Attendants rushed into the arena. Leopard’s body was matter-of-factly borne away on the same stretcher that had previously carried off his defeated opponents.
Doctor Lim approached Jun with two arena attendants in tow. By now he was used to the doctor’s impassive expression and was surprised to see it replaced with the reverential concern a midwife might have for a newborn prince. “Guardian Li, can you walk?”
Guardian Li.
The words penetrated his mind but were barely comprehensible.
Jun managed to get to his feet. As he raised his eyes, his mind gave a small pulse of surprise to see the many rows of spectators still there, some of them lowering the parasols and blankets they’d been holding over their heads against the rain, others, less prepared, with their hair and clothes soaked through, having endured the wet weather to see the outcome of the fight. Weakly, Jun raised a hand. The packed hillsides erupted with cheering, a cathartic outpouring of noise and movement that made him dizzy.
The roar of the crowd died down as a delighted clapping came from overhead. “Well done! Come forward!” Jun turned toward the pavilion. Emperor Tandu was standing on his cushioned chair, bouncing up and down on the balls of his slippered feet.
Shrugging off the support of the attendants, Jun walked toward the emperor. The rain had cleared, making way for a cloudless evening as the remaining glow of the sun spilled over the berm of the Island. At the foot of the low steps to the pavilion, Jun knelt and bowed low, touching his head to the ground. Every part of his body hurt.
Behind the boy stood all the black-robed court officials, their eyes on Jun. General Cobu seethed quietly, his glower dark and cold enough to summon winter. He looked as if he would like to leap down and kill Jun himself, but there was nothing he could do. Thousands of people, including the Red Scarves, had seen Cobu’s seemingly unstoppable fighter defeated.
“Warrior of the West, you’ve proven your courage, strength, and skill, surpassing all others,” Emperor Tandu declared, with as much rehearsed solemnity as could be expected from a ten-year-old. The barrel-chested herald rushed to repeat the emperor’s words to all those watching. “I name you, Li Jun, Guardian of the Scroll of Heaven, and entrust into your protection the sacred wisdom of Dragon, as recounted to his children and recorded by his consort, the Blessed Lady of Many Hands. May it guide us now and through all future generations.”
Jun walked onto the stage, every step an effort, residual adrenaline alone fueling his limbs. Yama met him at the top step. In his open hands, he presented the Scroll of Heaven in its ornate case, removed from the prominently guarded display stand Yama had set it upon during the opening ceremonies on the first day of the tournament.
“Guardian,” he said. Jun hadn’t heard Yama speak until now. The man had a soft voice, perhaps incongruous for a martial artist of his fame and ability, yet in keeping with his reputation as a reclusive warrior-scholar. “I pass unto you this sacred duty and honor, to keep until the day you in turn pass it on to your successor.”
Jun reached out to accept the Scroll. A dense roll of yellowed paper, as long as Jun’s forearm and as thick as a lamppost, it was larger and heavier than it had appeared from a distance. The parchment must have been many thousands of years old, but there was no sign of any damage on it whatsoever, no tears or stains, only the yellowing of age and the musty smell of an old book.
Yama held on to the object for an extra beat, leaning in and speaking so that only Jun could hear. “So, Chang managed to train up a second Guardian. You have my condolences.” A touch of bitter but amused sarcasm. “My advice? Don’t expect the Scroll to give you answers. There are no answers. Only more questions. Tell that to our master, if you ever see him again. In the meantime, just try to enjoy the job while you can.”
Before Jun could make any sense of the former Guardian’s words, Yama bade him to turn around, leaving Jun standing with the Scroll weighty in his hands. A sea of faces stared back at him, their expressions rapt and curious, but all of them strangers. No one he truly cared about was here at the cumulation of all he’d trained and nearly died for. His father, his mother and Sai, Master Song and the Iron Core students, Yin Yue, Ren, Sifu Chang—every single person who had helped him reach this point was missing. The victory was so unbearably lonely that Jun’s vision blurred with hot tears.
An ebony carriage trimmed in gold and pulled by two fine horses arrived in front of the pavilion. Jun didn’t realize it was meant for him until two Guardian disciples appeared to escort him down the steps. Jun spun back to Yama. “Wait,” he blurted, trying to string two coherent thoughts together, his emotions utterly frayed. This would be his only chance to talk to the previous Guardian, who traditionally left Xicheng once a successor was in place. “Do you know where Chang is being held? How do I get—”
Yama cut him off with a dismissive hand motion. “Wave to the people,” he instructed with a tight, enigmatic smile as the two attendants guided Jun to the carriage. Jun was swept away helplessly, borne along by a program of events that he didn’t seem to have any say in, buffeted by the swell of cheering that grew muffled as the carriage door closed behind him.
The ride out of Warrior’s Park and through the gates of the Thirty-Seventh Ward to the Guardian’s Residence passed in an exhausted haze. Inside the opulently cushioned carriage, the two manservants introduced themselves, but Jun immediately forgot their names. The sweat, rainwater, and blood had dried onto his skin and he began shivering. He held the Scroll on his lap, staring at it, dazed. It was encased in a bronze holder with two gemstone-studded caps on either end, connected by a pair of metal rods that were locked in place with a clasp. When Jun started to open the case, the nearest servant gasped and exclaimed with alarm, “Guardian Li, stop! You are permitted to open the Scroll only when alone or in the company of those you’ve personally granted permission to study its contents. Only the worthy may view Dragon’s words directly.”
Jun let his hands fall away from the Scroll, too tired to care. When the carriage reached his new home, he put one foot in front of the other, climbing ten wide steps up to an expansive mansion with thick black timbers and carved stone pillars illuminated by dozens of red lamps burning bright against the fast-encroaching dark. Twenty servants lined the walkway and bowed low as he passed through a courtyard larger than the one in the Golden Gate Inn.
A tall, thin-faced steward met Jun and brought him to the Scroll Hall in the center of his new house, where his first duty was to return the Scroll of Heaven to its usual resting place on an ornate ivory stand. When Jun stepped back, a reverent hush seemed to follow.
After that, there was a blur of people taking care of him. Kitchen staff brought out enough food and drink for a family of six; even famished, Jun couldn’t finish half the roast duck, the noodles with pea shoots, the steamed fish, the egg soup, the sesame cakes and wine. Afterward, he was undressed and bathed, his wounds cleaned and bandaged. Doctor Lim arrived to examine him. She hovered her hands over his torso, searching out injuries and manipulating Breath to encourage his body to heal, and then gave him medicines to drink that eased his discomfort but made him feel quite drugged. Jun was taken to a spacious bedroom where two women in flimsy silk dressing gowns led him to the most opulent bed he had ever seen and massaged his aching muscles in ways that would’ve been arousing if Jun hadn’t been so staggeringly weary that sleep sucked him under in seconds.