Jun sat alone in the deserted competitors’ tent, surrounded by soldiers who were ostensibly there to protect him. It had taken more than thirty minutes for Cobu’s men to restore a tenuous sense of order. Fighting between Red Scarves and Silent Flute supporters had spilled off the Island and into the streets, where Jun couldn’t see or hear it any longer. Cobu’s soldiers were clearly on the side of the Red Scarves, so some dissenters had foolishly attacked them as well. There had been many beatings, indiscriminate arrests, and several deaths—some due to the fighting, some accidental as people were trampled in the chaos. Anyone who didn’t want to get caught in the middle had fled.
A legion of White Phoenix Guards now stood defensively around the gates of the Pearl, preventing any of the disorder from spreading to the emperor’s personal estate. The bridges had been temporarily closed and notices posted that the Guardian’s Tournament had been delayed by five hours. The arena would reopen for the final match to take place just before dusk.
Jun was told all this by attendants, as he was not allowed to leave. Food and water were brought to him. Doctor Lim reappeared to check on him and make sure he hadn’t suffered any acute harm from smoke inhalation. He hadn’t; the effects appeared to be temporary, designed to create confusion and alarm but not severe harm. Jun was assured that he was still fit to fight. Nothing, it seemed, would be allowed to stand in the way of the final match occurring before the day was out. The people, and General Cobu, would not be robbed of a new Guardian.
The midday sun baked the empty arena. In the aftermath of the mayhem, a strange stillness had descended. Scattered belongings lay all over the lawn where people had left them in the rush to escape.
“You must rest, so you can fight well tonight,” Doctor Lim said. She seemed anxious, checking up on Jun frequently and treating him with more respect than he’d seen her display with any other patient. He wasn’t sure if she was worried he might hold his father’s death against her and reveal her questionable moneymaking schemes, or if she’d been specifically tasked with making sure he remained in good enough condition to provide an audience-pleasing finale.
Jun felt like a prize pig, shaded and well fed before slaughter. He desperately wanted to know if Ren had escaped. If Yin Yue was alive. Where Master Chang was being held. He felt as if he would go mad not knowing. For years, he’d imagined the excitement and elation he’d feel if he made it to the final match of the Guardian’s Tournament. He was on the cusp of achieving a dream he’d had since he was a boy, and yet it was meaningless if everyone he cared about was gone.
A messenger arrived and spoke to the soldiers standing guard in front of the tent.
“Li Jun,” one said, “come with us.”
They escorted him out of the tent to a waiting sedan chair. With some misgiving, Jun climbed into the covered litter. A curtain dropped down, enclosing him in warm darkness and hiding him from view. Four strong men bore him up on their shoulders and began to move.
It was not a long journey. When they stopped, Jun drew back the curtain and saw that he’d been brought to a great manor house with a grand central courtyard in the center of three single-story buildings with ornate carved red pillars and green tiled roofs. He was in the Thirty-Seventh Ward, the neighborhood of Xicheng’s wealthy and powerful—court officials, advisors, generals, and the Guardian himself. Somewhere nearby would be the Guardian’s Residence and the Scroll Hall that it contained.
The litter was set on the ground. A servant pulled back the curtain and bowed low, gesturing Jun toward the main hall. Jun stepped out and followed the man, passing rows of snowberry shrubs and a pond filled with beautiful red-and-white carp. A set of sliding wooden doors led into an audience hall with enormous blue-and-white porcelain vases, each as big as a man, standing in each corner. On one wall was an enormous painting of a snowy valley landscape across which a great army marched. Stands throughout the room displayed suits of armor and helmets, and mounted on the walls were swords of the finest make. Jun suddenly felt very meager, wearing only plain brown pants and a white linen shirt. Even the courteous servant leading him was better dressed.
Two receiving couches faced each other across a low table in the center of the room. Lying on one of the couches was Leopard.
It was an incongruous shock, after the serene beauty of the courtyard, to see brutish Leopard here. Like spotting a reptile in a bed of flowers. The man was stretched out, chest down and shirtless. Two women were massaging his muscled back and shoulders. He groaned contentedly as they worked, his scarred body limp and relaxed, his lumpy face turned to the side and slack. The cuts Yin Yue had inflicted on him had been bandaged, so despite his injuries, Leopard looked more than capable of fighting again.
At Jun’s entrance, Leopard opened his eyes and sat up, shrugging off the two women, who bowed nervously and retreated from the room as fast as decorum permitted. “What are you doing here?” Leopard got up off the couch in one smooth, liquid motion and in another second he was standing in front of Jun, his coarse features inches away from Jun’s face. Jun fought the urge to lean away from the hot breath before introducing his fist to the man’s squashed nose.
“I invited him to my home.” General Cobu appeared from a door at the side of the chamber. “I wish to talk with the talented young man they’re calling ‘Little Dragon.’”
Jun expected to hear sarcasm or scorn, but there was none.
Leopard sniffed, his face still much too close. “What’s there to discuss?” Contempt and menace rolled off him. “I’ll smash him like I did the others. What does he have that they don’t?”
“A good question.” Cobu ordered, “Leave us.”
Leopard made a noise of disgust. He spun around and strode from the room. The servant who’d escorted Jun followed silently after and slid the doors shut, leaving Jun and Cobu alone.
“I apologize for his barbarous manners.” General Cobu was dressed in simple but well-tailored black trousers and a high-collared shirt with pearl buttons. His red scarf was in place around his neck, his hair perfectly pinned and his beard impeccable. “He’s never been properly civilized, you see. Over in the East, they punish the strong. Only the breathmarked are even allowed to train to fight. In the labor camps, his jailors tried to crush his spirit and turn him meek. Instead they made him stronger and created a fearsome beast.”
“And you decided he would make a good Guardian.” Jun was in Cobu’s house and at his mercy, but he couldn’t bother to pretend politeness. The general might look like a distinguished grandfather, but he’d corrupted the Guardian’s Tournament, he’d arrested and imprisoned Sifu Chang, and he’d watched as his beast had killed people in the arena and maimed Yin Yue.
“What makes a good Guardian?” Cobu inquired mildly, seemingly without taking offense at Jun’s tone. “Yama has spent six years studying the Scroll, and what good has it done for the country?” The general crossed the room, motioning for Jun to walk with him. “With Leopard, I saw right away that I’d found something different. A man who hailed from no school and no style, who didn’t fight for status or fame or honor, but simply to survive and dominate. In truth, the two are the same. We survive only by defeating those who would weaken us.”
General Cobu stopped them in front of the long landscape painting Jun had first noticed upon entering. “This painting,” the general said, “is called The Bitter Return. It depicts the retreat of the Imperial Army from the Valley of Rust in the Eastern province of Gokai.”
Jun pretended to study the painting. While doing so, he glanced sideways at General Cobu, wondering what possible reason the man would have to be showing Jun his home decor when he was a few hours away from having Leopard try to take his head off.
“The beleaguered Seventeenth Regiment held its position against the rebels for six grueling months, but the Treaty of Separation placed the Valley of Rust under Eastern control. The military was ordered to cede its hard-fought gains and return to the West, chased by the enemy across the Black Turtle Mountains during one of the cruelest winters in memory.” The general’s voice took on a reminiscing tone, solemn and bitter with sorrow. “Many men died along the way. Out of the ten thousand soldiers who set out, less than four thousand returned. I was one of those men.”
A black look came into Cobu’s eyes, an aching resentment etched deeper than the wrinkles around his stern mouth. He turned toward Jun and fingered the scarf around his neck. Up close, Jun could see that it was old fabric. The bright red silk was worn thin and pale in places, and the edges appeared to have been trimmed and patched.
“This scarf,” Cobu said, “was a gift to me from the last true emperor of Longhan. The emperor had his best robe cut into pieces and given to what remained of the Seventeenth Regiment that limped back into Xicheng. He mourned that the country had been torn apart and so, too, had his heart. What remained of it, he offered to us, with the hope that time would mend the wounds of war.” Cobu’s steely gaze softened. “I wear this scarf as a constant reminder of his wishes.”
As a young child in the East, Jun had been taught that the Virtuous Rebellion rose up to liberate the people from the tyranny of a brutal despot. The East was fortunate, he was told, to be free from violence and governed by a wise council instead of a cruel monarchy.
The way General Cobu spoke of Emperor Caixuan, who’d sent so many soldiers to fight and die in the Valley of Rust, one would think the old sovereign had been a paragon of wisdom and compassion.
Of course, it was in the interests of the Council of Virtue to vilify the ruler they’d sought to overthrow and to speak of their controlling policies as social benefits. Just as it served General Cobu’s aims to rally the militant Red Scarves around the story of a great national wound and claim that Dragon wished them to erase the lasting shame of a past generation.
“How can you be sure of the old emperor’s wishes?” Jun asked skeptically. “He signed the Treaty of Separation and built the Snake Wall in the first place.”
Cobu spun on Jun with a swiftness that was startling. In an instant, his grandfatherly demeanor was gone and his expression was as frightening as Leopard’s in the arena. Jun took an involuntary step backward.
“Emperor Caixuan had no choice but to capitulate to the rebels,” Cobu snarled. “It was all the fault of Guardian Shin.”
Shin Ge, the last Guardian to guard both the Scrolls. Jun knew the name.
“In a moment of weakness and poor judgment, Shin Ge entrusted one of the Scrolls to his brother—but he was betrayed. The traitor handed the Scroll of Earth to the Virtuous Rebellion and it was lost to the East.” Cobu’s eyes burned with rage, as if the dreadful event had occurred only yesterday.
Another tidbit of childhood knowledge came into Jun’s mind. In the East, children were told that the Sun Pagoda was founded by the First Virtuous Brother, Shin Di, to protect the Scroll of Earth. Jun had always assumed the hero in the story was called the First Virtuous Brother because Aspects called each other “sister” and “brother”—not because he was in fact the brother of the Guardian in the West.
“May Dragon condemn that traitor to the eighteenth level of hell to be punished for eternity.” Cobu’s lip curled back with a vindictive scorn that time had not diminished. “Were it not for Shin Di, the rebellion would’ve been crushed. The Scrolls are Dragon’s divine word. They are infused with power that we can never fully understand. With one of the Scrolls in their possession, the tide of war turned in favor of the rebels. They demanded that Emperor Caixuan abdicate his throne. The rebels would’ve ended Longhan as we knew it and installed themselves as a ruling council.” Cobu smacked a fist into his palm. “Rather than let the unthinkable happen, the emperor allowed the rebels to secede and wall themselves off in the East. It was better to lose half the country than to lose it all.”
When Jun had moved to Cheon, he’d been surprised to learn that the emperor he’d been told was a monster was long dead and that the West was full of ordinary people, not grasping, bloodthirsty villains who wanted to destroy the East. Jun’s new schoolteachers told very different stories from those Jun had heard from adults in his life thus far. They claimed the Snake Wall had been erected to defend against the extremist rebels and shadowy, malicious Council agents in the East who wished to impose their oppressive, dogmatic way of life on everyone.
Jun hadn’t bothered to question the contradictions. Neither the East nor the West had been particularly kind to his family, and he’d never felt as if he entirely belonged anywhere. As a child, he only wished to get by, and he didn’t especially care who possessed the better part of the truth, if there was such a thing. The leaders of both countries told the stories that justified their own actions and stoked fear in their enemies. People on both sides shared the belief that the Snake Wall was there to protect them from invasion.
“I was seventeen years old, the youngest survivor of that bitter retreat.” Cobu’s flinty gaze grew distant. “Nearly all of my comrades from those days are gone, or not long for this world. Every day, I put on this scarf and look at this painting, and I remember what we lost fifty years ago. A great wrong has been waiting far too long to finally be put right. Now is the time to reclaim what is ours—all the signs are there. Longhan is one people, one land, one destiny under Dragon.”
“The Silent Flute Society would say the same,” Jun pointed out. “They want the Snake Wall to come down.”
Cobu let out a bark of contempt. “The Silent Flute Society originated in the East, among members of the Virtuous Rebellion. It is full of Eastern agents and idealistic fanatics. What they really want is for the West to be weakened, and for reunification to be on their terms. That cannot be allowed to happen. To restore the glory of a unified Empire, the West must have strong leaders who ensure that the Council in the East is defeated and destroyed.”
“And you see yourself as that leader.”
Cobu straightened the sleeves of his fine shirt, his expression calm and self-possessed. “Emperor Tandu is a sickly boy. Upon Dragon’s mercy, I wish him health, but I doubt he will survive into adulthood. His uncle had the same sickness of the blood. It’s a curse, no doubt leveled by Dragon because their family line failed to safeguard the realm. When one dynasty becomes weak, another must rise.”
Cobu’s dynasty. The General was not breathmarked, so could not sit on the throne himself, but he had three sons and seven grandsons. For Cobu to sound so certain of his family’s destiny, Jun was willing to bet that at least one of them had been born with Dragon’s blood.
“Leopard may seem to be an unthinking brute, but he follows me not simply because I took him from the pits and gave him a better life than he could’ve ever imagined. He is one of those men who understands strength. He follows me because we share that regard, and because he has lived through the worst oppression of the East and understands that it must be destroyed.”
“Why did you bring me here?” Jun burst out. “It can’t just be to give me a history lesson before you have Leopard try to kill me this afternoon.”
The general turned away from the wall and its tragic painting to face Jun with shrewd consideration. “I’ve seen your fights so far. Little Dragon. Quite the hyperbole, even by the standards of a martial name. Nevertheless, watching you, I get the same feeling I first did when I saw Leopard in the fighting dens. A sense of discovery. Poetry in motion.”
Jun suppressed a shudder. He wanted no comparison with that murderer.
“I was impressed enough,” Cobu went on, “to do some questioning into your background. You see, I’ve been aware for some time that the Silent Flute Society was planning to use the Guardian’s Tournament as an opportunity to tear down the very institution of the Guardian. I found out, from having my agents ask around, that you traveled into Xicheng with the musician Blindman Chang, a known political radical and leader of the Silent Flute Society.”
Jun felt rage boiling in his head. “What have you done with Sifu Chang?”
“I suspected,” Cobu went on, without answering Jun’s question, “that you, too, were one of Chang’s accomplices, along with his daughter, but now I don’t think you are.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, you were too easy to find. I had my people ask questions in Cheon. They all told me the same unremarkable story. You live with your father, who is a performer at the opera house. You train at the Iron Core school. You have, as far as I can tell, no prior connection to the Silent Flute Society or any political involvement at all. Although I find it interesting that you came from the East at a young age.”
“My father and I were banished,” Jun said. “For practicing the martial arts.”
“Then you of all people can appreciate why the East needs to be opposed. They espouse poisonous values that, if unchecked, could spread like a cancer infecting our society. In the East, your strength would’ve been ground underfoot. The West, on the other hand, can use every good warrior available. That’s why, when the war comes, we will win. You have great potential, Little Dragon. It would be a shame to waste it.”
The general’s paternal regard made him once again seem like a kindhearted elder. “You wouldn’t have made it this far in the Guardian’s Tournament if you weren’t motivated by some deep and powerful drive. When I changed the rules of this year’s tournament, I intended to weed out the chaff, the candidates who didn’t have the ability or the will to give everything to win. You stayed, and here you are. So what drives you, Li Jun of Cheon?”
Jun didn’t answer.
“Some men fight for the honor of their family name or the reputation of their master. Some wish to promote and spread their martial style. Some fight for wealth, the admiration of women, or the prestige of being Guardian. And some, like Leopard, fight because they know nothing else.
“I believe,” Cobu said, “that you fight for yourself. You have no allegiance to a school or a style or a master. You’ve dreamed of winning the tournament and being Guardian your whole life. The status and fame. The luxury. The restoration of your exiled family pride.”
It was all damnably true, and the fact that General Cobu was speaking it aloud made Jun’s skin prickle hot and his insides squirm.
“But there’s no need to fight for that,” Cobu went on reasonably. “All the things that you would gain from being the Guardian, I can give to you—money, titles, women, an entire martial school in your name, power in the highest places.” Cobu smiled as if pleased by his own generosity. “When you fight this afternoon, put on a good show for the audience. Go out there and be the Little Dragon. And when the moment is right, drop your weapon and concede.”
Jun choked with incredulity. “Your man doesn’t have any qualms about killing someone after they’ve yielded, or at the least taking their limbs. He doesn’t seem inclined to make any exception for me.”
Cobu made a dismissive gesture with his fingers, as if flicking away an invisible fly. “Thus far, I’ve given him free rein to do as he wishes in the arena. But if I order him not to harm you after you’ve surrendered, he’ll obey me.”
Jun’s mind raced through the possibilities. He didn’t believe Cobu would spare his life. But that wasn’t the most important thing anyway. “Would you release Master Chang? And pardon his daughter?”
Cobu gave him a narrow-eyed look of pity. “You were as surprised as anyone this morning when the blind man’s daughter was behind that Ghostface mask. They didn’t tell you about their activities in the Silent Flute Society, did they? Yet you would stick your neck out for them?”
“They’re my friends.”
Cobu chuckled, as if Jun’s naivete was amusing. “Do you know why they brought you with them to Xicheng? The Silent Flute Society has been planning for some time to steal the Scroll of Heaven. They intended to do so here, at the Guardian’s Tournament. One way to accomplish their goal would be to have one of their agents win the tournament outright. That ridiculous Ghostface was their ploy. But there are other ways. If you were to win and become the Guardian, they would’ve stolen the Scroll of Heaven from under your nose.”
Jun shook his head adamantly, but Ren’s words came back to him. “You were our backup plan.” Chang and Ren had seen him as a means to an end. They’d had ulterior motives for supporting him all along, and he’d been oblivious. Everything Ren had said to him, when she promised she believed in him, when she encouraged him, when she gave him his martial name … had all that been deliberate manipulation because she intended to steal the Scroll from him if he became the Guardian?
No, that’s not true! She would never, he wanted to protest. But how could he say that when she’d deceived and shocked him already, including in the arena earlier today? Even after all their time together, how well did he really know her and Chang?
An increasingly familiar sense of bewildered hurt twisted through Jun’s insides.
“You know it’s true,” Cobu said relentlessly. “They befriended another Guardian candidate, a former schoolmate of yours, did they not? They were simply laying additional paths to the Scroll. They deceived you and used you and you still wish to take their side?” The general sighed pityingly, as if Jun were a dog licking the boot that kicked him. “Very well. Do as I ask, accept my offer, and I’ll have the flutist beheaded quickly and mercifully. The usual execution for a traitor is disembowelment. And so long as she renounces her activities in the Silent Flute Society, I will spare the woman. That is more than fair.”
He ought to agree. Doing so might be the only way to save Ren’s life. Even though she and Chang had concealed things from him, he couldn’t forget their kindnesses or ignore the fact that he cared about them. He would gladly give up the position of Guardian to prevent them from suffering the terrible fate that Cobu had in mind.
Jun felt sick to his stomach, but he faced Cobu squarely. “Thank you, General,” he said, “for bringing me here. You wouldn’t have done so unless you truly believed there was a chance that I could beat Leopard this afternoon. So now I’m sure it’s possible.”
Cobu’s expression hardened, the skin around his mouth and eyes pulling taut.
“You asked me why I fight,” Jun said. “What I want out of being the Guardian of the Scroll of Heaven. It’s not the money or the title, the fame or the women, or anything you could give me if I do as you say.”
Jun’s hands shook as he curled them into fists, but his voice remained steady. “Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve wanted to become the Guardian because the Guardian is the best warrior in the realm. The most skilled and also the most honorable and admired. That’s why he deserves to study Dragon’s wisdom. That won’t be true anymore if I stoop to taking your bribes. I came to the tournament to prove to myself and my father and the entire country, and maybe Dragon himself, what I’m capable of. To find out what it means to be the best I can be. That’s something you can never give me.”
Cobu didn’t reply. A storm cloud swept over his features, one that hinted at the terrible fury he was capable of unleashing. But the man merely crossed to the door and slid it open politely. Outside in the courtyard, the sedan chair and its bearers waited patiently to return Jun to the arena.
“I’m an old soldier, and I’ve seen many young men throw their lives away needlessly. I hoped not to have to see another,” General Cobu said with regret as cold as the merciless winter landscape in the painting on his wall. “Enjoy your last few hours, Li Jun of Cheon. I know Leopard is looking forward to meeting you again soon.”