The broken world

They reached Cheongju without incident, but the journey took considerable time. The old year gave way to the new — the year of the Ox and Water under the Yin sign — and they spent the transition on the road. By the time they entered the capital, even in Cheongju’s harsh climate, the first whispers of spring were unmistakably in the air. The palace guards raised their hands in greeting at the sight of Gerel. “Shall we inform His Majesty of your arrival, General?” “That won’t be necessary; he already knows,” Gerel replied with confident falsehood. No one doubted him. As he strode through Tokhung’s palace, familiar faces turned to him, their expressions warm, respectful. It almost felt like coming home. How easily they believed him here, how readily they followed his commands, how genuine their bows and greetings were. These people had never seen him broken or disgraced. To them, he was still a hero, a great warrior, a demigod. He could have seized power in Cheongju once — and perhaps, even now, he still could. But what use was power to him, now that the fate of the Middle Kingdoms no longer stirred his interest? Why did people crave power when they had no desire to change things for the better? It must begin with fear, he thought. That was familiar to him — when every man seems an enemy, and the instinct to shield yourself grows overpowering. And then, slowly, you lose all sense of measure... “You lied,” remarked the dead man. “Why?” “I have no intention of meeting Tokhung, that’s all. I’ve come to see Master Fox.” “If I understand correctly, you plan to head South and want me to accompany you. But my duty is to protect His Majesty and remain at his side. You’ll have to speak to him and secure his permission for me to leave.” Gerel had no desire to see His Majesty, much less speak with him, but he knew there was no point in arguing with the dead man. Convincing him to do anything required framing it within the bounds of service to Tokhung — the core of his existence now. “Fine,” Gerel said irritably. “Let’s go to His Majesty, then. Come on, trouble.” He had been heading toward the part of the palace where Master Fox resided but now turned toward Tokhung’s quarters. He wasn’t particularly surprised to find both men there. The king still sought Master Fox’s company as often as possible. Gerel heard their voices from a distance. Tokhung, it seemed, was still enamored with the idea of prolonging his life. “...I’ve told you before not to squander precious fluids,” the Taoist was saying. “Excessive indulgence in sex is a sure way to ruin your health and shorten your life.” “And how often, in your esteemed opinion, can one indulge without harm?” asked the emperor. Master Fox appeared to think — or perhaps simply paused for effect — before finally answering, “No more than once a year.” “Once a year?!” Tokhung roared. “For longevity, complete abstinence is best,” the Taoist added hastily. Gerel thought he caught a note of mockery in the man’s tone, but Tokhung seemed to take his words seriously. “No,” the king said decisively. “That won’t do. What kind of life would that be? Next, you’ll be telling me to stop drinking!” Had Gerel not despised both these men so intensely, he might have laughed at the absurdity of it all. He entered, bowing in greeting. “Your Majesty.” Tokhung rose from his chair in surprise. “Gerel! What an unexpected and welcome surprise.” “I’d call it more unexpected than welcome,” sneered Master Fox. Seeing the dead man, he added, “I see our mutual friend, the walking corpse, is still with you.” Ignoring the Taoist’s jab, Gerel approached Tokhung. He had learned that this man’s endless barbs were as thoughtless as a sneeze. “I have returned, Your Majesty, because I failed in my duties as your governor in Ryukoku.” “I’ve heard of some difficulties,” Tokhung admitted, sitting down again. “But from the reports, it seems things are improving.” “If they are, it’s not thanks to me. I find it hard to manage civilian matters, and Shinju’s climate doesn’t agree with me.” “Who did you leave in Ryukoku in your stead?” “Your daughter, Jin-ho. She manages the state better than I ever could.” “Her Majesty Jin-ho has indeed helped stabilize the situation,” the dead man confirmed from his post near the door. “Her Majesty Jin-ho, Governor of Ryukoku…” Tokhung repeated, mulling it over. “Ha! Seems like just yesterday she was running underfoot... Well, if the girl can hold power there, good for her!” What was the king thinking? Was his joy sincere? Gerel knew Tokhung disliked thinking of his children as heirs to the Cheongju throne. He had gently but firmly kept all his numerous sons and daughters away from real power, as if he truly intended to rule forever. (This was why Gerel, back when he still coveted Cheongju’s throne, had never seen the king’s children as rivals.) But if Master Fox’s promises of longevity proved empty, Jin-ho might become the most likely contender for the Tiger Empire’s throne. That would mean a peaceful, voluntary union with Yuigui. Could Jin-ho truly be the one destined to unite the Middle Kingdoms? He recalled the dream he’d had of the dragon, the phoenix, the tiger, and the tortoise. “She seems an interesting person, this Jin-ho,” Master Fox remarked. “She’s not your type,” Gerel said. “As far as I know, you prefer dolls and corpses.” “And you’re one to talk about a love of corpses…” “Enough bickering!” Tokhung commanded. “So, the Ryukoku situation is settled. Jin-ho is my governor. But what are you planning, Gerel? You’ve no need to lead armies anymore — the war is over.” “The war with Ryukoku is over, but the threat in the South remains. There are reports of unrest along the borders with the nomads — those lands have always been easier to conquer than to hold.” Gerel spoke the truth. While his desire to head South had little to do with the nomads, the region was indeed volatile. As always. “So, you want to go there?” “Yes. Fighting is what I do best. Allow me to once again be your shield and sword, defending your empire against threats.” “Go,” Tokhung said with a shrug. “What I don’t understand is why you’ve come to me about it. Take men, take supplies — organize an expedition. You could have done all this without seeing me…” “I came to…” Gerel drew a deep breath, like a man preparing to step off a cliff, and decided. “…ask Your Majesty to allow Shadow to accompany me. The steppes are dangerous, and he would be my protection.” Tokhung shook his head. “No, Gerel. I won’t send him South. Nothing will happen to you — you’ve fought nomads for years without a scratch. Everyone knows you’re invincible, and all that. But I — I am not invincible.” “Your Majesty, you know I’m just a man. You’ve seen me wounded…” “If you’re afraid of being hurt, drop the idea and send someone else in your place. No. My servant stays here.” “Haven’t I done enough for you? Haven’t I served you faithfully all these years?” He knelt before Tokhung. “I beg you — grant me this request. Let him go with me.” “Does this… creature still mean so much to you?” Tokhung’s voice was filled with disgust. “I’m grateful for your service, but no. I will not let him go. No, and don’t ask again.” Gerel remained on his knees, his head bowed, a curtain of hair hiding his face. He dared not raise it, knowing it would reveal the fury and despair raging within him. He felt the sword’s sheath against his thigh — no one had thought to disarm him upon entering the palace. For a moment, he imagined drawing the blade, driving it into Tokhung’s chest. Imagined the gurgle of air in the emperor’s punctured lungs, the crash of his body hitting the floor, the slow spread of blood around his bulk. The guards at the door wouldn’t reach them in time. Or perhaps they wouldn’t even try. Whom did they fear more — Gerel or Tokhung? It was possible they’d simply stand there, indifferent, as if nothing extraordinary were happening. But Yukinari wouldn’t. Gerel might kill Tokhung — he could feel the ten steps separating the dead man from them — but Shadow would almost certainly kill him in turn. Would Shadow still take orders from Gerel if Tokhung were gone? And what would Master Fox do? Gerel didn’t want to find out. He mustered the strength to rise, meeting Tokhung’s gaze with a calm he didn’t feel. “I understand, Your Majesty. Then I will begin preparations for the journey.” He knew his voice was impassive. He had spent years mastering the art of burying emotions so deeply they sometimes seemed lost to him as well. He stepped into the corridor. The familiar, quiet, deliberate footsteps of the undead behind him — the ones he’d grown so used to hearing — were now absent. He remained in the room, fulfilling its primary duty: protecting the king. Without Yukinari, none of this made sense. And no matter what he did, no matter how he pleaded, he knew he would never convince Tokhung. His pleas would only amuse the emperor. Gerel walked a little further down the corridor, aimlessly, then stopped. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He heard the doors to Tokhung’s chambers open again, and someone approached him. “So, why did you go to His Majesty?” came the voice of Master Fox beside him. To Gerel’s surprise, it sounded almost devoid of malice. “If you’re craving humiliation, you should’ve come straight to me.” “In fact, I was on my way to you,” Gerel replied indifferently. “I wanted to talk.” Talking to Master Fox still felt worthwhile, though Gerel no longer had the energy for it. “And since when are we on such familiar terms?” Master Fox narrowed his eyes. It was a fair question. Where had this sudden informality come from? It wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t hostile either. “You were the one who started it,” Gerel recalled. “In that dream, the one with the cliffs and the sea — the one you called a ‘heart-world.’” “So you remembered something after all,” the Taoist said, sounding mildly impressed. “Is that what you wanted to discuss?” “That, among other things.” Gerel had a hundred questions. He wanted to ask about Yukinari but realized he couldn’t bear more mockery — not in the next five minutes, at least. Instead, he asked something unexpected, even to himself: “What are the yaoguai?” Master Fox hesitated for a moment, his mouth poised to deliver some cutting remark. But in that elongated pause, something in Gerel snapped. He realized that the Taoist likely knew no more about it than he did. And if that was true, then their journey to Cheongju had been doubly pointless. “Curiosity killed the cat…” the Taoist began, but Gerel cut him off. “You don’t know. Then tell me something else: what lies beyond the Wastelands?” Master Fox said nothing. “You don’t know that either,” Gerel said, a grim satisfaction in his voice. “You don’t know any more than I do. For all your arrogance, the only thing you’re truly good at is making hollow bodies without souls. Some skill.” For a fleeting moment, the mocking mask fell from Master Fox’s face. Something human flickered — hurt? Uncertainty? But then, as quickly as it came, he smirked again. “Is that why you’re going South? Hoping to find answers there?” There was curiosity in his gaze now. Gerel had been wondering all along why Master Fox had suddenly decided to engage him, why his attitude had shifted. Perhaps he thought Gerel knew something he didn’t? Foxes were curious creatures, after all. Gerel hoped Hu Xiansheng’s nickname might prove true to form. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine,” he offered. “I doubt you have anything to tell me that I don’t already know,” Master Fox scoffed, but his face betrayed interest. At last, he grudgingly said, “Fine. If you want to talk, let’s go to my quarters. No point standing around in the corridor.” As they walked, he added, “Just a warning — my place is a bit of a mess.” That was putting it delicately. Gerel remembered well the disaster that was Master Fox’s quarters. He almost made a cutting remark about it but stopped himself just in time. Master Fox’s room was still overrun with dolls. They sat on shelves, on the bed, on the table. Naturally, they weren’t in the same positions Gerel had last seen them in — so much time had passed since then — and it was easy to imagine that, in the absence of visitors, the dolls moved about the room, leading some secret life of their own. They had never frightened him — there had been too many real horrors in his life to bother with made-up fears about inanimate objects — but even so, Gerel could’ve sworn some of the dolls were watching him. “Sit.” Master Fox hadn’t bothered acquiring chairs, likely because guests were so rare. Gerel sat on the bed. On it lay a knitting project: needles and a half-finished doll-sized garment in the Yuigui style. It was somewhere between “charming” and “unnerving.” “You like knitting?” “I like dolls. People, not so much. Was that your question?” “No…” Where to begin? Conversations with the Taoist were always full of barbs — ones Gerel had learned to ignore — riddles, and half-truths. To glean even a fragment of useful information, he would have to ask as specifically as possible. “Why do you serve Tokhung?” “Isn’t it obvious? Talking to him about longevity is a small price to pay for a safe, carefree life here. But why did you serve him for so long? That’s the real question.” It stung because it was painfully accurate. Gerel had hoped for a more revealing answer: what Master Fox truly wanted, whether he craved power, whether he believed the nonsense he fed Tokhung, what he thought of the gods and their incomprehensible games (and last but not least: were these dolls actually alive?). But he realized none of that interested him much anymore. And even if it did, Master Fox wouldn’t give him a straight answer. He’d offer another riddle or a joke instead. “Why did you bring Yukinari back?” “I was curious to see what would happen. And, I must say, it turned out much better than I expected! Besides, he was already dead.” The Taoist’s voice carried not a hint of compassion for Yukinari’s fate, as if he were some taxidermist’s specimen rather than a person. Still, this awful man was Gerel’s last hope. And so he asked the one question he cared about, praying his voice wouldn’t betray his desperation: “Can you return his soul?” “Even if I could, why would I?” The brazen honesty caught Gerel off guard, but he bit back his anger. Master Fox was watching him, amused. “But it’s possible?” Gerel asked patiently. “I think so, yes,” the Taoist admitted grudgingly. Gerel latched onto that think. Clearly, Master Fox was less capable than he wanted to appear. “How?” “Find someone who knows how, or become that someone yourself,” the Taoist explained, as if to a child. “Can you ever say anything useful?” Gerel snapped. “I’m tired of your evasions.” “And I love evasions. Isn’t it fun when no one understands anything?” Master Fox laughed. Gerel felt a nearly overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. Like dealing with a child… Finally, Master Fox took pity on him. “His soul is still bound to his body, but it’s lost. You need someone who can traverse heart-worlds. But I can’t help you there. Dreams and souls have strange laws, and, frankly, few understand them.” “But if I managed to reach that dream world with the sea and cliffs and meet you there, doesn’t that mean—” “No. It means absolutely nothing. People sometimes stumble into their heart-world, but that doesn’t make you a dreamwalker. Don’t get ideas. I told you: you’re just human.” “But my mother… she was yaoguai, like you. So why—” Gerel had shared the truth about his mother with only two people — Yukinari and Jin-ho — but Master Fox didn't appreciate his frankness at all, brushing it off, as if Gerel had mentioned the weather. “Yes, yes, one of your parents was a yaoguai... Anyone could see that. But children of yaoguai are just humans. You can’t be born yaoguai. And dreams will always just be dreams for you. Sure, you can try dreamwalking practices, but it’ll come to nothing.” No, I won’t give up yet. Who knows? Maybe a human can become something more… That thought hadn’t fully formed in his mind then — it was only a shadow of an idea, a premonition. “If no one can be born yaoguai, then where do they come from?” he began. “Enough!” Master Fox snapped impatiently. “My turn. Why are you going South?” “Honestly? I… don’t know,” Gerel admitted. “I want to reach the Wastelands. But I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Master Fox didn’t believe him at first. It was hard for anyone to imagine someone so desperate they’d rather chase the vaguest promise of the unknown than stay trapped in the emptiness surrounding Gerel here. When the Taoist finally believed him, he, of course, grew angry. “You lied to me! And I fell for it — thought you actually knew something… Get out. I’m busy.” His anger was so childish Gerel couldn’t help but smile. And then he noticed something odd: they were about the same height. Somehow, Master Fox had always seemed taller before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to deceive you. Listen to me. I’m leaving, and I might not return from this journey…” “I’ll be delighted,” Master Fox said flatly. “Let’s make a deal,” Gerel pressed on. “Do me one favor: convince the king to send Yukinari with me.” “And why should I help you?” the Taoist sneered. “If you do, I promise to come back and tell you what I’ve found.” “Nonsense. No human has ever crossed the Wastelands.” “No living human. If I fail, Yukinari might succeed.” Interest gleamed in Master Fox’s eyes again. Still sulking, he said, “Thanks for the idea, but I don’t need you. What’s to stop me from making another undead and sending them beyond the Wastelands?” But his tone betrayed uncertainty. “Afraid your second attempt won’t turn out so well?” Gerel guessed — and hit the mark. Master Fox’s expression darkened. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?” “Just command Yukinari to return and report back. He won’t lie to you.” Master Fox hesitated, searching for a catch. “Fine. I’ll try to talk to Tokhung,” he said reluctantly. “But you’re probably doomed anyway. You’ll die on the way, get stuck somewhere… Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “What will you tell Tokhung?” “I’ll say… I’ll say immortals live beyond the Wastelands. He’s sent expeditions before looking for lands of the immortals, so he’ll probably believe it. Good thing you only mentioned the campaign against the nomads. Let him think this expedition beyond the Wastelands is his own idea.” Clearly, Master Fox had studied Tokhung’s psychology as well as — or perhaps better than — Gerel himself. After all, he’d managed to stay in the emperor’s good graces despite months of feeding him absurd promises. “What do you think of the Wastelands?” Gerel asked. “What do you think we’ll find there?” “I have a theory about the Wastelands… It might sound a little eccentric.” Gerel doubted anything could sound more eccentric than raising the dead and knitting doll clothes. “Imagine a tray with, say, six cups on it. Well, not six — many more. But never mind that. The world you know is one of those cups.” “The world is a… cup?” Gerel repeated. “I know, it sounds ridiculous,” Master Fox said irritably. “I’m terrible at analogies… What I mean is, beyond the Wastelands, there might not be just another piece of land or sea, but an entirely different world — under another sky, with other gods… Oh, right, you don’t believe in gods… Anyway, I think the Wastelands are the space of the tray. Through them, you could move from one cup to another.” “I take it no one’s been able to prove this theory?” Gerel asked skeptically. In truth, he’d thought of something similar himself. But coming from the Taoist, it sounded particularly outlandish. Not that Gerel believed Master Fox… But it was too late not to believe. “No one. The distances must be too vast. But you could be the first to prove it,” Master Fox said, his tone almost encouraging.   The Taoist sage had not lied. Barely a few days had passed before the emperor’s fury gave way to favor, and he summoned Gerel to discuss a forthcoming journey. "Hu Xiansheng has told me that the monks of the monastery where he lived believe the Land of the Immortals lies beyond the Wastelands. Ordinary folk say the Wastelands are endless and that nothing lies beyond them. But how many corners of our world would have remained unseen, dismissed as mere legend, if no one had dared to test the truth and venture forth?" the emperor began solemnly. Gerel waited in silence, anticipating what was to follow. "You’re already heading south. Why not, after dealing with the nomads, go further? I want to send an expedition beyond the Wastelands," Tokhung said hesitantly, his voice betraying a certain unease at issuing an order that might well send Gerel to his death. "I will provide as many horses, weapons, and supplies as you require." The prospect of sending Gerel to seek the Land of the Immortals promised Tokhung benefits regardless of the outcome. The emperor was acutely aware of how perilous such an expedition would be. If Gerel perished in the southern steppes, all the better — Tokhung had been seeking a way to rid himself of him. Yet, it seemed Tokhung also sincerely believed in the mission’s success, entrusting Gerel with its leadership because he relied on him more than anyone else. "I have no doubt in your generosity, Your Majesty; the question is whether others will agree to join this venture," Gerel said, his tone laced with deliberate provocation. The emperor’s eyes flashed with anger. "Do you think they have a choice? I will give the order, and any who refuse to obey it will be executed." "Forgive me for pointing out, my emperor, that once the group crosses the border of our kingdom, enforcing such orders will be... difficult. People believe the Wastelands are impassable and would rather flee, blending in with some nomadic tribe, than march toward certain death." Gerel, as ever, spoke with unflinching logic, and Tokhung was forced to grudgingly acknowledge the truth in his words. "I trust your loyalty to me — you won’t betray me, will you?" Tokhung said, striving for a tone of kindness, but the words came out as menacing. "Perhaps the Wastelands are indeed too vast for anyone to cross," Gerel replied evasively. "Why do you think I could succeed?" "I want you to do everything in your power to try. To ensure you reach your destination and return, I am... I am willing to grant your request — to send a dead man as your companion." So he can ensure I don’t run or stray from the path? Gerel thought grimly, a crooked smile on his lips. Even if he had wanted to shirk the mission, there was nowhere in the South he could hide — his face was known to every nomad. But the truth was, he had no intention of avoiding the journey.   He assembled a large force to deal with the nomads and handpicked a separate group for the expedition. For the Wastelands, he deliberately avoided choosing the strongest or most decorated warriors, though his selections lacked neither courage nor skill. Nor did he choose the most loyal soldiers, though their allegiance to him was invaluable. Instead, he sought out those he knew for certain had no families, no wives, no children—nothing that tied them too closely to Cheongju. He warned them honestly: this journey offered little chance of return. In fact, he said, they would almost certainly not return. At the plaza by the Changimun Gate, the main entrance to the city, the chosen men stood in formation as Gerel walked the line, scrutinizing each face, trying to predict who might falter. Then he turned and paced back the way he had come. "You all know why you’ve been gathered here," he said at last. "We march today. If any of you doubt your resolve, if you fear you’re unprepared for what lies ahead, now is the time to turn back. I will not hold it against you." A pause. Silence. As expected, no one stepped forward. They all knew Tokhung would punish deserters mercilessly. "You know me," Gerel continued. "But if anyone doesn’t, I am General Gerel — also called the Cruel and the yaoguai." He gave a humorless chuckle. He said it as though submitting himself to their judgment. The soldiers looked at him in silence, awe mingling with fear. They did not fear the rumor of the yaoguai, but they, better than most, knew that while many tales of Gerel’s atrocities were fabrications, he had earned the epithet "Cruel" honestly. At some point — he hadn’t noticed when — the respect in their eyes gave way entirely to fear. But the fear wasn’t directed at him. Their gazes had shifted to someone else. One of the older warriors ventured timidly, "General... is that... other man coming with us?" Gerel turned to see, just over his shoulder, a horse shifting its weight from hoof to hoof. Atop it sat Yukinari, utterly still, like a statue. Clad in his usual black, his eyes covered by a blindfold, he looked like something from a nightmare. "Yes. He’s coming with us." Gerel turned to the shadowy figure. "Say something to them so they won’t be afraid of you." "I will travel with you," Yukinari said obediently. He spoke without tilting or turning his head, and it seemed as though his blindfolded eyes were fixed on some distant horizon. "I will protect you on the journey. I am your ally." And, without any transition: “I must warn you, my first duty is to protect General Gerel. If it seems to me that one of you threatens the safety of the general, I will eliminate that person.” The soldiers turned noticeably pale. Some of them gripped their reins tightly, overcoming the desire to turn their horses and run away from here. Gerel gave a weary smile. “Well, let’s go. And take off that blindfold already, you’re scaring people.”