The broken world

The war with Ryukoku dragged on. And Gerel, despite the madness unfolding around him, managed to remain involved — dispatching orders through messengers and staying in touch with the army, even though he remained in the capital of Cheongju and took no part in the battles himself. When one of the messengers from the front announced that Ryukoku was on the brink of surrender and that peace negotiations were imminent, requiring Gerel’s immediate presence, he did not hesitate. A month ago, he might have thought himself weary of war, eager to hand over the burden to his subordinates. But life in Tokhung’s court was no better. He left Cheongju with a light heart. In a strange way, he was even glad to return to the war. But his relief was short-lived.   Midway to the frontlines, news reached him: Shinju, Ryukoku’s capital, had fallen. The city had been stormed after a prolonged siege. It wasn’t unexpected — everything had pointed to this outcome — but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not entirely. Even though he’d played his own part in ensuring Ryukoku’s defeat. He spurred his horse to its limit, retracing the same path he had taken to Shinju a year earlier. Once again, it was autumn. For a fleeting moment, a mad hope stirred within him: perhaps the year had never happened. Perhaps the city would greet him again as it had before, with the damp chill in the air, courtiers with their polished faces and wary, fish-like eyes, garments of embroidered silks. Perhaps a living, warm Yukinari would call him to play Mist and Clouds, chattering on about miracles, gods, and other nonsense. But — no. Even as he approached the city walls, he smelled the acrid stench of smoke and saw black plumes billowing into the sky. By the imperial palace, a trench had been dug. Cart after cart of bodies was being dumped into it. The smell of victory, it turned out, could be just as bitter as the taste of defeat. He was met by General Kwon. The moment Kwon saw him, he dismounted and prostrated himself in the dirt. “Forgive me... I delivered your offer of surrender to the defenders. They refused. They chose to fight to the last man.” The young general was pale, his body trembling slightly with fear. It was obvious he was terrified of Gerel, convinced he’d be executed on the spot for failing to carry out orders — even though he was blameless. “When the city was taken… I gave the usual orders — to spare lives where possible, to forbid looting, rape, and arson. I did everything I could. But you understand — soldiers will always be soldiers…” “I understand,” Gerel said evenly. “Thank you, General. You may go.” He could tell Kwon was telling the truth. He’d seen cities in far worse condition after defeat. If Kwon hadn’t acted, there would have been nothing left of Shinju but ash. As it stood, few buildings were destroyed or burned, and the streets were not entirely choked with bodies. Not entirely. But… He walked among the dead — his own men and theirs alike. The living stepped aside for him, fear written across their faces. Somewhere in the crowd, a whisper reached his ears: “Murderer!” A woman spat in his direction as he passed. He didn’t turn around. Gerel entered the imperial palace, not knowing why he did so. The steps were slick with blood. What did he think he would find here? There was no one left. Only the dead. He thought he recognized some faces — courtiers he’d seen during his stay in the city. The palace, fragile though it was, had likely been the last refuge for not only the nobility but commoners seeking safety behind its walls. And here they had died. He almost tripped over a familiar body: Sun Xiaolian. Shot in the back. The arrow had passed clean through her, jutting from her chest. Was it a stray arrow? Or had one of Ryukokuans killed her in the chaos? No doubt the Empress Dowager had made plenty of enemies. Even in death, her face was unpleasant to look at. Well, at least I can’t say I’m sorry for her, thought Gerel. Then, with a bitterness that the man he’d been months ago would never have allowed: Am I any better? Carefully, he stepped over her head and moved on. In the gardens, his pace quickened. Soon, he was running, crashing through thorny bushes that tore at his hands and clothes. He reached the pond and froze, staring into its dark depths. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed his palms against the surface of the water — a final, desperate plea for something he couldn’t name. “Dragon!…” Silence. “Please! Answer me! I won’t harm you!” Nothing. Just the rippling of water. The dragon did not wish to appear. Perhaps it had fled. Perhaps it had died in the attack. Perhaps it had never been here at all. With a sharp clarity, Gerel realized the truth: the dragon was gone. Gone completely. Or maybe it had never existed. If miracles, dragons, and distant stars brighter than the sun existed — if there was a land untouched by war, where people could fly and transform into beasts — those wonders were reserved for the pure of heart. And people like him would always be followed by blood and death. A hollow emptiness filled him. Rain began to fall. At first, it came lazily, in scattered drops, before it surged in a sudden, furious downpour. Gerel barely noticed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought, Rain is good. It will put out the fires. He didn’t feel the water soaking through his clothes or streaming down his face like tears. He stared blankly at his reflection in the pond until he finally rose and staggered away, swaying as though drunk.   Two days later, a peace treaty was signed. Ryukoku was officially declared a vassal territory of the Tiger Empire, bound to pay annual tribute in whatever amount Emperor Tokhung — or his appointed governor, General Gerel — saw fit. It was done. He was now the ruler of the Land of the Dragon.   The first weeks after the capture of Shinju were, as expected, the hardest. In the beginning, it felt like the city was inhabited solely by weeping mothers clutching their children, bewildered elders, Cheongju soldiers, and the lifeless bodies of those with no loved ones left to bury them. Most of the citizens cowered behind locked doors, while a braver few roamed the streets, sneaking into the homes of the deceased in search of food or valuables. Not that valuables held much worth anymore — money had quickly lost its value as markets emptied. Some of Gerel’s soldiers also attempted to loot, and while he ordered them caught and punished, he couldn’t bring himself to fully condemn their desperation. Gerel knew hunger all too well. Food and warm clothing, after all, were of greater use to the living than to the dead. Yet strict discipline was essential if the townsfolk were ever to stop seeing the soldiers as predators and begin to believe, however reluctantly, in his peaceful intentions. Gerel worked tirelessly to restore some semblance of normalcy to the city. He summoned back the officials who had fled, promising to protect their salaries — and kept that promise. He distributed food from the city’s reserves and the army’s supplies to the starving citizens. It wasn’t enough to last, of course, but gradually, farmers and merchants began returning, drawn by his decree permitting tax-free trade for anyone bold enough to come to the occupied city. Little by little, patches of life began to reappear among the blackened ruins. By then, the corpses had been cleared from the streets. At first, people sought only the essentials — rice, wheat, eggs, vegetables, meat — but soon traders arrived with clothing, even luxury goods. People wanted to live. To eat well, to dress finely, to enjoy street performances. For the common folk, it largely didn’t matter who ruled over them. Hammers began ringing in the forges again; prayers were once more recited in temples. Life persisted. He should have found solace in this, perhaps even pride. But to him, it all seemed monstrously wrong. What is wrong with you people? he thought bitterly, almost contemptuously. Yukinari is gone. The one who was the heart and soul of this city no longer exists — don’t you see that? To him, Shinju itself now seemed dead, grotesquely tainted by Cheongju. If these people had only clung to their honor instead of their lives, they might have defended Shinju successfully... In his eyes, they were traitors. He almost despised them. In such moments, he forgot his own role in the war. At other times, he tried to reason with himself, whispering: But I love this city. Shinju needs me — so many cities and people do. They need a wise and just ruler now more than ever... Isn't this what I wanted? Yet he wasn’t sure if he could be that ruler. If he even wanted to.   In those early days in occupied Shinju, Gerel encountered Princess Mayumi. Like her mother, her face bore an uncanny resemblance to Yukinari’s, though the similarity ended there. “This insignificant one wishes to know if the great general is in need of a bride,” she murmured, her eyes lowered in submission. Mayumi could only walk in tiny, mincing steps on her tiny feet — a sight that might have been comical if it weren’t so horrifying. Someone was clearly caring for her — perhaps one of her former servants. Gerel didn’t care enough to find out. He realized immediately that he could never bring himself to touch her (when had he become so fastidious?). And she, a pure and delicate flower, would probably hang herself with her silk sash the moment her initial terror subsided. That was all they were taught in this cursed Ryoukoku: how to die beautifully. “Do you truly wish to be my wife?” he asked. He expected a coquettish smile, some attempt at flattery — but it was worse. Her face showed nothing but fear and confusion, like a child struggling to answer a teacher’s question correctly. He sighed. “Calm yourself. No one will harm you. What do you want?” “This insignificant one wishes to return to the palace and live as before,” she whispered, her quiet words full of desperate bravery. She was either hopelessly naive or still in shock. Gerel didn’t know how to explain to her that nothing could ever be as it was. The palace still stood, but life there was irreparably altered. Where courtiers in embroidered silks once strolled, Cheongju soldiers now loitered. Many trees in the palace gardens had been cut down for firewood or stretchers for the wounded. Where once beautiful aristocrats had admired cherry blossoms or scarlet autumn leaves, now were tents. The refined air of poetry readings and erhu music was replaced by the acrid smells of cheap burnt wine and rancid rice. Some changes would bring progress, others decay — as always. Perhaps one day, this frightened girl would realize that her peculiar palace talents could still serve her and others. But that would take time. Without someone to guide her, perhaps it would never happen. “Can you do anything besides dress up and apply makeup?” Without raising her eyes, Mayumi replied with piercing, disarming honesty: “I... don’t know how to do either. Suzume, my maid, dresses me and does my makeup.” Heavens above, this was worse than he thought. “What can you do?” he asked with infinite patience. “I can sing, play the flute and zither, recite poetry, and arrange flowers. I can summon rain or storms.” “What?” “I am from a royal family... As a descendant of the Water Dragon, I inherit its powers. The men of our line speak with the Dragon itself, while the women command the weather,” she explained as if it were the most mundane thing. “I also know prayers, astrology, and how to read the future.” Of course. Ryoukoku stupid mysticism. “Can you read? Write? Count?” Mayumi nodded quickly. “This insignificant one knows the High Speech, the Chrysanthemum writing style, the Autumn Grass style, and—” “Good.” Gerel cut her off indifferently. “The city will remain unstable for some time. I’m sending you to Yuigui, to your mother’s kin.” The confusion on her face deepened. He knew her thoughts — what use would she be to relatives she barely remembered, who had distanced themselves from her family long ago? Now, as an orphaned princess of a defeated nation, she would be even less welcome. “Speak to Empress of Yuigui — Jin-ho. Don’t be afraid — if you tell her I sent you, she’ll take you in. You’ll become her tutor. Teach her to read, write, and dress... You’ll see why when you meet her.” Mayumi’s tears began to fall, and Gerel could see she still didn’t understand. The thought of moving to another country, of starting a new life so different from her sheltered palace existence, frightened her more than the idea of marriage to a white-headed demon. He decided it was useless to talk to her further now. He could only hope she remembered his instructions. Her future was no longer his concern. Jin-ho would care for her in Yuigui. He would issue orders to ensure Mayumi arrived there safely, but he didn’t want to think about it now. Later. Later... And for these people — his traitorous mother, his helpless, empty-eyed sister — for them, Yukinari had dreamed of building a new world? For these cowardly subjects? There was no one who deserved such a world. No one who needed it. Yukinari had realized this when he slit his wrists in Tokhung’s dungeon. Perhaps Gerel should follow him. These people were nothing to him. Cheongjuans or Ryoukokuans — they were all strangers to him. Strangers in every way. And the only person who wasn’t a stranger — he’d given him up without a fight. Killed him with his own hands. Nothing has changed, Gerel told himself. But he knew the truth: nothing would ever be the same. His life had no meaning. Perhaps it never had. He had never believed in a happier world. But now the weight of futility crushed him. He only knew how to fight, but there was nothing left worth fighting for. Not without Yukinari.