by JC Kang
He stood and now met Kaiya’s gaze again. His complexion hinted at time spent in the sun. Strong, chiseled features rivaled General Lu’s handsomeness, though he stood a head taller. It probably made him even more of a narcissist.
A sweep of Zheng Ming’s head sent his hair over his shoulders with a whiff of the shouwu scent again. He almost purred when he spoke. “Princesses, it is my honor to meet you.”
The five ladies nodded in acknowledgement, though young Ziqiu followed a split-second late, and her face flushed. She batted her lashes at him.
Ziqiu’s reaction might be amusing, but Kaiya forced herself not to roll her eyes. The lordling was just the latest among the dozens of handsome lords and generals she’d met over the last two years, with nothing beyond a title and a pretty face to distinguish them. None could compare with Hardeep.
“Young Lord Zheng came to visit Kai-Wu,” the Tianzi said. “When I heard you were all practicing archery, I commanded him to come share his expertise with you.”
Zheng Ming bowed. “Huang-Shang, I hope my poor skills can meet your expectations.”
The Tianzi let out a shallow, breathy laugh. “Your bow has defended the realm against Lord Tong’s rebellion and the Kingdom of Rotuvi’s incursions. You have earned numerous distinctions. I have no doubt my daughters will benefit from your guidance.”
Such praise, as if it would impress her. Kaiya nodded with the others nonetheless.
“Now, I have other matters to attend to.” The Tianzi turned his horse around.
All bowed low and held the position until the sound of his horse and marching imperial guards faded.
Xiulan smiled, exchanging glances with the others. “Well, I must freshen up before we dine.” She motioned for her imperial guards.
Zheng Ming bowed. “Perhaps I will have the honor to speak with you another time, Crown Princess.”
“I, too, must be getting ready.” Yanli winked at Xiulan and beckoned her guards. She glared at Ziqiu, who had missed the tacit message and still gazed at the dashing cavalry officer.
“And I, too, must be returning to my own residence,” added Kai-Hua. “And so should you,” she growled lightly at Ziqiu. “You should be getting back to your father’s pavilion before dusk. A lady should not be out after dark, lest she be mistaken for a Night Blossom of the Floating World.”
Zheng Ming laughed, a warm laugh. “What a shame. I am always surrounded by soldiers and yes-men, and never by so many beautiful ladies.”
Ziqiu’s brows furrowed, an annoyed look falling across her pretty face. Her attention still lingered on the handsome soldier. “I am certain the page will call me when my guards arrive.”
Xiulan took Ziqiu’s hand. “You can wait in the main courtyard. I will accompany you.”
Frowning, Ziqiu offered a reluctant bob of her head. The dancing colors of a dozen vibrant handmaiden robes departed like spring blossoms blown from the trees.
After a few minutes, Kaiya was alone with Young Lord Zheng, save for the imperial guards Chen Xin and Li Wei.
Such a blatant set-up. Zheng Ming was probably the lord Brother Kai-Wu wanted to introduce, with Xiulan and the others complicit in the chance meeting.
With no time for her to prepare.
In all of the previous appointments with potential suitors, Kaiya had worn the finest silken gowns like armor to protect her from the choreographed farce. Now, training robes and wits were her only weapons against this new opponent. She bowed her head, deferring to the man as convention dictated, waiting for him to speak.
His lips curved upward like the stroke of a calligrapher’s brush, sweeping away the awkwardness of the situation. “You may not remember, but we have met before, when you were still a child of seven.”
“I do remember, though not clearly.”
He nodded. “You shared the same swordmaster as my younger brother Tian. You were fencing with him at the time. And beat him, if my memory serves me well.”
“It does.” She smiled at the mention of Tian’s name and the fond recollection. “He was a dear friend...until that unfortunate misunderstanding. I have not heard from him since he was sent to the monastery. I trust he is doing well?”
“I have only spoken to him once in the last several years. My mother tells me he is a trade official, serving at our embassy in the Nothori Kingdoms.”
She covered her laugh with a hand. “Fancy that, a monk becoming a diplomat. But enough about Zheng Tian. I am sure my father did not bring you here for us to reminisce about your brother.”
Zheng Ming grinned. “Nor to teach you the finer points of archery, I presume.”
Kaiya tilted her head, placing a hand on her chest in mock indignation. “Do you presume to know the mind of the Son of Heaven?”
He pressed his hands over his own chest in exaggerated contrition. “I know the mind of a father with unwed daughters.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So you are an expert at this type of meeting?”
“If rumor is to be believed, the princess is much more experienced than I in such matters.” Zheng Ming stared at the sky.
Heat rose to Kaiya’s cheeks. She lowered her head to hide her blushing. “Rumors proliferate like spring blossoms after a storm.”
“Unfortunately, for every blossom there are a dozen weeds.”
Kaiya maintained a demure smile, stalling. The weeds had to refer to all the lousy suitors. Right? She was the one who usually had them on their toes. This blossom, however...he spoke like a poet, reminding her of Prince Hardeep’s written words. Yet whereas the prince’s script simmered for months between new letters, Zheng Ming’s wit had a fulfilling immediacy to it. She tilted her chin toward her guards. “The imperial gardeners carry sharp shears.”
Zheng Ming ran his hand back and forth over the side of his neck. “I empathize with the palace weeds, then.”
The palace bell tolled, and both looked up to see the iridescent moon waxing toward half. The nine-star constellation of E-Long, the evil dragon, seemed to wrap around it.
Kaiya lowered her hand. Heavens, she was playing with a lock of loose hair.
“I am afraid I must depart. I dine with the Tianzi tonight. It seems like we will have to cut our discussion of landscaping short.”
Zheng Ming lowered his gaze, peering up through half-lidded eyes. “I would not be averse to continuing our debate over the merits of flowers and weeds at some other time.”
Up to now, no suitor had survived her questioning, let alone asked to meet again. Kaiya’s heart skittered a few beats. For the past two years, she’d held on to an idealized memory of her meeting with Prince Hardeep. Zheng Ming was here and now, and her belly’s summersaults felt real. She looked up at him through her lashes. “I would not be averse to considering it.”
His grin slipped for a split second, but returned, brighter than before. “I might be inclined to wait here for a more definite answer.”
Kaiya smiled coyly, lifting her chin toward the imperial guards. “Do I have to summon the gardeners?”
Zheng Ming dropped to one knee and brushed his hair to the side to expose his neck. “You decide.”
CHAPTER 6:
Seeds of Insurrection
After picking out the distinct breathing patterns of fourteen different men, Liang Yu flung open the sliding doors to the private room. Now at middle age, his eyes adjusted slowly from the bright lights of the Phoenix Spring Inn’s common area to the candlelit interior room.
Even before the thirteen dark shapes at the knee-high table came into focus, he already smelled the mix of sweat and weapon oil. He was greeted by the rasping of five broadswords, two straightswords, and four knives from their sheaths, as well as the cocking of two repeating crossbows.
Liang Yu admired their enthusiasm. Once upon a time, he would have gone to any end to impress his master. But when he was presumed killed on a mission thirty-two years before, had his master even cared?
He reassured the rugged men with a secret hand signal. All bo
wed in response, rustling their dark clothes as they returned to their knees. Without looking back, he slid the door to an exact, silent close with a quick sweep of his walking stick.
“Thank you for coming. Make yourselves comfortable.” Liang Yu surveyed the former Hua soldiers as they shifted from their knees to sitting cross-legged. With their experience in the army and later as mercenaries, their skillsets were suited to the upcoming task. He shifted his attention to the one man, the disowned son of a minister, who had remained calm as he entered. “Little Song, why didn’t you reach for your weapon when I entered?”
Song bowed. “I heard you outside the door.”
“You knew it was me?”
“Yes, from the walking stick on the floorboards.”
Liang Yu nodded. At least one of the young men had passed the test. He ran a hand through his greying black hair, wondering how he had gotten so old. “Very observant. And a cool head is a sign of discipline. You will lead the attack.”
Song shifted up to a one knee, keeping his gaze lowered. "I am honored."
Straightening his black robes, Liang Yu sat cross-legged at the head of the table. He passed out several sheets of folded rice paper. Each bore the sketch of a handsome young man, with words written in the Ayuri script.
As the men unfolded the paper, he leaned over the table and spread out his crudely-drawn map of the capital. It did not do justice to Huajing’s precise gridded layout, designed by Feng Shui masters at the behest of the Queen Regent three hundred years ago to ensure national prosperity.
Liang Yu indicated the Phoenix Spring Inn on the map, in the northwest near the city’s walls. “We are here.”
He then tapped his finger on a narrow bridge nearby, which arched over a stream. Houses with first-floor shops lined the street near the bridge—bustling during the day, but almost everyone would be retiring or already asleep when they attacked. “Our target is Captain Zheng Ming, the heir to Dongmen Province. He will be passing over this bridge on his way back from a meeting with Minister Hong Jianbin. My sources say he has two guards with him.”
One man grinned. “The capital has always been safe. The high-and-mighty lords aren’t prepared for a surprise attack. This should be easy if he only has two guards.”
Song shook his head. “Don’t underestimate him. He is an excellent, battle-tested archer.”
Liang Yu nodded. “We can’t let him past this bridge.” He pointed out several landmarks near the bridge, assigning hiding spots for each of his men. He then traced a line of approach that would flush Lord Zheng into an alleyway where Liang Yu himself would be waiting.
The men smiled, heads bobbing at each point. Of course they were impressed; his planning skills had once earned him the nickname the Architect. At his side, Song’s gaze shifted over the map, undoubtedly drinking in the details. Sharp mind, that kid. Maybe as observant as the other pupil Liang Yu had recruited two years earlier.
“Young Lord Zheng must not be killed,” Liang Yu said. “I leave the guards to your discretion, though we should avoid unnecessary bloodshed of our own countrymen. Regroup here after the mission.”
All the men bowed again. They stood and departed.
Liang Yu relaxed and called to the proprietress for some rice wine. In two hours, it would be time to incite a war.
Zheng Ming studied Minister Hong Jianbin and decided a monkey would look more dignified wearing blue official robes. Nonetheless, he bowed to the knobby-kneed minister as protocol demanded. The old man struggled to his feet and tottered across the receiving room’s dark wood floors.
Ming sighed, his mind swimming with Hong’s requests. The minister had revealed Peng Kai-Long’s plans to take punitive actions against the Kingdom of Madura. Without significant pressure and resources from the Tai-Ming lords, the Tianzi would never approve. Hong wanted Ming to convince his father to switch sides to the Expansionists.
Ming should’ve never come to Huajing for the New Year Tournament. Court intrigue was eating up all the time meant for carousing with the more sophisticated and promiscuous women of the capital.
It was too much of a headache. Perhaps he could still withdraw from the tournament and return to his cavalry unit in Wailian. With the possibility of dying in combat looming over each day, they knew how to have fun.
Emerging from the secluded official pavilion, he looked up to the south at the iridescent moon Caiyue, never moving from the same position in the sky. It now waxed to its fourth gibbous, just two bells before midnight.
Much too late to be discussing politics, but perhaps not too late to pay a visit to one of the ladies he’d captivated with his charm.
He walked out into the courtyard, now bathed in the pale blue light of Guanyin’s Eye. It struck an odd hue with the dark green court robes his two waiting guards wore. Both had sheathed swords tucked in silver sashes. One bowed and presented Ming’s cavalry saber, the other his bow and quiver.
Ming glanced back to the pavilion.
He could almost hear Minister Hong’s joints creak and pop from the way he bent into a plain wooden palanquin. A dozen guards surrounded it— quite a lot for the capital, and overkill for the nobles’ quarter.
Blowing out a long breath, he motioned for his men to mount up and set out for the ride back to the Dongmen provincial pavilion.
He rode with little focus, his mind wandering over the meeting and Hong’s appeals. The obsequious toad lacked ambition, so someone must be pulling his strings. He did, however, have a level of influence as Minister of Household Relations. In return for Ming’s support, Hong had promised the hand of Princess Kaiya.
Ming chuckled. The princess had rejected over two dozen fine suitors. Though beloved by the general populace, she’d acquired the nickname Ice Princess among the young noblemen. Theories abounded, with rumors ranging from a secret liaison with a servant, to her desire to dally with ladies rather than marry a lord.
As much as Ming might enjoy his defenses being flanked by a coordinated onslaught from Princess Kaiya and another beauty, he doubted the validity of that rumor. No, if anything, she probably still harbored feelings for his youngest brother Tian, the black sheep of the family. The two had shared some foolish romance as children.
He snorted. Regardless of her reasons, it had become a virtual rite of passage for the young lords, to be offered up as fodder for the Ice Princess. One friend alluded to his meeting with her as akin to a torturer’s interrogation. Another compared it with going into battle; never mind that the closest he’d come to a battlefield was the first Wang Emperor’s treatise on the Art of War.
With that in mind, Ming had taken his own meeting with the princess a few days before as mere formality. He played her game, with the expectation of adding the most interesting story of rejection to the rumor mill.
Now, Hong suggested he could not only arrange a second meeting, but almost guarantee a betrothal. As the old man insinuated, marriage to the Tianzi’s daughter would place his own future son somewhere in line to inherit the Dragon Throne of Hua.
Ming laughed out loud. Not that the rules of succession mattered to him. More interesting was the challenge of melting the heart of the Ice Princess. She would—
The horse in front of him screamed. The guard tumbled from the saddle as it collapsed.
A crossbow bolt protruded from the flailing horse’s neck. The beast lay squirming, obstructing his path forward off the bridge...bridge? When had he reached it? He reined back his own mount, only to find the rear guard struggling with his own horse.
“Back off the bridge!” he bellowed, as if it would make his retainer move faster.
The rhythmic clicks of repeating crossbows echoed from nearby buildings. Bolts lodged into his guard’s horse in quick succession. Both collapsed. Several men swarmed toward the bridge from both sides, brandishing broadswords.
His mount panicked, its head thrashing about as it looked for a means of escape. If only he’d ridden his own reliable warhorse instead of a skittish palfrey b
orrowed from the Dongmen compound. Another bolt whistled by, missing his face by a ridiculously safe margin.
“The watch,” he yelled, “Call the watch!” Trying to control his lurching horse, Ming unslung his bow. Though the court robes restricted mobility, he nocked an arrow and let it fly. It hit its mark, dropping one of the men. He loosed a second arrow, but the pitching of his horse sent it flying errant.
Unfazed, Ming took aim at one of the four assailants hacking at his lead guard, who was pinned under his horse. If not for his panicky mount, Ming might’ve targeted the man’s eye. Instead, he shot the arrow into his center of mass, knocking him to the ground from point-blank range.
As he withdrew another arrow, he glanced around. Lights flickered and shutters opened as the commotion drew the attention of curious citizens.
Ming drew his string for another shot. The horse reared. The arrow slipped from his fingers as he swiped for the reins. A bolt hit his mount’s flank, just barely missing his own leg. Another lodged into the beast’s skull.
The horse tumbled. Ming leaped from the saddle to avoid getting crushed, and landed hard on his side. He rolled out of the way of flailing hooves.
Sword raised, an attacker bore down. Ming rolled, then staggered to his feet. Though more accustomed to fighting from horseback, he swept his blade out with a smooth rasp, cutting into the assailant before the man could start his chop.
The narrowness of the bridge trapped Ming, but also slowed the advance of his foes. In front, two tried to skirt by his sprawling horse. He glanced back to see his rear guard injured, but holding his ground. The four attackers held back, goading the guard to pursue them off the bridge.
Another several bolts thwacked into the bridge, and then abruptly stopped. These had to be the worst crossbowmen ever.
An assailant in the front clambered over Ming’s dead horse. Before the man found his footing on the other side, Ming cleaved him shoulder to chest with a two-handed cut. He yanked the saber free.