The broken world

He recovered quickly. At first, he ate little — food repulsed him — but his appetite gradually returned. As soon as the fever began to subside, he tried to get back to his duties. He wasn’t the kind of man who could spend days languishing in bed. There was much to address — first and foremost, discovering who had orchestrated the assassination attempt and taking measures to respond. Shadow informed him that the masked assailants were not mere mercenaries but members of one of the so-called Hidden Clans — highly trained assassins and spies. During his time as emperor, even Yukinari had occasionally relied on their services, which were notoriously expensive. It was obvious that only someone with significant resources could have masterminded the conspiracy. While Gerel recovered, the undead investigated. The surviving attackers were impossible to interrogate; they either slit their own bellies or bit off their tongues. The Hidden Clans guarded their secrets zealously. With no direct leads, Yukinari pursued the one thread available—discovering who had drugged the guards' food or drink. That thread eventually led somewhere. Gerel learned that, mere days after the assassination attempt, one of the residences of Lord Akizuki-no Michinaga burned down. Michinaga, who held the title of Left Minister — an important but diminished role after the occupation of the capital — perished in the fire. Michinaga was also a close relative of the former emperor. Only a member of the Dragon imperial bloodline, a prince no lower than the fourth rank, could hold such a position. Around the same time, a tragic accident claimed the life of the new head of the Military Bureau, Lee Hyunjun. Gerel himself had appointed Lee to the position and had no doubts about his loyalty. Lee died in what was described as a collision between two carriages — an accident, ostensibly. The potential benefits for these two figures had the assassination succeeded were glaringly obvious. What Gerel could not fathom was how the two had managed to cooperate. But their deaths were a temporary solution at best. The unrest in Shinju had reached such a fever pitch that cutting off the conspirators' heads felt futile. New ones would grow in their place. Gerel had no idea how the undead had uncovered details of the conspiracy. Presumably, he listened, searched rooms, and observed in silence. Shadow rarely interacted with the palace's inhabitants. When he issued orders, they were simple, yet the recipients paled, nodded frantically, and fled from his presence as quickly as possible. Those who had once doubted the supernatural nature of the Governor were now believers. The man who commanded a jiang-shi, an undead servant, could not possibly be ordinary. People feared the undead with a primal, almost irrational terror. It was just as well that there was nothing left of the old Yukinari in the creature now. How unbearable it would have been for a man who once inspired love in others to know that his presence now evoked nothing but dread… In truth, there was nothing overtly horrifying about the undead’s appearance. He was very pale, certainly, but otherwise — a man like any other. The rapid healing of wounds might even be considered enviable. Still, Yukinari’s old scars — marks of self-inflicted wounds —remained. Black lines ran along the insides of his arms, like strange tattoos. A brand, perhaps, of death’s finality, of something irreparable. The palace dwellers hadn’t seen those scars. What terrified them was something else entirely: the blindfold covering his eyes (Shadow continued to wear it — a detail that convinced Gerel his fevered vision of Yukinari’s face had been a delusion), the flat, measured voice, the inhuman precision of his movements. Even these things, Gerel supposed, one could grow accustomed to. At some point, he realized the sight of the undead no longer disgusted him. What revolted him was something deeper — the knowledge that this wasn’t Yukinari, but someone — or something — else inhabiting the same body. Either way, the undead inspired both loathing and horror. It was hard to imagine what Emperor Tokhung had been thinking when he sent such a creature to Shinju to "solve problems." If anyone was less suited to resolving conflict than the indifferent Gerel, it was the undead. What Shinju needed was someone alive —someone with burning energy and an unrelenting will. That someone, unexpectedly, turned out to be Gerel’s old friend, Princess Jin-ho. No longer a princess, of course — now an empress. She sent neither messenger nor bird to announce her arrival, though Yuigui undoubtedly had pigeons trained to find the capital of Ryukoku. Instead, she simply appeared one day. The servants reported that a group of Yuiguian guests had entered the city — Empress Jin-ho and her entourage. It was reckless, arriving without warning; they might have been detained at the gates. Fortunately, no one dared. This was so very like Jin-ho — to appear unannounced, like a storm rolling in. By then, Gerel was able to leave his bed and attend to some duties, though he still felt weak. The news of her arrival lifted his spirits, and he even went out to meet her at the palace gates. He expected to see her arrive in a carriage, as befitted any respectable noblewoman, and was surprised to spot a figure on horseback instead. Swathed in layers of colorful Yuiguian silks, the rider was unmistakably Jin-ho. Her horsemanship hadn’t faltered in the slightest; she handled the steed with the same grace and ease as before. How does she ride in all those robes? The thought had barely crossed his mind when Jin-ho dismounted in a single fluid motion. Her long skirts flared, revealing a glimpse of trousers beneath — trousers like those worn by the soldiers of Cheongju. If Gerel still had the strength to smile, he might have. Jin-ho hadn’t changed a bit. On the surface, yes — she was dressed and styled as befitted someone of her station. But the trousers beneath her skirts said it all. She approached him like an arrow, and for a moment, he thought she might embrace him. But she stopped abruptly, as if she’d hit an invisible wall. Even before turning, Gerel knew why. The undead was standing behind him, as always, a dark shadow. “So, it’s true?” Jin-ho said slowly, her eyes fixed on Shadow. “This... thing my father created? And it’s... him? The former emperor of Ryukoku?” “Yes.” “And the blindfold? Why does he wear it?” “You’d understand if you saw his eyes.” “Are you afraid of him?” Gerel realized he didn’t know how to answer. At first, he had been cautious around the undead. During their time in Pyeongwon, when Gerel had to conduct business — or worse, stay overnight — in Tokhung’s palace, he had always let Shadow ascend stairs first, kept him in his peripheral vision, locked doors when possible, and slept lightly, ready to spring into action. He never left his weapons out of reach. Of course, it was futile. The undead could kill him easily if Tokhung willed it, regardless of walls or a loaded crossbow. They had already fought in a duel once, and then he could not fairly defeat Yukinari — and now even more so he would not be able to: what hope can one have in a fight with an opponent who did not feel pain and who couldn’t be killed? But here in Shinju, after Shadow saved him from assassins, Gerel had grown used to him presence. To a sense of constant protection, even. It wasn’t logical to trust the creature — it could kill him at any moment — but the feeling of safety persisted. The realization unsettled him. He shivered. “No, I’m not afraid. I just find him unpleasant.” “Why?” “He’s a monster,” Gerel said sharply, surprised she didn’t grasp something so obvious — or was she just being contrary? “Many call you a monster too,” Jin-ho replied, still scrutinizing the undead. “He isn’t even human.” “But he was. And, they say, a good one.” Gerel shrugged. There was no point explaining that this was precisely why the creature's presence repulsed him so. He flinched as Jin-ho, fearless, took the undead’s hand. Shadow didn’t resist. “Do you know who I am? Do you understand this conversation?” “Yes. You are Jin-ho, Empress of Yuigui, daughter of Emperor Tokhung, my master.” “Well, close enough,” Jin-ho said with a wry smile. “Hello.” Gerel watched her in wonder. She truly was an empress now. There was a new, calm confidence in her that suited her perfectly and blended seamlessly with her natural liveliness. Where had the stubborn and spiteful tomboy with her tangled locks of hair gone? It was strange to see Jin-ho with her hair styled high like a noblewoman of Yuigui, her lips painted gold, and her eyes lined with kohl, acting friendly, soft, full of imperious dignity. The red silk of her robes suited her very well. No one would dare call her ugly now, though her dark complexion, strong serious brows, and wide forehead (now adorned with a painted floral motif of dots in the Yuigui fashion) remained unchanged. She regarded Gerel with an equally unfamiliar gaze, but at last, she embraced him. “I heard you were… ill. I came at once.” “Not ill, exactly,” Gerel replied with a crooked smile. Then, lowering his voice and ensuring no one was within earshot, he added, “I was attacked.” Jin-ho’s expression darkened. “So the rumors are true about you…” “What rumors?” “All sorts,” she replied evasively. “We’ll talk later. I’ll be staying here for a while. There’s much to sort out.” Gerel briefed her on the conspiracy and the assassination attempt. Jin-ho listened intently, her expression betraying no surprise. Then, almost as an afterthought, she said: “Tokhung wants to get rid of you. He wants order in Ryukoku, but a strong Governor who might one day threaten him? That he doesn’t need. It’s possible he was involved in this plot.” “How do you know?” “My invisible eyes and ears — people from those Hidden Clans, as they are called here, report to me. You taught me yourself: always have eyes everywhere.” “Then why send the undead to protect me?” “Maybe he thinks it’s too soon to eliminate you. He’s waiting for the right moment. My father isn’t as foolish as people assume. And with the undead at your side, he can protect you — or kill you when the time comes.” Gerel shrugged indifferently. “Maybe that’s for the best.” “Do you really not care?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” “No wonder they don’t fear you anymore — you’ve grown weak,” Jin-ho said, not with anger or scorn but as a simple observation. “Their hatred of you has achieved the impossible — it’s united Ryukokuans and Cheongjuans. This undead you despise is the only thing stopping the mob from tearing you apart… No matter. Now that I’m here, perhaps the three of us can restore order.”   With Jin-ho’s arrival, the affairs of the palace and city of Shinju had genuinely begun to improve. The Ryukokuans followed Jin-ho reluctantly, but they followed her nonetheless. They were accustomed to women like the meek and hapless Mayumi, so this bold, decisive girl, striding about the palace as if it were her own, stirred much gossip and resentment. But Jin-ho was a noblewoman and, in their eyes, a Yuguian — and the Ryukokuans held nobility in high regard, and even with their long-standing enmity, Yuigui too, though begrudgingly so. The people of Cheongju, of course, welcomed Jin-ho warmly. Some had known her from her days in the army; others respected her as the daughter of King Tokhung or simply fell under the spell of her charisma — it wasn’t hard. Jin-ho was cordial to all, though she no longer drank or jested with soldiers as she once had; she kept a deliberate distance. When someone brought up her days as a commander of a hundred men, she neither grew angry nor embarrassed; she would nod and smile. Yes, those were good times — childhood. “I’m no longer just the spoiled daughter of a king; I’m an empress now,” she explained to Gerel, almost apologetically. “Yes, yes, of course you are...” No, Jin-ho, that’s utter nonsense, Gerel thought. It would be far better if you still laughed loudly, told bawdy jokes, and spoke stupid things like before. I had hoped that your presence might scatter this dreary green veil of rain, might make this slow death feel less inevitable. But now, you’re like a ghost — a shadow of who you used to be. Jin-ho, as if reading his thoughts, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Gerel, it’s still me. I’ve grown up, but there’s nothing wrong with growing up. It means understanding what’s truly yours and shedding what’s not — what’s been imposed on you. You begin to like yourself for who you are and stop trying to be someone else. I don’t drink or chat idly with soldiers anymore, not out of pride, but because I’d rather spend my time with people I care about — and you’re one of them, in case you hadn’t noticed.” “I know. And I’m grateful for it,” he replied sincerely. When he asked about Yuigui, it was clear from her answers that she played the role of empress with joy and energy. He inquired about her husband, the emperor, and what he thought of her visit to Ryukoku. “My husband and I do our best not to get in each other’s way,” she replied vaguely. Apparently, she had somehow made peace with her new husband and his mistress, Yangfei — two people who should have despised Jin-ho. By the standards of noble families, their relationship could almost be called amicable. At the very least, they weren’t trying to kill one another. Not yet. She told him that Mayumi had safely reached the Land of the Tortoise and was assisting her by reading and writing letters (Jin-ho had learned a few basic characters, but writing remained a challenge). Beyond that, Ryukokuan princess was of little help. Like Jin-ho, she was an outsider in Yuigui, timid and deeply wary of everything unfamiliar. On other matters of her new life, Jin-ho remained evasive and deflected questions with humor. She admitted she hadn’t yet fully grasped the dynamics of her court or her nation, though it was clear her charisma and strength were already earning her authority. If she wanted more power, she could have it — but she wouldn’t seek it until she was sure she could wield it wisely. What a remarkable girl, Gerel thought, feeling something like pride (unjustified, since he’d had little hand in shaping her) and something like envy, tinged with sadness. It was fortunate that Tokhung didn’t yet understand what was happening in the Land of the Tortoise. When he agreed to marry his daughter to the Yuiguian emperor, he likely hadn’t imagined that Jin-ho might become a player instead of a pawn. He certainly wouldn’t have been pleased. Jin-ho got along well with the dead man. She understood how dangerous he could be — she was the one who had warned Gerel about him, after all — but she treated him with a peculiar kindness, as if he were a sick or deranged relative. In her presence, Shadow would remove his blindfold, and Jin-ho didn’t flinch at his eyes. “Why are you always in these rags?” she’d chide, sounding like a fussy grandmother. “You need proper clothes, good ones. And your hair — someone should comb it. Want me to?” “You can comb it,” the dead man would reply indifferently. “There! That’s much better!” Jin-ho would praise. “Your hair is so lovely and obedient...” Gerel watched these interactions with disgust. He suspected she was doing it simply to mock his distaste for the dead man and provoke him. At first, perhaps, that was the case, but Gerel increasingly found them together, discussing palace affairs or city governance with genuine interest. Even the dead man, indifferent as he was to the world, spoke to her at length, engaging in conversation. Once, Gerel walked into his warm, bright bedroom and found them both sitting at his table, talking about the conspirators and about him — about Gerel, and drawing up some kind of a diagram. “That threat has been dealt with,” Shadow was saying. “But there will be more attempts. Michinaga is dead, but another relative of mine, Korechika, also has designs on the throne, and he has no shortage of the Dragon’s blood.” Gerel noticed, with surprise, that the dead man had stopped speaking of himself in the third person. “But he lives far to the north and has no army of his own,” Jin-ho said, frowning thoughtfully. “He is wealthy and can buy soldiers — or hire people of the Hidden clans,” the Dead Man countered. “True.” She underlined a name in the corner of the page. “And his northern province is difficult to reach. Feudal lords with remote holdings can become very dangerous...” “There are also those who prefer to rule from behind a weak monarch. One doesn’t need the Azure Dragon’s blood to govern from the shadows, and such figures are plentiful as well.” They spoke as if their thoughts were in perfect harmony, finishing each other’s sentences. It seemed Jin-ho and Shadow had truly found common ground. “Your country’s court nobility doesn’t get along with the military elite,” Jin-ho noted. “The military must resent being treated like dirt, especially those with lands and wealth rivaling the nobles’. I wonder if we could pit the military and the courtiers against each other... What do you think? Is it feasible?” “I’ve considered it,” Shadow replied. “We could rely on the military, but they have no reason to support Gerel’s government. However, they might welcome the chance if offered certain privileges.” “True,” Jin-ho mused. “But in the current climate, they’re unlikely to side with an outsider, a conqueror of dubious heritage...” “He should have married Princess Mayumi and produced an heir of imperial blood as quickly as possible. Under the guise of protecting the heir, the military might have rallied to his side. Sending her to Yuigui was a mistake.” The dead man paused, then added emotionlessly, “Or she should have been killed.” Jin-ho nodded without batting an eye. “Yes. Now she’s a potential pawn for whoever thinks of it first. She’s safer in Yuigui than in Ryukoku, but only for now...” When Gerel entered, they both turned their heads toward him. He knew no two people more different, but at that moment, they seemed like siblings. When Yukinari returned from death, he had lost much of his former self, yet the foundation — his sharp, logical mind — remained. (Now paired with his complete lack of emotion, that mind made an unsettling impression: Gerel hated hearing the two of them discuss him and Mayumi’s fate as if they were talking about livestock — and as if the poor girl hadn't had enough misfortunes.) Jin-ho, for all her impulsiveness, shared the same cold clarity beneath her lively surface. The conversation piqued Gerel’s interest, and he said, “If the military sides with me, the court nobility will rally under Korechika’s banner or some other Dragon heir. An open rift in the country is the last thing I want. We need another reason to pit them against each other — one that doesn’t involve the throne. Something to weaken both factions without causing irreparable harm. Then, when they both need support, I’ll offer a solution... Also, I have an idea. I want to establish a national academy for noble children...” Two pairs of dark eyes watched him intently. He began explaining, addressing Shadow first, since he understood Ryukoku’s systems best. “You’ve said yourself that only children of noble families get good positions in this country. That’s not so bad if we ensure they’re properly educated — not in their provinces, learning who knows what, but here in the capital, under our supervision. We could teach them history, law, and literature. First, we’d genuinely prepare them for state service if we had good instructors. Second, the children of courtiers and soldiers would learn together, gradually breaking down class barriers. And most importantly, their parents would be at our mercy, as their children would essentially be hostages in the capital.” “It could work,” Shadow admitted. “But how will you convince the parents to send their children?” “In exchange for loyalty — and the agreement to enroll their heirs in this academy — I’ll grant each feudal lord a degree of autonomy,” Gerel said enthusiastically. “I’ll let them govern their lands, manage their economies, and collect taxes independently...” He caught himself mid-thought, realizing he was holding a genuine conversation with the dead man — not giving orders or exchanging curt remarks, but truly engaging with him. It felt strange. He faltered but pressed on. “The lands directly controlled by the throne can sustain themselves, and provincial self-governance will benefit both the regions and the nation as a whole.” “And the parents might bring money,” Jin-ho added. “They’ll come to the capital to check on their children, try to curry favor with you through gifts and bribes...” “We could even require them to spend certain periods at court — it’s hard to plot rebellions when you’re constantly moving back and forth.” Jin-ho smiled approvingly. “Now this is the General Gerel I always wanted to be like.” But Shadow, ever dispassionate, countered, “My father lived as a hostage in Yuigui under similar terms. He hated the Yuiguian court with every fiber of his being. These children will grow up hating you just as much. You might protect yourself from their parents, but the seeds of rebellion will take root in your precious school.” “That’s different — their parents won’t be my open enemies,” Gerel replied, though without much conviction. “And they’re children. We can teach them to love us, show them this is for the good of the country...” Even as he spoke, he knew it was naive. Even the youngest and most gullible would see that this was all for his own power. The school was an idea Yukinari might have championed: a step toward an ideal state, turning the heirs of enemies into allies, instilling loyalty in those who would shape the nation’s future. Yukinari could have made it work — if he were still the man he once was. Students would have admired him, adored him. Now, as a dead man, he was incapable of inspiring affection. And Gerel — well, he inspired even less. No matter. Fear and power could govern just as effectively as love. “Princess Mayumi and a potential heir remain an issue,” Shadow reminded him. “Yes. Sooner or later, Mayumi will become someone’s pawn.” He turned to Jin-ho. “Are there any charming young courtiers in Yuigui?” “Oh, plenty,” she said dreamily. “Is there a decent man among them — who would be kind to his future wife, noble enough to suit her but humble enough to take your advice?” “Someone handsome and stupid as a plank? Yes, I’m sure we can find one,” Jin-ho replied with a wry smile. “And loyal to you. Introduce them to Mayumi. Better she, her husband, and her child serve as your puppets than anyone else’s.” “There are too many variables to predict the outcome,” Shadow noted reasonably. Jin-ho, with quiet confidence, said, “It’ll work — how could we fail?” Gerel shrugged. He wasn’t certain he wanted it to work or that he had the will to make it happen. That same willful confidence. That was what Yukinari had in life and Jin-ho possessed now. Yukinari had his pond dragon, stars, and enchanted lands. Jin-ho, as far as Gerel knew, had no religion or fanciful dreams, yet she lived as if resting on the palm of some benevolent god, as if she were the center of the universe and nothing could truly harm her. To her, everything seemed possible — miracles as mundane as lifting a hand. "The world is full of wonders. We can do anything. We could even become immortal..." Why were they like that? How had they kept this faith? Both had seen enough to know how small and powerless a human was in the face of a pitiless world. Gerel wasn’t like that. Maybe it was because he was older than them? But for him, even as a child, the world had been a harsh, hostile, rejecting place, where every little thing had to be gnawed out with teeth. Apathy fell again, heavy as a thundercloud. It was raining again in Shinju, water was pouring onto the windows.