The next morning, Jun stood amid the 186 competitors arrayed in neat rows across the largest arena of Warrior’s Park. They had come from every corner of West Longhan and represented every martial school and style in the realm, from the well-known to the obscure. Jun glanced around himself. In front of him was the monk in black robes he’d seen on the Imperial Road a few days ago. On his right stood a massive, grinning bald bear of a man clad in a loincloth. The candidate on his left was dressed all in black except for a snug, featureless white cloth mask that covered his entire head and left only his eyes visible.
What a collection of oddballs, Jun thought. The largest, most important tournament was guaranteed to bring out some eccentric martial arts masters. Jun craned his neck, surreptitiously trying to spot Yin Yue. In comparison to the more unnerving strangers, Jun almost wished for his rival’s annoying but familiar and normal presence. Ah, there he was. Standing in the middle of the front row, of course.
Jun shifted his attention to the spectators, thousands of them pressed together shoulder to shoulder behind the rope barriers erected and monitored by White Phoenix Guards. There was no way for him to tell where Chang and Ren were in the crowd, if they were present at all. The Golden Gate Inn where they were staying was only a ten-minute walk from the tournament site, but Ren had told Jun not to wait for them that morning.
“Sifu needs to rest,” Ren had said, yawning over a breakfast of porridge and eggs. She looked as if she were speaking as much for herself as her sifu, who was still asleep in his room. They had been up late last night, she explained, meeting with old friends in the city they had not seen for some time. It seemed there was nowhere Master Chang did not know people. “We’ll come watch the matches when we can.”
Jun had been disappointed that Chang had not personally seen him off to the first day of the Guardian’s Tournament with any words of wisdom or last-minute advice for the arena. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected any. After all, the flutist had promised to take him to Xicheng, and to train him and pay him for his work as a stagehand along the way, nothing more. At the Gate of Flowers Inn, he’d warned Jun that he would not be of help once the tournament began. The energy of the city took a toll on the blind flutist, and he and Ren had their own performances to think of, now that Jun was no longer available to assist them.
Jun understood all that, but he still felt vaguely abandoned.
Despite the warmth of the late summer morning, the sky was thick with gray clouds that passed in front of the sun, intermittently casting the ceremony grounds into shadow. Jun’s shirt clung to his back; it felt as if the city were wrapped in a damp blanket.
On the enormous raised platform at the front of the largest arena, a dozen high-ranked mandarins in black robes were seated on cushions, fanning themselves, forced to wait just as patiently as everyone else. Posted behind the stern court officials, and surrounding the canopied platform itself on all sides, were soldiers of the Sixth Division in full armor and helmets, carrying swords and halberds.
At some unspoken signal, the gates of the Pearl of Wisdom were unsealed from the inside, swinging open ponderously. Six men walked in lockstep through the gates, bearing on their shoulders the most opulent sedan chair Jun had ever seen. The sandalwood pillars and rods were banded with ivory and gold. Carved floral jade decorations adorned the crosspieces. The heavy silk brocade curtains were royal yellow with a pattern of scales in silver thread that made the subtle movement of the fabric seem like the ripple of living dragonskin.
The litter bearers carried their precious burden up the wide steps of the platform, where it was carefully set upon a tall frame that placed its sitting occupant above all others. At the moment the curtain was pulled aside, a court herald standing at the corner of the platform boomed, “Prostrate yourselves before the gracious and exalted Emperor of Longhan, Tandu, Son of Dragon.”
Jun dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground along with everyone else, wrinkling his nose at the tickle of trampled grass and dirt against his face.
It was strange, Jun thought, that the emperor was still referred to as the ruler of all Longhan, even half a century after the empire had been divided. At the time, with West and East having battled to a stalemate and each in possession of one Scroll, the emperor and the leaders of the Virtuous Rebellion had acceded to the Treaty of Separation. However, the court in Xicheng never officially recognized the government of the East. As far as it was concerned, the whole area beyond the Snake Wall was under illegitimate rebel occupation. And there were plenty of people in the East who had no idea that a monarch on the other side of the impassable wall still considered them to be his subjects.
“You may rise.” The voice that spoke was young and high and nasal, and the words did not carry far; even the rows of competitors kneeling in front of the platform could barely hear it. The royal herald, a broad-chested, thick-necked man with a long beard and lungs that Jun suspected had been trained for the opera house, repeated the command in a deep, commanding tenor that rang out across the open air of the park.
Jun got to his feet and raised his eyes. He knew the emperor was young, having abruptly ascended to the throne after the untimely death of his uncle two years ago. Nevertheless, it was a shock to see how small he was in person. Tandu was undersized even for a ten-year-old boy; seated in his extravagant mobile throne, he looked as if he were swimming in layers of yellow and red silk. His face was pale and narrow, his cheeks dusted with red powder to give his sallow skin more color. The boy emperor blinked benignly at all the subjects gathered before him.
All the pomp and ceremony was meant to instill a sense of reverence and awe, but Jun only felt sorry for Emperor Tandu. Like all monarchs, he was breathmarked, and therefore proclaimed by the priests to be a direct descendant of Dragon. He lived in unimaginable luxury and his every wish was attended to by a fleet of servants. His word was law throughout the land. But he looked as if a stiff wind could blow him over. The contrast between him and the elite fighters lined up below him could not have been more stark.
When Jun was a little boy himself, living in the East, he’d been told that the emperor of the West was a corrupt and evil despot who ruled the unfortunate people on the other side of the Snake Wall with an iron fist. His overtaxation of the citizenry was why the Virtuous Rebellion had arisen to free the East from tyranny. Jun wondered, with idle amusement, what kind of scary stories the Council of Virtue might now be telling their citizens about a ten-year-old.
Tandu drew a wheezy breath. “When the world was brought forth by Dragon, the first people were brutish and simple. Yet, Dragon saw that they could be much more than animals. So he sent his own children, the four Divine Serpents of the east, west, north, and south, to live among mankind and teach them, and their children’s children became the men and women of Longhan.” The emperor looked straight ahead at his subjects and spoke clearly, but a little too fast, in the way of a child reciting memorized lines in front of a class.
“Dragon dictated his wisdom to his Blessed Consort, the Lady of Many Hands, and she recorded his words in the Scrolls of Heaven and Earth, and brought them to earth, so that we, the descendants of Dragon, would always have his wisdom to guide us.” Every few sentences, Emperor Tandu paused to draw breath and to allow the royal herald to repeat his words in a booming voice that carried across Warrior’s Park to all those gathered. “Our great nation was founded on the principles of strength, courage, and merit. It is our sacred tradition that the best warriors from across our land compete for the honor of protecting the Scroll of Heaven.”
There was no mention, Jun noticed, of the Scroll of Earth being lost to the East.
“For the past six years, Guardian Yama has served with diligence and loyalty. We ask him to come forward, to relinquish his duty to a new and worthy successor.”
A single figure strode toward the platform, down the open middle aisle between the rows of competitors. He stopped three times, at the center of the main arena, at the bottom of the wide steps, and again at the top of the steps, each time kneeling and prostrating himself before the emperor, the Scroll of Heaven upheld in his outstretched hands.
Jun rose up on his toes to get a better look at the current Guardian, the man who, six years ago, had shattered Zhang’s knee along with the hopes of all his other opponents. Over the years, Jun had heard many things about Yama, but he’d never seen the man in person. Yama lived in the Guardian’s Residence, an enormous mansion in the heart of the illustrious Thirty-Seventh Ward next to the Pearl. He had wealth, fame, and status second only to royalty. Yet he was dressed simply, in black trousers and a red tunic in a classic, formal cut. He was of average height and build, with a short goatee and his hair pulled back into a stern, tidy topknot. An impassive expression rested on his angular face. Guardians were public figures who not only protected the Scroll but would typically make appearances, teach, speak, and have martial schools and styles named after them, but Yama was said to be a reclusive Guardian. From what Jun had heard, he spent most of his time training and studying alone.
More distinguished in appearance was the Scroll he carried. Twice as thick as most ordinary scrolls, it was housed in a two-piece gilt bronze case of elaborate carved workmanship, the caps studded with gemstones. The Scroll of Earth that resided in East Longhan supposedly contained Dragon’s edicts about the natural world, while the Scroll of Heaven contained divine teachings on governance and society. That was not all; together the Scrolls were said to house knowledge of medicine, science, and martial arts. In West Longhan, learned priests, doctors, scholars, and martial artists were allowed to access and study the Scroll of Heaven only with the approval and supervision of the Guardian. The Scroll was thousands of years old and yellowed with age but supposedly indestructible. It suffered no tears, stains, or fading. Fire, water, and blades could not damage it, and legend had it that even if it were lost at the bottom of the ocean or buried beneath the earth, it would always reappear.
“Great and exalted lord,” Yama declared, in a voice much more robust than the emperor’s, “I deliver the Scroll of Heaven safely back to the empire.” He placed the holy relic on a wooden stand in front of the emperor, where it would remain on display for the duration of the tournament, illuminated by standing oil lamps and surrounded by armed soldiers day and night until it was given into the safekeeping of the new Guardian.
“The nation thanks you, Guardian Yama,” Emperor Tandu wheezed. The young monarch paused, having apparently lost track of what he was supposed to say next. An attendant leaned over and whispered in the boy’s ear, and he brightened at the prompt and continued. “Now the time has come for another warrior to prove themselves a worthy Guardian.”
Cheers and applause began to rise up, but the emperor’s next words, repeated in a bellow by the herald, arrested the jubilation. “Before the tournament is opened, General Cobu, foremost military advisor, has an announcement to make about some changes to the rules this year.”
All eyes shifted to a man in military dress who stepped forward from beside the emperor’s sedan chair. With an apprehensive jolt, Jun rose up on his toes, trying to get a better look at the man. General Cobu was elderly and square-faced, with a coarse beard shot through with silver, broad shoulders, and wrinkled eyes that peered out from beneath bushy, slanted eyebrows that made him look as if he were perpetually furrowing his brow. His back was straight and unbowed by age, and despite the warm weather, he wore a red silk scarf around his neck.
This was the man who purportedly controlled the military, whose name Ren spat with disdain, whom she and her father blamed for the rising antagonism between East and West. Jun remembered the hideous posters he’d seen at the Gate of Flowers Inn and the soldiers he’d seen at the registration table yesterday. Cobu was clearly an influential man here in the capital.
He looked as if he could be someone’s stern but kindly grandfather.
“Citizens.” There was no need for the royal herald to amplify the general’s words, which rang out clear and arresting. “The Guardian’s Tournament is a proud tradition for our nation, but it arrives this year during a time of danger.”
Cobu paused to let the gravity of his words sink in. Jun glanced over the crowd and for the first time he noticed the clusters of people here and there who also wore red silk scarves.
“For fifty years, the threat of the rebels in the East has loomed from the other side of the Snake Wall. The East is the antithesis of what we stand for as a people. Where we value strength, they promote weakness. Where we celebrate our warriors, they suppress and denigrate them. Anyone in the West, regardless of birth or station, can rise to become Guardian, but in the East, they lock away Dragon’s holy words at the top of a high pagoda, and the sinister Council of Virtue brainwashes breathmarked children to be the tools of the state.” The general paused for dramatic effect. “These are not people with whom we can be reconciled.”
An uneasy silence descended at Cobu’s words. Jun’s pulse began to thud in his ears. Confusing, conflicted feelings assaulted him every time he heard the East disparaged. The Council and its Aspects had forbidden the practice of martial arts, separated him from his mother and Sai, and exiled him and his father. He had every reason to hate them. Yet he bristled at General Cobu’s words. He and his family were from the East. So was Ren. The people on the other side of the wall were not so different from those here; they’d merely been born elsewhere. It didn’t make them inherently weak or evil.
“As the emperor’s chief military advisor, I assure you that our army remains vigilant against the East, but their aggression against us has only intensified. They built a dam to deprive our land of water, causing drought and wildfire. They have sent their agents to spy and undermine our government. Let’s not forget that our late emperor, His Majesty’s uncle, died under mysterious circumstances.”
Several spectators with red scarves were nodding in agreement, hanging on Cobu’s every word. It was true that the previous emperor had been struck by a sudden illness, passing away unexpectedly despite being in the prime of his life. Rumors that he had been assassinated by poison had circulated ever since, but there had never been any proof.
“Fifty years ago, the rebels failed to overthrow the emperor. Our army would have defeated them completely, had cowardly traitors not helped them to steal the Scroll of Earth from a weak Guardian.” The general’s dignified, statesmanly appearance belied the malevolence in his voice. “Although our enemies have already taken much from us, they are not satisfied, and their ultimate goal has not changed. They seek to destroy us. They desire to steal the Scroll of Heaven, reunite it with the Scroll of Earth, and bring us under their dominion.”
“Never!” Angry shouts rose from some in the watching crowd, who pulled off their red scarves and waved them wildly. “Dragon will curse the East! Victory to our exalted general!”
General Cobu nodded in agreement with the uproar. “We are at a pivotal juncture in history. Through fire and earth and water, Dragon is showing his displeasure with our shameful past capitulation. Which is why”—he raised a decisive hand into the air—“the emperor has deemed it necessary to make some changes to this year’s tournament.”
Jun had a strong suspicion that the forthcoming changes had not been initiated by the boy on the sedan chair, who was listening placidly. A sense of foreboding prickled across Jun’s skin like the scuttle of a spider.
“Every six years, we test the most martially talented of our nation’s youth to find a Guardian who will spend the prime of their life in service to the country. The Guardian that rises this week must be the strongest we’ve ever had. They must be not only a superlative warrior but an individual willing to lay down their life for the nation and to inspire and lead others to do the same if need be. There are no second chances in war, and victory must be unequivocal.” Cobu’s words landed with ringing conviction. “Henceforth, tournament winners will be decided by single elimination. Matches will no longer be ended by judge’s decision. They will be fought until surrender, submission, or death.”
Shocked and excited murmuring arose from all around. Many of the candidates near Jun looked concerned or angry. The monk in the black robes with the two swords muttered, with thick disgust in his voice, “This is wrong. Merciless bloodshed is not what the Guardian’s Tournament is about.”
But his sentiment was not shared by everyone. A few people seemed even more excited than before. Among the spectators, there was a renewed frenzy and the swift shuffle of money changing hands between eager gamblers.
“For too long,” Cobu went on calmly, “the rules of the Guardian’s Tournament have hampered contestants and thus failed to test the true breadth of a warrior’s ability. We must expect our enemies will use any means of attack at their disposal. Thus, a capable Guardian must be proficient in armed as well as unarmed combat. Weapons will be permitted beginning with the quarterfinal matches of the tournament.”
General Cobu’s earlier pronouncements had been met with exclamations of surprise and excitement. This last one astonished even his own scarf-wearing supporters. A thick silence fell over Warrior’s Park for three whole heartbeats before the crowd erupted in noise.
How can he do this? The confusion and shock on the faces around him mirrored Jun’s own. The new rules changed everything. No judges or restrictions. Weapons in the arena. People were going to die. Was General Cobu trying to turn the tournament into a bloodbath?
Jun looked over to the emperor, but the boy was happily peeling an orange, apparently glad to have gotten through his expected duties, and certainly not contradicting his general.
Guardian Yama’s expression was impassive, unreadable.
General Cobu wasn’t looking at either the monarch or the Guardian, though both of them outranked him. It seemed he already knew that his decision would be unopposed.
Two soldiers took down the rules that had been posted next to the registration desk and nailed up a new banner.
“We must be ready to defend our nation and our way of life,” General Cobu said with finality. “In war, there is no mercy and only one rule: Win. Let a fearless new Guardian rise who will be up to the challenge.”
Cobu turned and bowed toward Emperor Tandu with a deference that did not fool anyone before stepping calmly back into the shadow of the monarch.
A royal attendant gently tapped the emperor on the shoulder and the boy sat up and exclaimed, with loud and enthusiastic finality, “Let the Guardian’s Tournament begin!”