Rising Phoenix

On that day only one true mark was left behind, his name written in the heavy snow and quietly covered by more and more layers, later trampled by numberless feet, erased so well that even if he ascended to immortality he would never find it.

A true secret never to be revealed.

Traceless as melted snow.

The basket sat empty, the twelve finely designed layers and their objects symbols of a journey.

He was saying: never forget, and here she stood alone in the wind stepped steppes.

Where had she hidden her heart?

He asked, but she could not answer. Perhaps it was hidden in a bloody hole by her mother’s grave, perhaps it lay in the coffin by Feng Hao’s unclosed eyes; it even might lie hidden in a lonely wood at the foot of a mountain in Dijing’s suburb, or perhaps it has long since fluttered away with the burnt joss paper[1] and was buried in the snow.

Clouds shifted above and moonlight shone through, tinting her room with a quiet red. She sat on the ground, leaning against the windowsill. She turned her head and looked out at the horizon; dawn rose and the moon gave way to the sun.

Eleven gifts and a letter, and the whole night slipped away.

She bent and picked up the objects scattered across the felt carpet, returning everything to the basket.

She could not help but smile — Ning Yi had tricked her again. Where was Feng Hao’s birthdate?

As the sun creeped up on the horizon and it fell on her face and lit up her cold, frosted smile, no longer soft and gentle.

Unseen by the world, she slowly buried her face into her arms and curled up into a ball. The world was too much.

She did not know.

In the hallway outside her room a young man slept on the rail, his hands behind his head, his colorful diamond eyes wide as he watched the moon pass above.

In the room beside hers, another man sat crosslegged, his palms pressed against their shared wall as if reaching out to comfort her.

The sky brightened and King’s Court woke, the restful night passing for all but three.

Dama Living Buddha had rushed over last night, for a manner of rushed. Living Buddha’s bones were weak with age and he had been carried over by Helian Zheng’s men.

The old man had tried to greet the king as soon as he arrived, but Helian Zheng had put off the meeting in fear that the journey had wearied the elder. Once the old man was resting in his room, he had forbidden anyone from disturbing him. Now as the dawn rose, Living Buddha woke and asked for Helian Zheng.

The Front Palace began coming to life and Feng Zhiwei opened her door, only to pause as she looked down at Helian Zheng.

The young king immediately jumped to his feet and offered his hand. “Come, let’s go see Dama Ala.”

He smiled warmly, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night.

Feng Zhiwei looked up at him and slowly grasped his hand.

As they walked over to the Front Palace they could spot an energetic Mudan Hua calling out orders to servants as they arranged seats for guests. Countless felt rugs had been brought out before the palace and over a hundred people were already sitting in their seats; the celebratory noise reached up into the heavens.

“Where did these people come from?”

“Your grandfathers and grandmothers and uncles and aunts on your father’s side, your uncles and aunts and my side, your brothers and sisters in law…” Mudan Hua gushed in a never-ending stream.

“Where did I get all these relatives.” Helian Zheng replied flatly. “From now on they’re all my subordinates, my people.”

“Jadran!” A man called out as he rolled up his sleeves. “Is that your Han woman? Heavens, she’s yellower than dirt!”

Laughter boomed all around them as the men in Helian Zheng’s family roared with mirth, powerful and powerless alike slapping their knees.

“She is your Queen!” Helian Zheng roared with fury, silencing the entire yard. “If you want to laugh, get the hell out!”

As he spoke, Chunyu Meng and his soldiers stepped up around the crowd, their weapon and armor clanging loud and crisp, their eyes colder than their gleaming blades.

The crowd stilled and anger grew on several faces.

“Jadran!” The same man called out. “Are you starting a fight in front of Dama Ala?”

Helian Zheng sneered, rolling up his sleeves and just beginning to step forward as a hand pulled him back.

“Jadran is a steppe man; he cannot fight before the Living Buddha.” Feng Zhiwei patted Helian Zheng’s shoulder as she stepped forward, smiling.

The nameless man snorted disdainfully, not even looking at her.

“But this Queen and her subordinates are Han, so we need not follow the same rules.” Feng Zhiwei continued, pulling her sleeves straight and nodding to Chunyu Meng.

Chunyu Meng stepped forward and kicked the man’s table, a wordless battle cry on his lips.

“Fight me if you have the balls!”

“Bah!” The man cried out in anger, shooting to his feat.

The two man began trading blows and Chunyu Meng’s great skill began to crus the Kung Fu-less steppe man. Very soon Chunyu Meng had the man on his back and was beating him down without resistance.

As the other men began stirring and muttering with anger, Feng Zhiwei’s calm voice cut across the courtyard: “You want a brawl? We’re waiting.”

A group brawl? She had three thousand guards and Chunyu Meng had already shown the disparity in skill. The others could do nothing but watch as their friend moaned in pain.

After the rather grievous beating, Chunyu Meng grabbed a handful of grass and dirt and stuffed it into the bleeding man’s mouth. “Are you blind? Is this yellow? Is it?”[2]

To the side, Mudan Hua was drooling as she watched Chunyu Meng manhandle the fool: “How come I never knew this boy was so strong and handsome? Just listen to him? Yellow? Yellow? Yellow!”

Feng Zhiwei glanced at the older woman… did she really need to get so excited just at the word yellow[3]?

“Can your eyes see? Now f*** off!” Chunyu Meng roared, lifting the man by his robes and tossing him almost a dozen meters and sending him crashing loudly to the ground.

The crowd watched in silence.

“Who is that man?” Feng Zhiwei asked quietly as she watched the man struggle to his feet.

“Kulcha’s eldest, Gadd.” Mudan Hua whispered into Feng Zhiwei’s ear. “He’s still refusing to surrender his twenty thousand men.”

“The King’s Army is different than the tribal armies.” Feng Zhiwei replied. “The Imperial Court has rewarded Hu Zhuo’s loyalty with an autonomous army and Yu Zhou City provides half the military grain every year. He refuses to submit? No problem. Chunyu Meng will deliver a letter to Yu Zhuo City’s Grain Official. The letter will inform the Grain Official of our stockpile of grain and our inability to hold more. He’ll hold on to half of the next grain shipment in Yu Zhou. Then… you know what to do.”

[1] Joss paper — “Joss paper, also known as incense papers, are papercrafts or sheets of paper made into burnt offerings common in Chinese ancestral worship” -wiki

[2] Lol this insult makes no sense.

[3] Yellow 黄 sometimes means salacious in modern Chinese. So FZW failed to understand.