Chapter Text
In the winter months of Li, when the nights crept into the day and the temperatures crept into the negatives, the people turned to worship.
Those in the highest echelons in the country, the named clans, all sent two things to the imperial palace: a representative, and a flame. There, before the ultimate seat of power, each clan would present their flame, and place it into a bonfire. As each clan presented, the light would grow, and in this way the Emperor would gather the strength of the nation beneath him, until the brilliance and heat would overwhelm even the darkest winter. The attendees would then mingle, cultivating future fires.
It was, in short, a glorified singles meetup.
Maomao preferred to avoid this sort of gathering, but the universe seemed to have other things in mind for her. Initially she had been strong-armed into attending it as a medical lady by Court Physician Li. The mix of open flames, ostentatious clothing, and oblivious nobles made this an event frequently earmarked by burn wounds. Maomao’s skill with treating burns was well known, putting her first in line. It was yet another problem that had arisen from the worst night of her life. She resolved to get payback on the man responsible in her own way.
But, after an exhausting day of boiling bandages and mending soldier’s wounds, she was not in the white uniform of the medical staff this evening. Instead she was bound by flowing green robes, embroidered with the patterns of flowers and vines. Along the belt there were a series of small protrusions where she had sewn in hot rocks to fight off the chill of the night. She wore her formal face today, bereft of freckles and softly blanketed with fine white powder. Her hair was held up by two sticks, one ornately carved silver and the other unadorned gold, each a token from the men looking to control her.
It was the irritating intermediary of those men, Lahan, who was in front of her now.
“Dear sister, they say the best part of a woman’s wardrobe is her smile,” he said.
“I’ll put one on when there’s something to smile about.”
It was her self-proclaimed brother that had roped her into representing the La clan at this gathering. He’d appeared at her dorm mere days before the event to personally ask her to join him. She had done her best to decline, but Lahan was a creature with a silver tongue. He knew how to convince people, be they a miserly client, a taciturn woman, or an ornery relative. By now he knew just how to press Maomao’s buttons, and with the skillful application of a few medicinal bribes, and the threat of evicting the two women currently holed up in the family household, he had gotten his way.
“I’m being serious,” he replied. “I need you to look like a lady tonight.”
“A pity we can’t get you to look like a man.”
Maomao had begrudgingly agreed to come, but she hadn’t agreed to be pleasant. She’d normally crush his foot instead of dignifying him with a response, but he had mastered the art of standing just outside of her reach when talking to her. His clothes were simple but expensive, and he was keen to avoid damaging them.
Maomao attended many imperial parties, both in her time as a court lady and as a servant to Gyokuyou, and she’d learned that they were terribly dull affairs. All she wanted was something pleasant to distract her. Some herbs growing in the garden, or maybe a sick noble she could diagnose and treat to pass the time. She certainly was in no mood to talk. Least of all with Lahan.
Ignoring the irritant's diatribe on her “numbers,” she watched as the next clan’s representatives approached the bonfire. They carried a heavy torch wrapped in cloth, stout and clean, burning brightly. To her surprise, she recognized them: Gaoshun and Taomei. They were a regal pair, Gaoshun in his military dress uniform and Taomei smartly adorned in formal robes. She’d masterfully coordinated her outfit around her husband's, complimenting him without overshadowing him. They appeared the perfect median: clearly high ranking, even among the named clans, but unambiguously below the imperial family. A fact made clear as they arrived before the flame, and the figure seated above it.
Illuminated by the lilting orange flames, the heavenly visage of the Imperial Brother seemed to be producing its own light, casting all around him in his intoxicating aura. His skin was smooth alabaster, chiseled by the fire’s shadows. In the witchy light of dusk, he looked every bit the celestial nymph he was rumored to be, an ethereal, supernatural beauty that stood above all, a being mere mortals could only hope to dance in the palm of. He smiled at the sight of his old attendant, and Maomao reflected on the futility of trying to even approach that beauty.
“Welcome, honored guest,” The Moon Prince spoke. “What is your name?”
“Ma Gaoshun, head of the Ma clan and attendant to the emperor.”
Gaoshun had to stand at his full height and tilt his head upwards, both to meet the eye of the Imperial Brother, and to avoid eye contact with his son Basen standing guard next to him. This type of event was the perfect occasion for the hotheaded youth. Everybody was on their best behavior tonight.
“What is your purpose?”
“Son of Heaven, my purpose is to serve,” replied Gaoshun, kneeling. The two were locked in ceremony, traditions on traditions, walking in grooves worn ankle-deep. They had no room to address each other, only to recite.
“What is your wish?”
“I wish to cast myself into the fire of Li, to see it grow, and in giving my light, gain it.”
“What is your offer?”
As he spoke, Gaoshun rose to his feet and presented the torch in his hand to the Moon Prince.
“I offer the sweat of my brow, the blood of my back, and the fire of my hearth.”
At this, Jinshi raised his right hand and bowed his head.
“I grant your wish, and take your offering. Join your fire to mine in Heaven.”
At his prompting, Gaoshun gingerly placed his torch in the fire. The oil that hadn’t been reached yet ignited, kicking up a shower of sparks and flame. The couple bowed, and went to mingle in the crowd of clans that had already presented.
“Will I need to remember all that?” Maomao asked Lahan.
“No,” he replied. “The Moon Prince’s part never changes, but every clan presents differently. The Ma clan is far more dictated by tradition than the rest of us, our presentation will be much more casual. Just follow my lead.”
Maomao nodded. She was comfortable in deferring to Lahan’s judgment when it came to navigating the gathering. Times like this were when he was in his element. He had been handling the La family’s obligations regarding this ceremony ever since he’d been adopted by the weirdo, and by all accounts had always performed the task admirably. He had only dragged Maomao along this year as a bargaining chip in a scheme she didn’t care to retain the details of.
“All you need to do,” he said, “is place this in the fire after I’m done answering.”
The flame that each family presented at this ceremony was different, reflecting on the specialty and role of the clan. The Ma family’s sacrifice had been a torch made of strong oak, symbolizing their strength and connection to the military. To represent the Kan family’s intellect and eye for detail, Lahan had commissioned the lantern. It was expensive, worth more money than Maomao would make in a year. Its price came not from ornate decorations, but from the precision with which it was crafted. Even her undiscerning eyes could see it was perfectly symmetrical, every piece machined to exacting specifications. Inside, as Lahan demonstrated, was a mechanism to pop the burning wick of the lantern out and into the bonfire. It must have been custom engineered specifically for this event.
A flicker in the corner of her eye and a powerful whiff of apples and cinnamon caught Maomao’s attention. Thinking the food might have been brought out early, she turned to look and instead found a woman surrounded by a small entourage of soldiers. She was tall, almost half a shaku taller than Maomao, with soot-black hair arranged in a crown of tight curls. Her skin appeared incredibly ruddy at first, but a closer look made Maomao realize that it was actually a reflective white, borrowing the tints of the flames around her instead of producing its own.
Her clothes were strange to Maomao’s eyes. They weren’t the layered, flowing robes she was used to seeing on consorts and courtesans. They were thin, form fitting, almost transparent. She seemed to only have two layers on, one a plain dress with red accents and the other almost a blanket, blood-orange, fringed with small bulbs of fabric. A thin belt of braided gold held the clothes to her body, accentuating her figure in a way Maomao found hard to look away from. She was liable to be scooped up as a consort to the emperor if she wasn’t careful.
To her utter shock, the gorgeous woman walked up to Lahan and kissed him on the cheek.
“ Salvē , Lahan,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“ Salvē ,” Lahan replied, grinning just a bit too much for Maomao’s taste.
“And who might this kitten be?” the woman asked, gesturing to her.
Lahan happily introduced Maomao as his honored sister, and before Maomao could voice her protest at that insult, or question how they knew each other, the woman leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“ Salvē , Maomao. My name is Hou’shen.”
“You don’t look like it,” Maomao replied, beet red.
At that the woman gave a warm, crackling laugh, her green eyes shining in the light.
“You’re right,” she said, “but Lahan here tells me the custom in this country is for guests to borrow a name that’s easier on the local tongue.”
She spoke Linese with a faint accent, rolling the first syllable of Lahan’s name around like a grape in her mouth. The smell of her incense overwhelmed the senses, and her immunity to such a public display of affection snatched away Maomao’s usual stoicism. She reminded her of how a certain clingy noble acted when not practicing his better judgment, and prayed this woman would not develop similar proclivities.
Before Maomao could say anything to regain control of the situation, Hou’shen reached down, brushed a stray hair out of Maomao’s face, and cupped her cheek as she stared deep into her eyes.
“Be wary,” she said, "your heart will be broken soon.”
Maomao reeled back at the contact and the portent, and the woman smiled again. A man clad in black tapped Hou’shen on the shoulder, and pointed to the bonfire.
“Well Lahan,” she said, “it was lovely meeting the two of you, but I must go. I’m up next.”
With a wink she disappeared into her entourage.
“Charming, isn’t she?” Lahan said with a wry smile. “What do you make of her?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” Maomao said.
“I’ll admit, part of why I brought you along was because I wanted to get your read on her. We met several years ago, during a business trip I undertook for my father.”
Lahan told Maomao what her home country was, but the name went in one ear and out the other. All she could remember was that it was west. Far, far west.
“When we met,” Lahan continued, “we were competing for a contract with a food distributor in the western capital. I know for a fact that my offer was better, for both our family and the distributor. But do you know what happened?”
“You lost?” Maomao asked. Lahan was a genius when it came to numbers, but sometimes he struggled to communicate the things he saw in them.
“Obviously. But do you know why?” he asked.
“I can’t imagine a world where Lahan’s negotiation was anything less than perfect,” Maomao replied, dripping with sarcasm.
“I lost, because she saw a vision from Heaven.”
Before Maomao could press him further, he smiled and held a finger to his lips.
“Quiet now,” he said. “She’s about to start.”
They both turned with rapt attention to the bonfire.
Ten years ago, Jinshi won his freedom from the emperor in a game of chess.
Ten years later, he was still trapped in that game.
The emperor should have been the one sitting in front of the fire that night. Though someone of Jinshi’s station hosting in his stead was not unheard of, the entire point of this ceremony was to reinforce the emperor’s position. Every word and action was a reminder of his stature, a constant drumming in the back of the crowds heads, saying “the food on your table, the roof over your head, the fire in your hearth, is because of this man. Obey him. Support him. Worship him.” There was no reason to give this to another man.
Unless, of course, that man was to become the emperor himself.
The emperor’s word was the word of Heaven, and Heaven wanted Jinshi to take the throne. Almost as badly as Jinshi didn’t. Forcing him to host the ceremony was a subtle move in the grand scheme of their game, but a dangerous one. Individuals could be moved by reason, but people were moved by spirit. Jinshi’s role as an intermediary between the material and the spiritual put him in a precarious position. So many already saw him as a celestial nymph, a thing above humanity. If that idea were to germinate in their minds until there was a crisis…
Still, it’s just as dangerous to refuse power as to accept it. It was especially hard to decline this responsibility when all that was really being asked of him was to sit in a comfortable chair, in front of a warm fire, on the coldest night of the year. Compared to the work his older brother usually foisted on him, this was practically a break.
So Jinshi found himself before the altar, watching as people offered all the power and riches of their clans to him. Each face was familiar, one that either served him directly or that he’d had the displeasure of trying to work with in the past. Each one watched his face, seeking insight into the divine realm he spoke for. It was tiring, keeping up this act, wearing this face. He wondered what they thought of him in that chair. Was he a demigod? Or a child in his brother’s clothes? Shying away from his thoughts, he turned inward, ignoring the familiar faces as they passed him by.
It was a new face, and the scent of cinnamon, that broke him out of his lull. A western face, round and softly featured, with green eyes framed by ink-black hair. Her clothes were neatly cut and arranged, a foreign style but one well-adapted to the ceremony. Jinshi thought he’d have to ask for her tailor when this was all done. She moved with an entourage twelve deep, consisting of military-trained men in black metal armor. Despite being dwarfed in size and number, it was her that commanded the attention of the room.
“Welcome, honored guest,” Jinshi said. “What is your name?”
“ Salvē , son of heaven,” the woman spoke. “I am the unsparked flame. I am the light that never fades. I am healer, leader, lover, friend. I am Vestia, Priestess of Reme. The voice of the Heavens. In your land and your tongue, I am Hou’shen, the Divine Flame.”
Her response was carefully inflected and modulated, as much ceremony as what jinshi’s call had been. Her voice projected magnificently across the palace, filling every ear. Nobody could ignore her. Her gravity drew every gaze, as if she were the star at the center of the Heavens. In an instant, she had gone from a stranger to the most important person in the room.
Jinshi didn’t know what to make of what she said. No matter the religion, in Li the imperial family held a monopoly on claims to the divine. Brazenly declaring herself to be at that level was dangerous. For her and for him. His instincts told him to have her taken away before either of them were drawn any further in the flame. But she was a guest in these lands, and a powerful one to boot. Trying to avoid a scene, he pressed on.
“What is your purpose?”
“My purpose is to guide the people to the will of the gods,” she replied. The bonfire danced before her, casting flickering shadows across her face, darkening her expression. She made a gesture with her hands, and the soldier around her began to move.
“Prince of the Moon, the Heavens have sent me here today with a terrible vision. I see disaster ahead, for both our nations. I see Blackened skies and empty fields. I see rotten bodies walking the streets. I see a mighty temple, cracked at the foundation, torn in two. All beneath an empty throne.”
As she spoke, her men moved, revealing a trolley they had been covering, which they hauled up next to the bonfire. From it they produced wood and stone, which they piled them up piece by piece a few dozen shaku to the right of the flames.
Jinshi was beginning to panic. With every log and stone they placed, he found a new connection between what she had said and what troubles awaited him. The blackened skies were the locusts swarms, back with a vengeance. The rotted bodies must have symbolized the pox Maomao had warned him about. The cracked temple was the tensions in the military boiling over into a civil war, the empty throne a symbol of a succession crisis.
He wanted to silence her, arrest her men, and send the lot of them away. But he was chained to the mast. He could see the gazes of the crowd, hear the murmurs as she spoke. They hung on her every word. Doing anything but reciting would be to admit her words held weight, and send these otherwise rational people into a frenzy. He pressed on.
“What is your wish?”
The woman nodded towards her men as they finished their pyre. By the end, they had even broken down the trolley itself for more wood. At her signal, they gathered the last of what they had brought, twelve large barrels filled with a clear liquid, and formed a circle around their creation.
“I wish to keep these things from coming to pass,” she said. “To make this a warning and not a prophecy. I wish to work together with you, and your nation, to save both our people. I wish to join our fires, and create a flame that will never be extinguished.”
As she spoke, the men lifted the heavy barrels over the pyre, and water poured out over the wood. They doused it until the wood could drink no more, until the liquid began overflowing onto the floor around the pyre. When they finished, they placed the barrels, some still heavy with liquid, around the fire and went back to their lady’s side, at least twenty shaku away from their creation.
Jinshi felt confused, but oddly relieved at this. They’d extinguished their fire before it even started. Though a foreigner couldn’t directly contribute to the bonfire of Li, they were allowed to participate in the ceremony, and were expected to present a flame of some sort, as a token of thanks for their stay. If she had nothing to offer, she’d lose the crowd, and this dangerous atmosphere would fade.
“What is your offer?” he said, daring her to respond.
The priestess smiled darkly.
“To cure the ills of our nations, to bring our people to prosperity, and to fulfill the will of Heaven. I’ve been shown but one way forward. Prince of the moon, let me be your Sun. I offer the flames of Reme to be added to the fires of Li. I offer my wisdom, my talents, my visions. I offer a union between our people, between man and woman, between Heaven and Earth. I offer myself, in marriage to you, Ka Zuigetsu.”
Shock rolled across the crowd. There were few who even knew that name, and only one who had the right to speak it. To do as she had done would be a death sentence for most people. Who was this woman, who could know things unknown, see things unseen? Jinshi grasped desperately for a flaw in her presentation he could exploit. He thought that she might have known the name but not its weight, that he could punish her for that transgression without drawing the crowd’s ire.
But she knew exactly what she had done. She relished the reaction of the mob, basked in the glow of the flames and outrage. Before Jinshi could reprimand her, she raised her right hand. As she did, smoke billowed out from below the wood.
“As for proof of my claims,” she said, “I offer you fire from heaven.”
The pyre ignited.
