men of that caliber. If the three clans stumbled into the hands of monsters like those, they would not be left a single foundation stone.

Of course, the Gangnyeong Jong Clan had Vice Minister of War Jong Hyeon-su behind them. Anyone who touched them thoughtlessly would find the aftermath difficult to survive.

"That aside, Myeong-ah—what on earth did you put in that letter?"

"Nothing much. I wrote that a Vice Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was in the rear garden."

"You what? Heh-heh-heh!"

"A Vice Commander? Truly? Hohoho!"

The Grand Matriarch and my wet nurse burst into laughter so thoroughly delighted that tears beaded at the corners of both women's eyes.

In truth, the Vice Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was not in the rear garden. He had not even visited Yuwol Pavilion yesterday.

"Yes. I overheard the guests talking. They said officials can't even bear to make eye contact with the Embroidered Uniform Guard."

"And they're right! A Vice Commander is Death itself to those officials—Death! Heh-heh-heh! Zheng Hui, perhaps Myeong-ah should be Civil Chancellor instead of you. The boy is that clever."

"I was just thinking the same. Hohoho! So that was the trick. Still, how bold of you, my son. What if the Surveillance Commissioner had gone to pay his respects?"

"He didn't, though, did he?"

Gao Yousong was not that kind of man. There were only two Vice Commanders in the entire Embroidered Uniform Guard—the second and third most powerful men in the organization. The Surveillance Commissioner held the same third rank and was the highest judicial authority in the province, but a Vice Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard existed on an entirely different plane.

The Eastern Depot had not yet been founded. In practical terms, a Vice Commander stood below only the Emperor and the Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and above every other living soul. A walking cesspit of corruption like Gao Yousong going to meet such a giant of his own free will? Absurd. Impossible. He was the sort of man who would sooner die—who would sooner take a blade to the throat—than walk into that encounter.

"Magnificent, magnificent! Peerless! Well done indeed! Heh-heh-heh!"

"You flatter me, Holy Mother. Huhu."

"Peerless! This mother feels so reassured. Hohoho!"

With our worries swept away by my little performance, the three of us savored a rare stretch of good cheer.

A short while later, the early-morning uproar subsided, and Yuwol Pavilion sank once more into deep sleep.

I still had a long road ahead in martial accomplishment, so I entered training, drilling forms without drawing on inner force.

This outrageously arrogant name belonged to a hand technique recorded in the Sunflower Manual.

Three threads ran through the entire vein of the Sunflower Manual: the harmony of yin and yang, a hegemonic force that could shatter all creation, and a speed the eye could not follow. The Bright Sky Hand had been conceived on the principle that offense and defense were one, as yin and yang were one—and strictly speaking, it was an art that leaned toward defense.

It was a peerless skill designed to use the entire body as a weapon, and to draw out the true character of any arm the practitioner happened to hold. Five hundred years ago, it was thanks to the Bright Sky Hand that Dongfang Guihua had been able to smash the countless martial masters who once strode the jianghu—with nothing but a handful of needles.

Next came the Extreme Heaven Palm.

This palm art, together with the Dual-Body Mind Art, was the true flower of the Sunflower Manual. Where the Bright Sky Hand leaned toward defense, the Extreme Heaven Palm was devoted entirely to attack. If the Bright Sky Hand was a swift art that put speed first, the Extreme Heaven Palm was a destroying art that put overwhelming force first.

Where one technique could stop any assault, the other could shatter any defense. They stood as twin peaks. Even Wudang's legendary palm art, the Ten-Step Brocade, was said by the world to yield a step before the Extreme Heaven Palm.

And yet the heart and root of the Sunflower Manual remained the Dual-Body Mind Art. Without achievement in the mind art, there could be no achievement in the rest—and until I obtained Extreme Yin, mastery of both techniques would be capped at the sixth stage.

Even so, sixth-stage mastery would leave me without a rival among those at the Initial Peak Realm. Extreme Yin elixir was not something I could simply go out and buy, and there was no master of the Transformation Realm or higher who might transmit energy to me. For now, the only path was to train in silence.

The shadows thrown by my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hands, my feet, my whole body, and the whistle of air splitting around them filled the room in a restless storm.

Six months later. Yingtianfu.

"It's been a while."

After months shut up in Yuwol Pavilion, buried in training, I left the house at last and headed for Old Man Noh's shop.

The Gangnyeong Jong Clan, the Zhao Sword Gate, and the Southern Fist Lodge all nursed a grudge against me and Yuwol Pavilion. I had needed to bring my martial arts to a level where I could protect myself from their hands.

Six months ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of closed-door training had produced results. My mind art had reached the second stage, and five years' worth of inner force had been added, bringing my total internal energy to ten years. Ten years of Dual-Body True Qi would display a power equal to twenty years of true qi from any great orthodox sect. Among those my age, I was not falling far behind.

At eighteen, excluding spirit medicines and transmitted energy, the inner force of a prodigy from a great orthodox sect topped out around thirty years. However exceptional a young Wudang Taoist's bones and comprehension, he could not begin the Yin-Yang Wuji Internal Art as a small child. And while taking spirit medicines was dangerous enough before the dantian and meridians had been tempered, energy transmission was perilous for giver and receiver alike, and brutally inefficient besides.

A boy who had not even reached twenty, holding a full jiazi of inner force? That was all nonsense. Street-corner gossipmongers wagging their tongues for a free drink.

"No matter how I turn it over, the imperial palace is the answer."

I had felt it six months ago, when I faced Gao Yousong. Martial arts were well and good—but power was no less vital. And more important still were the spirit beasts and immortal elixirs that tribute missions from every corner of the realm would carry north after the capital relocated—and the treasury of the Forbidden City, which would soon show itself to the world.

"The Forbidden City. The Forbidden City…"

The elixir I needed was not something money could buy. Even if I tried to find it, the owners and locations were uncertain—but the Forbidden City was a sure thing. Whether I earned the right of entry by merit or simply spirited the goods away, I would have a way. The safer course was to render service and win access to the vaults.

A civil official, though, had to survive the provincial, metropolitan, and palace examinations—a gauntlet of headaches—and becoming an officer of the central government was like plucking stars from the sky. Could I even distinguish myself with a writing brush among scholars who had studied for decades? However I looked at it, it was impossible. Civil officials might be stuffy old fossils, but in matters of scholarship they were Transcendent Peak masters.

A military official? I could pass the military examinations this very day. The problem was that I would almost certainly be posted to the northern frontier, standing night watch on the Great Wall and catching frost for my trouble. If I meant to accomplish anything, I had to be inside the Forbidden City. Inside the Forbidden City.

"Being a eunuch is the best path—except for that goddamned castration."

Looked at that way, a eunuch's post was the finest of all. Always at the Emperor's side, always among the imperial clan—easy to catch the eye, easy to render service. And the information I needed to render that service was already sitting in my head.

On top of that, next year would see the founding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the Eastern Depot. Enter the Depot, rise to Grand Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial, and the Forbidden City's treasury? That bastard Wang Zhen had come and gone from it as casually as a man visiting the privy. He had plucked spirit beasts and immortal elixirs from it the way a man digs wild herbs from a hillside on a feast day—and swallowed every last one himself.

In any case, if not for the castration, becoming a eunuch would have been the perfect method for obtaining Extreme Yin.

"Isn't there a way to become a eunuch without cutting that off?"

I was turning over ways to relieve the mounting pressure of Extreme Yin, which drew closer with every passing day, when I arrived at Old Man Noh's shop.

"Old Man Noh!"

"Oi! There you are. Here you go. Eat well, you two—if it isn't enough, just say the word. Myeong-ah, you haven't eaten, have you? Come eat."

Old Man Noh turned toward me with a glad look and set two bowls of noodles on an outdoor table where a pair of customers sat facing each other.

"No, I haven't ea—! …I have not eaten yet."

I had been waving as I ran over, and then I pulled up short. The reason was the two people seated across from each other at that outdoor table. A young man and a woman, both so strikingly beautiful that my eyes widened despite myself, turned to look at me—and something in their smiles set my teeth on edge.

What could I call it? A bewitching quality. Their lips were curved in smiles, but their eyes did not seem to be smiling at all.

Slurp.

The feeling faded as the man and woman began, without a word, to eat their noodles.