CHAPTER FOUR
LESSONS
An uneasy sensation tickled the back of Jian’s brain the moment he opened his eyes. The water clock sitting in a small alcove on the opposite wall had run dry, and the King was already far along into his morning climb across the sky. A quick glance about the room told him that his training garb hadn’t been laid out. Nor were his attendants waiting to dress him. There was no scroll keeper with whom to review the morning’s lessons.
Most important, where was breakfast?
He reached over to the side of the bed and pulled the long green silk cord hanging from the ceiling. A soft gong rang overhead and echoed through bell ducts behind the ceiling. Jian waited until the sound drifted away and settled into a low hum. No one appeared at the servants’ door. Frowning, he sat up and pulled the orange, yellow, and red cords. Three more tones sounded in harmony, all with the same result. One of his favorite things to do as a child was to pull all twelve ropes for the full harmonization, which his attendants had not much appreciated. Within seconds, his entire room would be filled with people seeing to his needs. He would send them away and do it all over again.
But today, the symphony of gongs summoned none of his staff. When no one responded, especially to the red cord, which was supposed to be pulled only if his well-being was at risk, Jian reached for the knife hidden behind a latch in his headboard and rolled off the bed. If Riga and Horashi weren’t close by, then something was definitely wrong. Was it an attack? Had the Kati sent assassins to massacre his servants in the night? He waited and listened. The reverberation faded to stillness, and the Tower of Eternal Heroism was quiet, silent in a way it had never been before.
Jian kept his head down as he scampered to the window overlooking the rest of the Celestial Palace. The morning attendants had obviously not come: The drapes would have been opened, the morning bath drawn, and the aroma of the first course would be filling the room. Jian swept the drapes aside and looked out. His heart hammered in his chest. Everyone had disappeared. No guards in sight, no servants moving about, not even the many horses or dogs. It was as if every living soul had suddenly departed.
Something was very wrong. Jian dove under the window and somersaulted from cover to cover until he crossed to the other side of the room. He paused behind his heavy desk and then slid behind his sparring dummy. Still no sounds other than his quick, short breaths, for which he was ashamed.
“To show breath is to show weakness,” Hili had recited during his many long training sessions.
Jian crept out from behind the dummy and hurried into his weapons closet. He had been only six years old when the Katuia had sent their first assassin. An old woman hired on to the cleaning staff had tried to poison his undergarments. There had been many more attempts since, ranging from creepy invisible Kati who melded into the walls to deadly warriors who cut their way through half the garrison. Horashi had killed three assassins by himself over the years. Riga currently had a job because his predecessor had jumped in front of an arrow meant for Jian.
Regardless, these new assassins would find him more difficult prey. The weapons closet was a long narrow room. It was his favorite place in the tower, and housed every imaginable weapon, neatly organized on hooks and shelves from floor to ceiling: melee weapons, from bastard swords to long, broad axes decked out with intricate carvings on both blade and hilt, on racks; baskets of munitions—arrows, caltrops, throwing daggers—to the side; and on the opposite wall, an array of armors, here a heavy dueling full-plate suit, there a set of banded wood greaves for cavalry work and black cloth wraps for clandestine operations.
But if Jian was to be fighting off a small army of Katuia assassins, he must look the part of an epic hero of legend. His lips curled into a smile at the sight of gold and green glinting in the back corner.
When Jian emerged moments later, he had transformed into a glittering, shining tank. He admired himself at the mirror before stepping out of the armory. He was a beaming image of a glorious hero of legend, wearing green plate armor with an illustration of a Pixiu, a ferocious cat creature with long sharp fangs and brightly feathered wings, whose presence heralded the arrival of a powerful force. The gauntlets and greaves of this set of armor were shaped like sharpened furry paws, which Jian quite fancied.
On his person was strapped a veritable trove of incredibly valuable armaments, so that he appeared not unlike a porcupine of shining, glimmering death. On his left hip sat a golden straight sword, next to two glittering daggers. Across his back, a tear-away bandolier held his bone-carved staff, a diamond-etched spear, and an onyx-gem-wrapped bow with matching quiver. On his right hip hung a glass-etched chain whip. Jian had pondered bringing the horse-cutter as well, but the large sword with the extended handle was so heavy he nearly fell over as soon as he pulled it off the wall. He decided against bringing it and left it lying in the middle of the floor. What he was equipped with now should be more than enough against the savage enemy.
Jian left the armory feeling invincible and ready for battle, if it were not for the fact the helmet hugged his ears too tightly and its weight pulled his head backward. Sure, the onyx-wrapped bow pinched his hand on the draw, and the golden sword was not exactly the most balanced blade. But surely his martial skills, long practiced in the halls of the tower, would overcome any disadvantage from his gear.
He had everything he needed to take on an army of horde assassins while letting his foes know they were vanquished by the Champion of the Five Under Heaven. Sinsin would be proud. “Looking the part is as important as playing the part,” his master always said.
Ready to take on the world, Jian drew the saber in one hand and gripped the knife in the other as he crept across the room, doing his best to minimize the clanging noises made with every step. He stopped at the door and pushed it open a sliver. The hallway, like everywhere else in the palace, was empty. Neither of the two guards were there, but strangely, their bodies were not even lying around. No blood, no broken furniture. No signs of struggle whatsoever.
He reversed the grip on his knife and hugged the wall as he made his way down the winding staircase that wrapped around the outer wall of his tower. The main foyer was, perhaps unsurprisingly, abandoned too. Jian took no chances, leaping from cover to cover, rolling over a chair, and sliding behind a table. The sword and bow strapped to his back got tangled with his legs and his quiver kept tipping over and leaving a trail of arrows on the floor.
It took Jian twenty minutes to reach the front entrance of his tower. As soon as he stepped out onto the street, he jumped the railing and retreated into the alley, hiding in the small depression of a door reserved for servants. He took stock of his environment and continued on, scurrying from shadow to shadow.
In some ways, even with all the noise he was making, it was too quiet. Jian never realized how used he was to the pitter-patter sounds his retinue made until they were no longer there. He was now truly alone, and the silence felt alien and eerie. His skin crawled, and he fought a suffocating surge of panic. What would his masters do?
Master Pai’s lessons rang in his head: “When under attack, it is the hero’s responsibility to find and kill the enemy.”
At the time, Jian had thought it was very sound advice. He gritted his teeth and steeled his resolve as he painstakingly crept to the edge of the Heavenly Grounds. The Heart of the Tiandi Throne was the symbol of the prophecy and the old seat of the former Zhuun empire. If the enemy had come, they would be there.
He scanned the wide-open expanse of the Heavenly Grounds. Still no activity save for the occasional leaf dancing with the breeze. He would have to sprint across the grounds and up the Thousand Steps without cover to reach the throne room. Taking a deep breath, Jian burst from the shadow of the building out into the open, his feet churning as fast as he could move. He half expected to hear arrows whistling around him. The Katuia, if it was indeed those savages, were famed archers and would certainly be on the lookout. Fortunately, his masters had always praised his unnatural speed.
It was about the time he reached the steps that the weight from all his gear started slowing him down. Jian had fought in full armor before, but running with it was a new experience. The weight of the weapons didn’t help. He began shedding gear. First the staff a quarter of the way up the stairs, then the spear a hundred steps later. He lost the helm at around six hundred steps, and then the chain whip. By the time he reached the top, he was so exhausted, he fell to the ground and rolled onto his back, his arms and legs splayed out. If the Katuia were going to shoot him now, then fine.
After he caught his breath, Jian sat up and pulled the bow off his shoulder. The quiver had overturned halfway up the run. Still panting, he held out his hand. “Drink.” Then he remembered. “Oh.”
Jian stood up and scanned the rest of the palace. He should have seen someone, anyone, by now. There were no archer snipers, no assassins lurking in the shadows, nothing. Maybe this place actually was abandoned. Instead of going around through the servants’ door as he had originally planned, Jian just walked up to the front entrance. He was too tired to sneak around anymore. He pushed through the double doors and made it two steps when he saw the first living soul. In some ways he wished it had been an assassin.
Taishi, that hateful old woman, was sitting on the throne up on the dais, leaning on one arm casually while peering at him from behind a teacup. Jian gripped his saber and marched up to her. “It’s a capital offense to sit on the throne. Not even I am allowed. It’s a symbol that the States have no emperor. You can be hanged for this.”
She eyed him disdainfully. “It took you long enough to find your way here,” she remarked. “I was informed that you rose with the King.”
“My attendants did not wake me. They have all gone missing,” he replied. “What are you doing here? I ordered you gone from the palace.”
“Drinking tea. Waiting for you.” Taishi took a long, exaggerated sip. “I dismissed your attendants. In fact I’ve barred anyone from entering the palace until further notice.”
Jian blanched. “What about my masters? This morning is Master Wang’s session.”
“Especially those useless fools.” A small smirk betrayed the old woman. She was enjoying this. “Wang and a few others with any self-respect left the city this morning.”
“Well, call him back. I need him. I need all of my masters.”
“You need nothing of the sort. The only things fools can teach are foolish things.” She took another sip of her tea. “They were tasked to raise a leader of the Zhuun. Instead, they’ve given us a monkey to put on a show.”
It was a slap in the face. To say that his masters were a joke meant that Jian was the punch line. “You can’t talk to me like this,” he hollered. “I’m the Prophesied Hero of the—”
“That’s another thing I’m changing,” she cut him off. “No one is calling you a hero or champion anymore. No more special little swaddled star. You are nothing until you have accomplished something. Until then, you are only a spoiled boy playing at hero, walking around parroting the idiocy of lesser men.”
“Bring everyone back, all the attendants and my masters immediately,” he screamed. “That’s an order.”
She ticked off another finger. “No more giving orders until you’ve earned that right too. Authority is earned, not given. A strong leader is forged, not born. There will be no more groveling servants and scraping sycophants. No corrupt masters and lords fawning over you to seek advantage. You are a soldier and a student. And from this point on, my student. I am taking over your training. You are now my ward and responsibility. It is past time you begin walking the true path of a war arts master to reach your full potential. Now, come here.” She held out her opened palm with her half-empty cup resting on it. “Your first lesson is humility. Pour me more tea, boy. Dash of honey.”
Jian tried very hard at that moment to kill Taishi with his glare. “Pour it yourself, you hateful, crippled hag.” He swatted at the cup.
Taishi flexed her palm and bounced the porcelain teacup straight up into the air as his hand passed underneath. The cup rose up to his eye level and then fell, leaving a stream of tea following it back down. Not a drop was spilled. Jian tried again, but succeeded only in grabbing a handful of her sleeve. He yanked hard, causing the cup to slip from her palm. The top of her foot tapped it as it fell, and the cup bounced back up again. It landed on the top of her foot, and she then sent it leaping upward again, landing perfectly and completely unspilled back onto her palm. She held it out. “Refill. My. Tea.”
Jian turned his back to her. “I don’t need to put up with this.” He recognized a power struggle when he saw one. His masters waged continuous ones against one another. As the most important person in all of Zhuun, this was beneath him. The Enlightened States needed him more than he needed them. Jian stomped away, the sound of his heavy boots echoing around the cavernous ceiling of the throne room. “I’m going to instruct Palacelord Faaru to have you shot next time you step foot into the Celestial Palace.” He managed to make it five steps before he felt a light tap on the crown of his head, and then Taishi landed in front of him, the teacup still in her hand.
“The front gates are locked, and the walls are too tall to climb. I’ll offer one chance to escape me, however. If you can smash this cup, then I will unlock the gates, and you will never see me again. Otherwise, serve me tea and begin your training.”
“I hate you!”
Taishi shrugged.
This time Jian didn’t hold back, aiming a killing blow as he went at her with renewed fury. His heel missed rearranging her nose by inches. He followed up with the Ningzhu family switch kick, Sun family double thrust. The almighty Jang lunge. Taishi gave an exaggerated yawn as she avoided his blows, her arms and legs swaying away from his attacks like a feather blown about by the wind. He might as well have been batting air. Jian quickly wore down; missed strikes were often more draining than ones that found their marks. Then to his shock, she slapped him. Again. Hard this time.
Her open palm came flying toward his left cheek and past it, swiveling his head to the side and rattling his skull. A giant bell rang in his head as his knees gave out and he spun in a complete circle and crashed to the ground.
“Stop slapping me!” Jian probably should have taken a moment to collect himself, but in his fury he bounded to his feet right away. He did not see her palm until it connected with his right cheek. As he stumbled, she slapped his ear, breaking his equilibrium, and then slapped him once again in the solar plexus, causing the air to rush out of his lungs. A moment later, he was on the floor again, this time facedown.
Jian was a little slower to get up. A whimper escaped him. His head was still ringing and the world swaying when he wobbled onto his hands and knees. He came at her again: Sinsin sucker punch followed by the Wang sweep, and then the—no, he changed his mind and switched to the Hili hammer fist. It was all for naught.
“You move with the grace of a two-headed donkey when you don’t run a set routine.” Taishi calmly shifted out of range. His attacks were only just missing her. Jian extended farther, thinking the next blow would be the one to find its mark. He tried harder and harder until he found himself precariously off balance.
“You are also easily taunted into making mistakes.” She stuck her foot out and his legs disappeared from under him as the world flipped upside down. His head bounced off the gold and purple tiles once, twice, three times. A high-pitched whine escaped his lips.
Jian gnashed his teeth and picked himself up once more. He took a step forward and got slapped on the nose. He took two more swift shots to the forehead and neck before he finally penetrated the diminutive woman’s guard. Then, he wasn’t sure how she did it, but Taishi bumped him with her tiny hips and he went flying. None of his masters had ever hit him so hard before. Jian landed roughly sprawled on the marble floor. He forced himself to his knees.
“A good warrior knows when to submit,” she droned.
“A good warrior keeps his mouth shut.” Jian grabbed the half-empty pot of tea that had spilled onto the floor. He flung the contents at her.
“First thing we’ve agreed on,” she conceded as she parted the spray of liquid with a brush of her hand.
Their next exchange went as well as the last. Still, that did not cure Jian’s stubbornness. Five more times he picked himself up and went at her. Five more times she slapped him to the ground. Each subsequent time he rose more slowly than before.
After six more attempts, Jian lay on the floor, his body stinging and numb, but it was his ego that hurt most. Losing for the first time in his life yesterday could have been a fluke. Twice now in so many days shattered his will. He was supposed to be this invincible warrior, the savior of the Zhuun, the greatest hero since the dawn of the Enlightened States. Yet here he was, being easily manhandled and insulted by a miserable old woman who told him that he was not only a disappointment, but also a fraud.
Whatever little self-control he had left failed him then. Jian began to cry, shoulder-shaking sobs that racked his entire body. Nothing made sense anymore. The thought of being an absolute failure smacked him over and over. He had let everyone down. Jian brought his knees to his chest and turned away from Taishi, his face burning with shame.
“Heroes betray no emotion,” Wang had lectured the first time he had cried as a little boy.
“The true warrior steels his nerves,” Ningzhu had added.
“Heroes do not cry. Babies cry. Which are you?” Sinsin had practically yelled into his face.
The other masters had only stared at him in quiet disappointment and disdain every time his emotions got the better of him. Jian had learned to sniff quickly and wipe the tears away. Now it was too much to keep in. Jian didn’t know how long he stayed on the ground, bawling like a child.
A hand touched his shoulder. “You fought well, boy. Better than I gave your masters credit for.” Taishi knelt beside him. Jian tried to brush her away and cover his face. She touched his hand softly and lowered it. “There’s no shame in tears. Nor in defeat. Both can be great sources of strength.”
He sniffed and sat up to face her. “It doesn’t make me weak?”
A small smile, the first he had seen on her face, appeared. “There is nothing weak about being in tune with your emotions. There is great strength once you learn to harness it. I want you to care so deeply it brings tears to your eyes.”
Jian sat up and wiped at the wetness and snot running down his face. His body still ached, but he knew it would not last long. He was surprised by the old woman’s gentleness. Perhaps it was the light, but at that moment the old, hateful woman didn’t look hateful at all. There was almost a kind maternal aura to her, a warmth he had not noticed before. He sniffed. “Does that mean you’ll return my attendants?”
Taishi made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. She stood up. “Don’t be stupid. Now go clean yourself up and get some breakfast.”
“But I don’t know how to cook.”
“I guess you’ll starve then.”