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The bass is pounding through the wall, the beat heavy and intense even here in the club’s back room. It’s right behind the stage and the sound transfers through the concrete like it was rice paper, throbbing in her bones.
Eiko likes that. No. She loves it. Loves the way she can feel the music, let the rhythm carry her, lift her higher and bring her down again. It envelops her like a duvet, muffling her ears and humming in her molars. Nothing else makes her feel like this, encompassed by the thrill of the music.
Her set just finished and she’s gulping down a bottle of water, hot and sweaty, her shirt stuck to her back and her hair damp under her hat. She’s longing for a shower but Kongming and the Owner are still out on the floor, gathering intelligence as Kongming had said which makes him sound like some sort of military spy when in fact he’s a part-time bartender partying in a Shibuya basement club.
She’ll join them in a few, when she’s had time to rehydrate and cool off. Her legs are shaky from the exertion of her act, the set high-powered and one of the longest she’s done. The back room, a combination of a green room, change room, and meeting room, has just a card table and a couple of cheap folding chairs, along with a basket of water bottles and electrolyte drinks that Kongming brought with him. The lighting’s dim, flickering fluorescents that seem to throb in time to the beat. Club Phoenix usually hosts DJs rather than live music, although they’re known for drawing large crowds and featuring full-length sets when they do decide to host singers. How Kongming wrangled her act, she still doesn’t know.
Kongming’s mysterious like that. He wouldn’t agree, of course. He would say that his actions – the actions of the tactician Zhuge Liang, courtesy name Kongming – are straightforward applications of strategy. Simple arm-chair exercises for the former Shu Han tactician.
As if.
Whoever Kongming is, he’s obviously a bright guy. And he’s charming – a little too charming, a little too obsequious. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, his cosplay costume and old-fashioned way of speaking and his over-the-top politeness. He never breaks character, and Eiko can’t help but feel that whatever life he’s left behind, this act of polite supplication helps him overcome the insecurities in his past. Whatever those look like.
It's not like she’s one to judge. She’s one big bundle of insecurities. Kongming has been helping her with them, and she’s working on it, but she’s still petrified by the magnitude of the task ahead of her: to prepare for the Summer Sonia festival.
“Ahh, I can’t believe I’m worrying about Kongming!” she leans back in her chair and stretches her arms over her head. She’s shed her coat, in just her light tank top and jean shorts now, and finally starting to cool down. Her arms shake as she relaxes her muscles; maybe she should start doing some strength training?
There’s a knock on the door and she gets up, tossing the empty bottle onto the table. It must be Kongming and the Owner, back from their recon. “I’m coming!”
She pulls open the door and in the badly-lit concrete hall sees not her team but a young guy she doesn’t know. He’s tall and a little heavy, wearing a bright yellow pleather jacket and a mesh shirt. As soon as he spots her, he grins. “EIKO, right?”
“Hi? Um, yes – nice to meet you!” Is this a fan? This must be a fan! Someone coming to meet her. She bows slightly, hair tumbling forward over her shoulders. “Thank you for coming to the show!”
Without asking he steps in, and she instinctively steps back, conscious of his size as he towers over her. Kongming is really tall, too, but somehow he never seems to loom. His presence is soft, calm. This guy makes her very conscious of his size, makes her want to get out of his shadow. The door closes behind him and something in the weight of its thump causes her chest to tighten.
“I saw you at the Club WAAARP event – you ploughed Mia into the ground. Your dancing is totally hot,” he says, his eyes raking over her body. She suddenly wishes she hadn’t taken her coat off, conscious of her bare shoulders and midriff. “You’re totally hot.”
“Ahaha, thanks.” She smiles, pulling her hair back over her shoulder, arms over her chest. “I really appreciate your support. Thanks for coming out again.”
“Y’know, singers like Mia, they’ve been around the block. They’re practically hags – and they’ve gone through dozens of guys. Dirty bitches. You – you’re different. I can tell.”
She swallows; as he takes another step forward she backs up again and reaches for her phone. It’s not in her pocket. She looks across the room and sees it in the folds of her discarded jacket. “Mia-san was really kind to me,” she says, nervously. “She arranged for my set at WAAARP.”
He looks down at her, his grin wide, his sweaty face too pleased. “That’s really sweet. You’re so good – innocent. Not like the other whores on the circuit.”
“Um, I think I have to go now, but thanks for coming by, and –” she tries to duck around his side, heading for the door.
He grabs her shoulder, hard. Terror floods her body, her vision narrowing. The EDM is pounding in her brain, the distant bass beat fast and furious.
“Let go – please –”
He shoves her up against the wall, ripping her hat off her head and tossing it away. “Yeah – I thought you were pretty. Real pretty. Why don’t’cha show me just how nice you can be to me?” He grabs her chin, his hand huge, crushing against her throat and dragging her head up.
“No – stop!”
He leans in to kiss her and she slaps him in the face, pushing at his hand.
“Bitch!” In an instant the excitement in his face is replaced by anger. He backhands her across the face and her head snaps back into the wall, stars bursting in her vision. She kicks and shoves, lashing out desperately as he rips her shirt. “You wanna do this the hard way, we can do it the hard way. I’m gonna have you before anyone else.”
Tears are flooding her eyes, her breath burning in her lungs as she struggles away from his crushing hands, from the heat of his breath. She screams and he shakes her – she screams again. The bass is still pounding away, even, unconcerned. Her heartbeat is now outpacing it.
A moment later something white flickers in her vision, like a crane passing across the moon. The hands on her disappear and she watches, stunned, as her attacker is spun through the air in a tight circle and flung face-first into the wall. Kongming is behind him, holding his arm twisted high behind his back, his grip tight on the man’s wrist. She backs into the corner, arms wrapped close over her exposed chest, body shaking.
Kongming’s face is strange. Cold. Entirely unlike the gentle appreciation she’s so used to.
“Things have come so far in this modern world, and yet even here there are still people like you,” he says, his voice icy. Against the wall the man struggles briefly. Kongming does something imperceptible and he stops, whimpering. “I have seen thousands die on the battlefield, corpses turning the earth to mud with their blood. I have ordered the deaths of those who served me, those who were dear to me. Tell me,” he says, leaning in close, “what fate should I choose for you?”
This man is a stranger. Someone she doesn’t know. Not silly, fussy, polite Kongming. His eyes are flinty and his voice cuts through the pulsing beat smooth as a sword. He stands out here in the club’s dingy back room like a man in a theatre of puppets. The intensity of his speech sends her sliding down to her knees, shivering. He turns to look at her. There’s no hunger in his eyes, no hint that he’s even noticed her torn clothes and naked skin. He looks at her and sees someone undiminished. Someone he respects.
“Eiko-san. Command me. Shall I take his life? His limbs? His reason?”
She shakes her head, speechless, scared. This Kongming is wrong, is terrifying. She doesn’t want someone who threatens others, who hurts others. “Please,” she whispers, huddled on the floor. “Don’t.”
“Compassion is a gift, but there are those who are not worthy of its virtue. Outrageous behaviour deserves punishment, or the morale of the people will falter.” His tone is glacial – ancient, brutal. He means exactly what he says, is willing to hurt this man, or worse.
Her fingers dig into her arms, hurting, but she can’t stop. “I don’t want you to hurt him,” she says, her voice weak. “You… I don’t want you to be like this.” She wants his reassurance, the safety of his soft presence. Not this.
He stares at her with his amber eyes, eyes that instead of holding a glow of warmth and appreciation, are hard. Eyes that look into her and measure every piece of her soul, adding up her value. She swallows, fingers twitching. “Kongming isn’t like this,” she says. “He’s quirky and polite and kind – really kind.”
Those eyes stare down at her from his great height, his strong hand holding the man against the wall without any apparent effort. “And that is what you want?”
She nods, bangs falling in her eyes.
He turns back to his captive. In one movement he’s hauled him over to the door and opened it. “Get out,” he says, and shoves him. Whimpering, the man in the yellow jacket scrambles away. The door closes behind him.
Eiko looks down at her feet, drawing her knees up close to her chest. She’s shivering, her teeth chattering in her skull, blocking out the hum of the bass.
A moment later, a soft whiteness in enveloping her. Kongming’s outer robe, spread around her narrow shoulders. It blankets her like snow, but it’s still warm with the heat of his body, with his soft smell – herbs and honey and laundry soap. She pulls it closer around her, trying to disappear into its folds.
Soft as a feather falling, Kongming takes a seat beside her. He’s silent but there’s no urgency to his quietness, no impression of impatience. When her friends and colleagues are all in constant motion, their phones never out of their hands, he is content simply to sit unmoving in silence.
In the distance the bass fades, the club winding down for the night. Owner’s probably having drinks with the manager somewhere, while the patrons stream out into the frigid night air. The silence is heavy, thick as fog.
“Kongming?”
“Yes?”
“You know that violence is wrong, right? I mean, really wrong. And also it’s illegal.”
He tilts his head to the side, considering. “I admit I have not had time to familiarize myself with modern principles regarding lawful behaviour and punishment. Certainly, the state’s laws must be respected. But so too must its citizens be respected. Surely you aren’t telling me that it’s acceptable for a man to lay hands on a woman in violence?”
She shakes her head. “Mm-mn. It isn’t. But if you use violence in return, you’re just the same.”
“That… is not a tenet I accept, Eiko-san. Retribution is necessary, when earned.”
“Here we have justice, Kongming. And it’s the courts that are in charge of it, not us. You don’t have the right to decide how to punish people.”
He looks down at his feathered fan. “Perhaps that is true. I am no longer appointed Chancellor. My word is not law. While the realities of this modern age are difficult to escape, I do sometimes struggle to remember my position here is without authority. It has been a long, long time since I was without command.”
She wraps his robe over her knees, hiding herself completely in it. Here, she feels safe. Her shivering is starting to lessen. “Kongming… about that… and what you said, to him. About being on the battlefield, and everything. You know… you do know that you’re not really…?” she looks up at him, at his sharp features and the smooth lines of his headdress and those eyes that moments ago had been hard as ice, hard as flint, hard as anything that doesn’t bend but shatters into shards and cuts. Eyes unlike any she’s seen here in Tokyo even on the meanest angriest drunks that Owner had to ban from the premises. Not that Kongming had been angry. He’d been… without pity, without remorse. Utterly familiar with violence and cruelty on a large scale.
“Kongming…?”
His smile now is slight – not his usual polite effusion, but something quieter. “Eiko-san is a talented songstress, a woman who can perhaps bring peace and cohesiveness to the world through her music. For such a mistress, I would be whatever was required of me. In the past I have been strategist and bargainer, power broker and dynasty ender. Judge, jury, and executioner. You have asked me to be your manager, to propel you to success. Is that truly all you wish of me? I can be more, if that is your desire. I can bring you more than Pinsta likes.” He watches her with his head tilted to the side, considering.
Despite the fact that Kongming is patently a cosplay weirdo with an unhealthy obsession revolving around ancient Chinese history, the offer is somehow tempting. He presents it so neatly, so plausibly: anything she wants on a glittering plate. As though all that really were in his power to offer. Which is crazy. Totally bonkers.
Except… except she, a girl who before Kongming came into her life had 200 followers and a 100% strike-out rate with bookings, has played to packed rooms and had a single arranged by a world-famous DJ and gained 100,000 likes and – shockingly – is now on the line-up to sing at Japan’s biggest music festival.
If Kongming did all that, what else could he do?
Did Kongming do all that? She looks up at him, her body still wrapped tight in his robe, small next to his broad shoulders and long legs. She realises that she thinks – she knows – that he did.
“I don’t like Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” she declares, suddenly. “Owner gets upset with me because I don’t want to spend all day blathering about this strategy or that battle. The truth is, I think it’s cruel. Everyone had such hard lives, full of war and pain and suffering and death. Kongming’s lord died and left him alone, the generals were all killed one by one, and the allies he made eventually became enemies. What’s to like about that? Shouldn’t we feel sorry for them? I do. If Kongming here were today,” she says, looking him in the eye, “I’d want him to realise that we don’t have to live like that anymore. We don’t have to be scheming and mercenary and cruel. We can be kind. Don’t you think?”
Kongming shifts, sitting to face her head-on. His expression is one of surprise, something she’s rarely seen on him. “I don’t consider myself hard done-by,” he says, slowly. “But I suppose, I can see your point. Certainly though, to choose compassion rather than something more tangible is unusual.”
“You asked what I wanted – not anyone else. Right?”
He inclines his head. “Right.”
“Well, there you go.” She gives him a watery smile. “Isn’t it okay?”
“If it’s what you want, then I could never object,” he says. Lowering his head, he bows with hands outstretched, no longer hidden by the immense sleeves of his outer robe. The perfect retainer, a model of restraint and submission. She wonders if she’ll see the other Kongming again, the one who chased away her attacker. She hopes not.
“Kongming?”
“Yes?”
She pulls one of her braids over her shoulder, fingers smoothing the thick, shiny locks. They’re nice and bright and clean – something she doesn’t feel right now. “Can we stay here? Just for a little longer?”
“Of course, Eiko-san. For as long as you like.”
“Thanks.”
END