Founding the Eastern Depot, The Brocade Guard (3)
Was the eunuch clan about to tear itself apart on the eve of the New Year?
Deputy Brush-Holding Grand Eunuch Huang Yan had launched a surprise offensive against Grand Director Zheng He — and it had come to nothing.
The Ming court was in an uproar over the incident at noon, and a strange heat wrapped itself around the imperial palace. People regarded what had happened at midday as the opening act of a struggle for shadow power: a contest over the eunuch authority that was called the sovereign's own shadow. Eunuch power was something that, by nature, changed hands in the blink of an eye, without a soul knowing it had passed — but the court believed Huang Yan had harbored other ambitions.
Meanwhile, another rumor was making the rounds: that the Imperial Academy of Medicine and the palace maids, who had been reduced to hostages in Huang Yan's power play, might turn their backs on the eunuch clan altogether. The Academy was one thing. The palace maids turning away was a matter bound tightly to the very roots of eunuch power.
The wellspring of that power was the Emperor himself. Its driving force was living inside the palace through all twelve watches of the day. Building intimacy and bonds by rubbing shoulders, hour after hour, with the Emperor and the imperial family, then borrowing the master's authority to throw one's weight around — that was the core of it. But there was one more reason the eunuchs' grip ran so deep.
It sounded like a contradiction, and perhaps it was: they held power, and yet they were the ones who stood in the lowest place of all, right beside the palace maids. Every last scrap of menial labor in the imperial palace passed through eunuch hands — and that included the nine thousand palace maids. Physicians, blacksmiths, clothiers, carpenters, dyers: artisans of every stripe worked alongside them. In other words, a eunuch was a person connected, directly or indirectly, to every activity a human being needed in order to live. And so the eunuchs enjoyed the support of the palace maids, who made up half the palace's population, and of the craftsmen who supplied the goods and skills that let people live like people.
Work together long enough and bonds form of their own accord. Eunuchs and palace maids often grew close in the flesh as well.
The civil officials and the military officers, on the other hand, knew Confucius, Mencius, and the art of war, and were complete ignoramuses in every other field. You couldn't even talk to them. And if that were the only problem it would have been a blessing — more often than not they refused to exchange a word at all, on the grounds that people like this were base. Getting close to them was impossible by design.
The Emperor, the Rank 1 Three Dukes, the military governors-general — in the end they were all just human beings who ate and slept and shit. They were beasts who, when they ate, produced a turd from their ass the same as anyone else. Their shit was not a different color from ours.
The conclusion, in any case, was this: pick a fight with the eunuch clan and palace life became exhausting in short order — and you lost the palace maids and the craftsmen, who were the eyes and ears of the palace besides. Now those same palace maids, who formed one of the pillars of eunuch power, were voicing their sense of betrayal, and a crack was beginning to show between the ten thousand eunuchs and the nine thousand maids. For the eunuch clan, it was a problem that had to be handled at once.
The civil and military officials had been hoping to profit from the strife; when Huang Yan's attempt came to nothing, they were left in the awkward position of having to face Zheng He. On top of that, the Yongle Emperor had assigned the investigation not to the Directorate of Ceremonial but to the Brocade Guard, and people were watching the outcome with the conviction that a trial of strength between the Directorate and the Guard had begun.
It was into this tangle of competing interests — the eunuch clan's and everyone else's — that Zheng He drew his blade in a surprise stroke. The blade Zheng He had drawn was Jin Myeong, who had risen to Director at the age of nineteen.
The Shadow Emperor of the Great Ming, Zheng He, had a new treasured sword.
The greatest inner attendant under heaven, Jang Jinmyeong, paid a visit to the Brocade Guard.
The Touhou Robe of black silk, an imugi embroidered across it in gold thread, and the Cheonyang Biyeon belted at his waist suited that painterly face as if they had been made for it.
"Have a seat first, Gonggong Jang."
Sa Hapji, the Rank 2 Commander-in-Chief, addressed Jin Myeong as Gonggong. The man was a Rank 5 Director now — and a Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial at that. The easy, familiar speech of before was no longer possible.
"Sit here, Gonggong Jang."
Gongsun Dajing stood as if to offer his own place to Jin Myeong, who had been heading for the lowest seat. Now that Jin Myeong held the same Rank 5, Gongsun Dajing used honorifics as well.
"That won't be necessary, Qianhu. I can hardly put a comrade to the trouble. What difference does it make where I sit?"
Jin Myeong smiled faintly and went to sit at the farthest, lowest place. Gongsun Dajing had taken a liking to him — and Jin Myeong, for his part, had taken a liking to Gongsun Dajing.
When the Eastern Depot is founded, this is the first man this Gonggong is going to pull in and put to work.
If Gongsun Dajing had been out in the martial world, they would have called him a true chivalrous bone — a great hero. Perhaps Jin Myeong had recognized early that a temperament as nasty as his own could never become a great hero. There was a saying, wasn't there? People are drawn to those who are their complete opposite.
At any rate, the situation was ambiguous, and a little strange. Given the circumstances, Sa Hapji and the senior officers could not simply hold Jin Myeong up as a comrade of the Brocade Guard, and the atmosphere was faintly awkward.
"You arrived faster than this officer expected."
"It's a matter involving the clan, so I hurried a little. Grant this humble official and the Directorate of Ceremonial this one day."
Jin Myeong had decided there was nothing to be gained by sitting around, and went straight to the point. Settle it fast. What Jin Myeong and Zheng He had agreed on was this: the matter had to be closed in the Directorate's hands before the Brocade Guard could investigate.
"This one day, you say…?"
"Yes. Allow this humble official to sit in on the investigation alone."
"…Is that the Director's will, or the Grand Director's?"
Jin Myeong drove in on the essential points as if he had overheard every word Sa Hapji and the senior officers had been exchanging until a moment ago.
"Both."
"…I see. You won't use torture, will you? Torture would be a problem."
The Yongle Emperor had entrusted the investigation to the Brocade Guard, but the affair could still be closed without any real damage to Zheng He or the Directorate, so they had to proceed with care. Put bluntly, once the Eastern Depot was founded on schedule and the Brocade Guard was placed under it, Zheng He would be their direct superior. They had to protect the Guard's interests — and they had to avoid any confrontation that went beyond what human feeling would bear.
"Would I torture a member of the clan whose guilt hasn't even been established?"
"You'll resolve the case today, without torture?"
They had conceded the first move, but he had said he only needed one day — which meant that if he failed to settle it today, the victory was theirs. That was why Sa Hapji had brought it up: block the easiest, fastest method, torture, and that would be enough. And now the man was saying he wouldn't use it. As if that were the most natural thing in the world.
"The eunuchs are one body."
Jin Myeong answered Sa Hapji's puzzled look with a faint smile. There was a boldness in that thin curve of the mouth.
"If Clerk Gu had betrayed our lowly clan of eunuchs, that would be another matter. Until then, he is kin — someone we live with and die with."
At that, the younger Qianhu officers, a little too stirred, shifted on their seats and snorted. There was something in Jin Myeong's words that caught at a man's heart. The thought that men could be moved by the words of one who was not a man seemed almost funny — but the shifting hips and the snorts they let out were the truth.
"…One investigator, Director Jang alone. One day will suffice. And no torture…"
Sa Hapji rested his chin in his hand for a moment, thinking, and let the sentence trail off.
"I cannot read Director Jang's intentions, or the Grand Director's."
"This humble official came to find out whether Gu Ryun betrayed the clan. If he did not — I came to save him."
Jin Myeong spoke of rescue without the slightest hesitation, as if he had nothing to hide. Which meant that if Gu Ryun had not betrayed the eunuch clan, he intended to walk him out of there. Out of the Brocade Guard's Northern Pacification Imperial Prison — the most feared dungeon under heaven.
I can see exactly what you're thinking. Crystal clear. You want to squeeze a profit out of the clan while you've got the chance. I am not going to sit here and watch that happen.
Jin Myeong could see straight through Sa Hapji's head.
Jin Myeong went down to the Northern Pacification Imperial Prison under Gongsun Dajing's guidance.
The prison had been carved from the bedrock deep underground, so that the prisoners would not dare attempt an escape. Sa Hapji had agreed to let Jin Myeong enter Gu Ryun's and Gong Jun's cells alone — but he would not yield on the matter of Brocade Guard soldiers waiting outside. On top of that, he had extracted a pledge: if anything happened to Gu Ryun, Jin Myeong would bear the responsibility.
"Don't take it amiss. The Commander thinks of Director Jang as a comrade as well."
Gongsun Dajing, walking ahead, offered a defense of Sa Hapji's position.
"Think nothing of it. The investigation hasn't even started yet, has it?"
Jin Myeong didn't mind in the slightest. That was politics. If one side tried to take everything, it wasn't a negotiation or a bargain — it was simply violence. Which was another way of saying they wanted to smash the table.
"When you first arrived, Gonggong, it had been about half an hour since the prisoners were locked in. They haven't even assigned an investigator yet. Gonggong — may I ask you something?"
Gongsun Dajing's voice was as hard and solid as the look on his face.
"Ask, Qianhu."
"The strange rumor. True, or false?"
"What does the Qianhu think?"
Caught by a question he hadn't expected, Jin Myeong turned it back with practiced ease. The truth was, he was not the sort who enjoyed lying to people he liked. A white lie, perhaps — but otherwise, no.
"Frankly, this officer doesn't care either way. Even if the poisoning were true, you would have hidden it out of consideration for the inner attendants, the palace maids, the physicians and the nurses."
"I see."
"You are the man who once tried to give even the credit for escorting His Highness the Crown Prince — work we did together — to the eunuchs of the Directorate of Palace Attendants. A man without greed, who understands the greater cause. Would a man like that scheme for his own gain?"
"…Qianhu, you truly…"
You have misunderstood this official completely — and thoroughly. That was what he actually wanted to say, but he could not say it.
His eye for people is sharp, I'll give him that. I have to bring him in myself. Leave him with anyone else and he'll spend his life getting stabbed in the back.
Jin Myeong resolved, not for the first time, that when the Eastern Depot was founded he would find a way to pull Gongsun Dajing in and put him to work, and a quiet laugh rose in his chest.
"Once a comrade, always a comrade. The truth is, this officer has no love for these political games. All that matters is that His Majesty's will be done. Isn't that so?"
"Well said."
"In any case, if you need this officer's help, say so. I'll help with everything I have. Turn right — the rooms at both ends."
"You have my thanks, Qianhu. I'll have you over to my residence sometime."
Jin Myeong and Gongsun Dajing exchanged a fist-and-palm salute and parted.
Alone now, Jin Myeong walked the prison corridor at an unhurried pace, almost as if he were taking in the view, while Brocade Guard soldiers stood watch. He was seeing the Northern Pacification Imperial Prison of the years when the capital had been at Yingtianfu for the first time in nearly thirty years, and the feeling was strange and new. The fact of his regression struck him all over again, as if it were something marvelous.
Then he turned right. At the far end were two cells, and Gong Jun and Gu Ryun were being held in them.
And then—
He's here already? I told him to go and wait.
From the direction of the cells holding Gong Jun and Gu Ryun came the sound of someone moving in a hurry. There was no clink of iron, so it was neither Gong Jun nor Gu Ryun. Both of them would have been wearing shackles on their wrists and ankles.
"This is Jang Jinmyeong, Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial. Is there someone else in Gong Jun's and Gu Ryun's cells?"
Mildly puzzled, Jin Myeong asked, thinking it might be a soldier come to deliver Sa Hapji's decision, or the men who would stand guard outside while he conducted the investigation, arrived ahead of him.
"Sir! Greeting Director Jang, comrade of the Brocade Guard. The interrogator is in Gong Jun's cell. He came early to wait before the investigator arrived—!"
In that instant—
Damn it!
The supreme footwork of the authentic Sunflower Manual. His form slipped beyond space itself, leaving not even an afterimage behind.
Jin Myeong's body vanished. When it reappeared, it was in front of the cell the hurried sounds had come from — Gong Jun's cell.
At the time Jin Myeong and Gongsun Dajing had parted, in the cell where Gong Jun was being held—
The old physician Gong Jun was terrified. Being imprisoned at all was frightening enough for a man who had never seen the inside of a jail in his life. This was the infamous Northern Pacification Imperial Prison — and after about an hour, a man calling himself an interrogator had walked in.
The face was ordinary, the kind you might see anywhere. The eyes were a butcher's eyes, looking at him not as a person but as livestock. Gong Jun felt a primal fear.
"S-spare me."
The interrogator did not answer. He only glanced at Gong Jun once, with a look of complete indifference. Then he took a folded paper from his pocket. The way it was folded, and its size, looked exactly like a packet of powder.
Step. Step.
The interrogator walked toward Gong Jun.
"Uh… uh…"
Gong Jun moaned in terror — and then the interrogator struck the mute point and the paralysis point.
Gong Jun jerked in shock, his mouth working soundlessly.
Ghk—! Guard! Guard!
Anyone could see the atmosphere was wrong. He called for the guards, but his throat was stopped up tight, and no sound came out.
W-what is he doing to me…?
Gong Jun's trousers grew damp.
"A physician would know this well enough. Shichen Paralysis Powder."
The interrogator whispered it into Gong Jun's ear, set the paper on his palm, and unfolded it.
One shichen after ingestion, every muscle in the body is completely paralyzed. Death follows by asphyxiation.
In other words, the interrogator was a man Huang Yan had bought, to shut Gu Ryun's and Gong Jun's mouths. An interrogator who came and went from the prison on a regular schedule could not kill Gong Jun on the spot — his own hand in it would be obvious. So he would use a powder whose effect began a full shichen later, and disguise the death as a sudden collapse.
H-hey! Is anyone there! Guard!
His mind was perfectly clear, but he could not speak, could not move his body, could only tremble. Gong Jun's pupils filled with despair.
"Eat this and we're done—"
The interrogator seized Gong Jun's jaw, about to tip the Shichen Paralysis Powder in — and in that exact instant—
A low voice came from behind him. With that voice, a cold sensation wound around the interrogator's arm and throat.
The low voice was Jin Myeong's. The cold sensation wrapping the interrogator's neck and arm was the Cheonyang Biyeon — the soft blade, charged with Isin True Qi. An ink-dark serpent eight feet long had slipped through the gaps in the tightly shut iron bars and locked around the interrogator's throat and arm.
Then—
"You bastard."
The same voice as a moment before. And with it—
A wet, shearing sound. The arm that had been holding the paralysis powder was sliced clean off. The agony of bone and nerve and tendon being severed exploded through him, and blood poured out.
"AAAAAGH!"
The interrogator screamed and turned. Beyond the iron bars stood Jin Myeong, that painterly face above a Touhou Robe of black silk resplendent with gold thread.
Then the master of the ink-dark Cheonyang Biyeon opened his mouth.
"You bastard. You took the money, didn't you."