The broken world

What the emperor and the red-haired yaoguai discussed for an entire hour, Gerel did not know. When the conversation ended, Tokhung ordered the body of the former ruler of Ryukoku to be taken down from the stake. The body was brought to the palace, washed, and redressed. Then something truly strange began to unfold. The emperor dismissed the servants and summoned Gerel again — the only person he somewhat trusted. Tokhung ordered him to personally carry the body and follow him to Master Fox, who was lodged in the guest chambers. The servants had dressed Yukinari’s corpse in simple, clean black garments. Lifting the body in his arms, Gerel marveled at how light it felt, even despite the stiffness of death. It was light as that of a girl or child. And yet, by Ryukoku’s standards, Yukinari had been tall. Yukinari’s once-neat hairstyle had come undone, and one strand of hair — the too-short one — had slipped free and now fell across his face. Gerel felt an inexplicable urge to fix it. He looked around for a pin, but of course, he didn’t carry such things. “What are you planning to do with him?” Gerel asked Tokhung as they walked. “My guest intends to use this body for an experiment.” That much Gerel already knew. “And what does this experiment involve?” The emperor hesitated. After a pause, he offered a vague answer: “If it succeeds, I will be convinced that the world holds things far beyond our comprehension.” It seemed their guest had filled Tokhung’s head with some new nonsense about magic. Knowing how skeptical Gerel was of his obsession with such things, the emperor refrained from sharing details.   “Thank you for hosting me, Your Majesty,” said Hu Xiansheng. His tone was slow and lazy, devoid of gratitude or even surprise, as if there was nothing extraordinary about the Emperor of Cheongju inviting a stranger to stay in his palace. “Make yourself at home,” Tokhung replied, unusually polite. “Your belongings will be delivered shortly.” “Thank you. I will need my books and instruments. The body must be embalmed and stuffed with fragrant herbs — it’s hardly fresh anymore.” “Is it too late?” Tokhung asked anxiously. Too late — for what? Gerel thought. “No, but we shouldn’t delay, or it will turn unsightly,” Hu Xiansheng replied and laughed at his own words as if they were an excellent joke. “Lay it somewhere, and let’s have a look.” Gerel placed Yukinari’s body on the bed. This prompted an indignant remark from the Taoist: “I planned to sleep there, General!” But his curiosity quickly overcame his annoyance. He sat on the bed next to the body and began examining it. He lifted one of Yukinari’s arms and chuckled at the scars on his forearms. “Ah, these delicate beauties — always so quick to slash their veins,” he commented. “A pity the material is so crudely damaged. Perhaps another specimen would suffice?” “No,” Tokhung said firmly, his demeanor shifting from the gracious host to the stern sovereign. “It must be him. That is, if you’re truly capable of what you claim.” The Taoist took offense. “Who, me?! I’m ready to begin this very moment!” “Excellent, my dear Master Fox,” Tokhung replied, his tone once again soft and ingratiating. “Rest assured, no price will be too great.” Gerel couldn’t understand what they were discussing, but he was gripped by a growing sense of unease.   In the days that followed, strange things occurred in Master Fox’s quarters — things that defied Gerel’s understanding. Twice, after ensuring the Taoist was away from the palace, Gerel entered his chambers. The guards, knowing who he was, allowed him in without question. Gerel sought to uncover what the scholar was doing with the former emperor of Ryukoku. The rooms assigned to the Taoist quickly descended into a state of chaos. Master Fox had made no effort to acquire tables or chairs, and piles of trash and dirty dishes cluttered the floor, mingling with philosophical treatises and risqué novels. Clothes lay in heaps, evidently never washed. Most unsettling was the sheer number of dolls. They must have been brought in with Hu Xiansheng’s books and instruments, but Gerel could not fathom why the scholar needed them, especially in such abundance. The dolls ranged from delicate porcelain figures with nearly human faces to crudely carved wooden ones. Among them were even marionettes with theatrical mask-like faces. When Gerel first visited, Yukinari’s body still occupied the scholar’s bed. Lord Fox, apparently resigned to the arrangement, had made himself a modest pallet on the floor. He had neatly combed the corpse’s hair, treating it like another cherished doll. Yukinari was stripped to the waist, revealing that the cuts on his arms had been stitched, though the ugly black lines remained stark against his pale skin. A fresh Y-shaped incision had appeared on his chest. It seemed as though Master Fox had tried to insert something — or remove it. Though Gerel was not religious, the desecration of the corpse disturbed him. This was the body of a man who had been a worthy opponent, even a near friend. But what could he do? He circled the bed, touched the strange instruments, and flipped through a few books. Finding nothing he could understand, he returned everything to its place and left. Despite Master Fox’s claims of stuffing the body with herbs, there was no evidence of such. In fact, Yukinari’s body remained remarkably well-preserved for a corpse that should have already begun to decay. On his second visit, Gerel braced himself for the stench of decomposition. Yet the room smelled as it always had: unwashed clothes, food scraps, incense, and dusty books. Nothing indicated the presence of a corpse. But Yukinari was still there. This time, he was on the floor near the wall, lying in an awkward, lifeless pose. “Lifeless”... Gerel caught himself on the thought and realized it was still difficult to think of Yukinari as dead. Unlike before, Gerel felt an urge to move the body, to give it a more dignified position. Approaching, he took Yukinari by the shoulders and lifted him. To his astonishment, the body no longer felt stiff. It was cold and pale but carried the weight of a living man. What shocked Gerel even more were the changes. The gashes on Yukinari’s arms had healed into rough scars, and the chest incision had vanished entirely. The skin was smooth, as though the wound had never existed. At that moment, Yukinari did not resemble a corpse. His serene, beautiful face looked like that of someone merely asleep. And then, something happened — something Gerel had subconsciously expected, something terrifying. Yukinari’s eyelids fluttered, and his lashes — long like a girl's, black at the roots and slightly lighter towards the tips — trembled. His eyes opened, and he looked directly at Gerel. “General…” he said softly. Gerel gasped in horror and pushed him away. But instead of collapsing lifelessly, Yukinari managed to remain seated, albeit unsteadily. He swayed, as though relearning how to balance, but kept his eyes fixed on Gerel. His eyes were not like those in folk tales about the living dead jiang-shi — not red, not white — ordinary human eyes, almost the same as before — except that they had become somewhat cloudy, like dull glass, and Yukinari's gaze was now meaningless, empty... “General…” he repeated, reaching out a hand. Trembling, Gerel recoiled. Gods, if he touches me, I’ll scream. He felt sick. The room, which moments ago smelled only of books and unwashed clothes, now seemed filled with the disgusting sweetish scent of decay. Gerel backed toward the door, never taking his eyes off the living dead man, as though fearing he might attack. But the dead man merely sat there, watching him with those strange, dull eyes.   In the days that followed, peculiar rumors began to ripple through the capital of Cheongju, each one stranger than the last, all centered on the mysterious happenings at Emperor Tokhung's court. It was said that Tokhung had become completely obsessed with mysticism. The company of the blond-haired general, Gerel — believed by some to be a Stranger and the son of a fox-spirit, hu jing — was no longer enough for him. Whispers claimed the emperor had now aligned himself with Taoist sorcerers, whose presence rarely, if ever, boded well. Others murmured that Tokhung and General Gerel had not defeated Yukinari, the Ryokoku emperor, in honorable combat. Instead, they had triumphed through trickery and fox magic, slaying him in ways too horrifying to recount. The details of these alleged atrocities varied depending on the storyteller’s imagination. And then there was the tale of the emperor’s new, enigmatic bodyguard: a pale youth clothed entirely in black, who kept his eyes perpetually bound with a dark blindfold and instilled dread and unease in all who saw him. Curiously, no one seemed to connect the three rumors, allowing them to exist as separate threads. And yet, as with many rumors, each held a kernel of truth. To be precise, the first two were true in almost every detail — except, of course, for the claim that Gerel was a Stranger or the son of a fox. He reflected on this with bitter irony: deceitful murder required no mystical charms. As for the third rumor — it was true from start to finish.   The first time Gerel saw the emperor's new shadow following him, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He recognized Yukinari at once. How could he not? The figure wore a soldier’s uniform, black and tightly buttoned, starkly at odds with the bright, ornate silks Yukinari had once favored. A wide black band covered his eyes, likely to prevent the court from recognizing their former foe — or perhaps simply because the lifeless, glassy stare of the resurrected unnerved Tokhung. How Yukinari managed to move without sight remained a mystery. Then again, Gerel thought grimly, the dead probably had little use for vision. “Meet my new bodyguard, my most loyal servant, faithful as a hound.” Tokhung practically savored every word. “Do you recognize him?” “I do,” Gerel replied curtly, casting a disdainful glance at the resurrected corpse. He felt uneasy in the creature’s presence but, having already seen it, was not particularly frightened. If Tokhung had hoped to see Gerel recoil in terror, he would be disappointed. Gerel refused to give him that satisfaction. Tokhung seemed surprised by his composure. His tone shifted, becoming more measured and almost respectful as he asked, “Aren’t you even curious how he, ah, returned to us from the realm of the dead?” “I’ve never had much interest in magic,” Gerel said flatly. “You always said you didn’t believe in it,” Tokhung countered triumphantly. “But now, you see? There are forces in this world far beyond our understanding. Ignoring them is foolish, even dangerous — especially when they can be used to our advantage.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” Gerel replied slowly. “Now that I see proof of magic with my own eyes, I must revise my views on both the craft and those who practice it.” He spoke the truth — though not as Tokhung imagined. Gerel had come to loathe the day the man calling himself Master Fox had knocked on the emperor’s door. Magic? Are these your wonders, Yukinari? What would you say about all this? The bloody corpse of the fox-girl under a stained cloth. And now this — a black band covering the eyes of a man who should be in the grave but walks and speaks instead, his hollow gaze like shattered glass beneath that band. If this is the nature of miracles, it’s better they didn’t exist at all. Yukinari stood silent throughout, motionless beside the emperor like a black shadow. It was unclear whether he heard their words or even understood the conversation. Tokhung chewed his lip before finally confessing, “I must tell you, Gerel, I’ve been studying the art of alchemy for years. I believed I’d achieved some modest success in this most challenging science,” he added, with deliberate emphasis. “But after meeting Master Fox, that remarkable man, I realized I’d been little more than a humble apprentice. Now I have a teacher, and the book of the world’s mysteries is waiting to be opened.” Why Tokhung felt compelled to share his secrets with Gerel, the general couldn’t guess. Then again, it was hardly a secret — most of the court knew of the emperor’s fascination with alchemy, including those like Gerel who wished they didn’t. As for Tokhung’s supposed successes, Gerel was deeply skeptical. Knowing the emperor’s vain and boastful nature, he was certain Tokhung would have paraded any true accomplishment before him—and probably everyone else. At best, Tokhung might have mastered the theoretical aspects of the craft. Master Fox, however, appeared to be a man of practical talents. And Gerel couldn’t help noticing how the resurrection of Yukinari had both astonished and emboldened the emperor. Far from frightening him, it had delighted Tokhung — and, worse, planted fresh, insane ideas in his head. Tokhung, clearly pleased by Gerel’s silence, pressed on: “Can you imagine the possibilities I now have with… this creature at my side?” He gestured toward Yukinari. “He retains the brilliant combat skills he possessed in life. He feels no fear, no pity. He cannot be killed because he is already dead. With him, I can eliminate many of my enemies. And if there were more like him — a whole army — just think of the power I could wield!” His voice dropped to an almost reverent whisper. “But what brings me the most joy is this: does not raising a man from the dead prove that my search for the unattainable is not in vain? My search for youth… for eternal life?” So that’s how Master Fox had gained the emperor’s trust so swiftly, Gerel thought. Tokhung had found new toys for his amusement — the resurrected corpse and a perpetually drunken alchemist, apparently far more entertaining than the Celestial Tiger’s chosen one. Suppressing the wry smile threatening to escape him, Gerel nodded. “I understand, Your Majesty. But might I suggest that at your age, it’s a bit early to be concerning yourself with immortality? Better to enjoy the pleasures of ordinary life while you can.” With that, he clapped Tokhung lightly on the shoulder. He personally detested such casual familiarity, but among the people of Cheongju, it was a common gesture. If he had been in Yuigui or Ryokoku, such liberties would have been unthinkable. But in Cheongju, the etiquette was more relaxed, and interactions between ruler and subordinate often resembled friendship: shared walks, drinking bouts, jokes, and these seemingly casual touches — though beneath them often lurked the hiss of coiled vipers. This time, however, the gesture nearly cost him his life. Yukinari was instantly at his side, drawing a dagger with impossible speed and pressing it to Gerel’s throat. “Step away from my master.” His voice was low and rasping, like the sound of some complex mechanical contraption crafted by Yuigui artisans. Gerel froze, feeling the blade’s sharp edge against his skin. For a moment, even Tokhung was stunned. Then the emperor threw up his hands. “Oh, come now, my dear! That’s entirely unnecessary! I’m in no danger — this is General Gerel, whom I trust as much as myself!” Tokhung hesitated, reconsidering his statement. “Well, almost as much as myself. No offense, Gerel, but one must always be cautious... Now listen to me,” he addressed Yukinari, “this is Gerel, the supreme strategist of our realm. You are to call him ‘General.’ He is my right hand. You will respect him, protect him, and obey him in all matters — except when his orders conflict with mine. In such cases, my commands take precedence. Do you understand?” Yukinari hesitated before lowering the blade. His movements were unnervingly slow, deliberate, as though reluctant. Gerel, meanwhile, couldn’t help but notice how this grotesque resurrection served three purposes for Tokhung: proof of magic, humiliation of a former rival, and a safeguard against his own general, should Gerel ever grow too ambitious. “I understand,” Yukinari finally said, his mechanical voice grating against Gerel’s nerves. “My apologies, General Gerel. I remember you from my previous life. I am honored to serve you.” Gerel shivered, offered a terse nod, and looked away.