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“I’m on your side now,” Yao Guang tells him, apropos of nothing.
Sunday is sitting by Dovebrook, listening to the water gurgle and twist as he bites into a crepe. He pauses mid-chew, glancing up to see the General already learning against the headrest of the bench.
“I’m sorry?”
“For the Phantasmoon Games of course,” says the General, as if that explains anything at all.
If you were to ask Sunday what he makes of General Yao Guang, his answer would most likely be diplomatic: ‘she’s a good politician’. The Wonweek in him comments on her appearance (pleasing to the eye, her posture sure and confident) but as it is, Sunday just views the General through narrowed eyes and many layers of defence.
After all, he’s a politician himself. Well… was.
“No need to be so tense!” the General quips, punching him on the shoulder. Out of the Xianzhou Generals, Dan Heng has mentioned that Yao Guang is one of the weakest physically, and yet her punch still packs a bite. Or maybe that’s because of Sunday’s own disposition. “You look like I’ve just declared war on the whole of Penacony.”
“Forgive me but… I was unaware we had struck an alliance.”
“Surprise,” Yao Guang grins. She rests her forearms on the wooden bench. The peacock feathers in her hair tickle his own headwings.
Sunday fights the urge to curl his wings away. Such an act would be considered as weakness, maybe even cowardice.
He knows Yao Guang is doing this to get a deliberate rise out of him. He won’t let her. But the thought of taking the bait, turning his head, letting loose the firm grip of diplomacy and snapping something that could be considered a banter or even worse, a tease… well, it isn’t exactly an unwelcoming one.
What has gotten into me? he groans inwardly, not for the first time.
Yao Guang acts like she hasn’t a clue what thoughts are ticking away in his mind. She hums and eyes his crepe. Those all-seeing eyes alight on the dessert with amusement.
“I didn’t take you for a sweet-lover,” she smirks. And then: “I figured since you aren’t a true Nameless, your alliance is still up for grabs. What better than a Xianzhou General on your side?”
The mouthful he’s eaten gets stuck in his throat, souring as it makes his way to his gut. It’s true – Sunday isn’t quite a member of the Astral Express crew yet. But that doesn’t mean his loyalty to them is something fickle either, something Yao Guang either doesn’t understand, or refuses to.
“Denied,” he says, more harsh than he’s expecting. If it surprises Yao Guang, she doesn’t show it. The curve of her mouth grows just a little bit sharper, teeth glinting at the ends. A veiled threat, like everything with her is.
(The Wonweek in him is trying to bite off more than he can chew, is trying to show the General his hand and pretend like there’s no other option he’s been given. She already knows about his spiralling powers. He already knows about her tendency to teleport at inopportune times. They stash information away, two leaders bred for diplomacy, and it’s the closest he’s felt to his old position of Oak leader head since he left Penacony for good.
He’s unsure whether that’s a welcome thing or not.)
“Awh, rejected so soon? We’ve already struck up a good alliance though, don’t you think? I’m just putting a name to this partnership, Sunday.”
Is that what this is? Partnership? His mind casts back to when she shared the details of the Fuque’s war with him. A bird had manifested on her shoulder then, with wings so dark blue they became black in the shadows, as inky and sure as the roiling sea. The same colour as the feathers on her outfit, the Wonweek within had noted with pride. Or perhaps that was Sunday too.
Regardless, when he’d peered into her mind with tuning, he was entirely unprepared for the ease from her side. A General like her should surely have better mental blocks, an entire fortress of barriers, no? But instead he’d seen her heart laid bare before him: see what I see, it said, and it was all he could do not to abandon decorum and search through that calculating mind of hers for visions of the past, the present, the future. He wants to know if the Express crew will be safe.
Family, his minds supplies, and it takes all ounce of restraint not to suddenly become bashful and cover his rising blush with his headwings.
“We are simply… working towards a shared goal. I am grateful for the gift you’ve given me Lady Yao Guang, but please forgive me for maintaining a careful distance. I still do not know where your loyalties lie.”
“Come now Mr. Sunday,” says the General with that familiar lilting tease to her voice. “I have already told you everything about me. I want to score a victory against the Aeons. Isn’t that perfectly aligned to your own wishes too?”
“I do not need an Aeon to build a utopia,” he quips, but even he knows how hypocritical that sounds, coming from him. Yao Guang laughs and comes over to sit beside him on the bench.
“Will you permit me to be honest?” she asks.
“I would hope,” Sunday mutters, “that that’s what you have been doing all this time.”
Another laugh earned. The feathers on Sunday’s headwings twitch, once, twice. He’s pleased. He doesn’t know what that means.
“I admire your attempt to find a paradise,” Yao Guang tells him. “Imagine a place where signs of weal upon weal extend, stretching across to the horizon. Not a single day of pain divined in anyone’s future.”
Sunday sees it then – the same pain of a thousand mirrored in her gaze. As a General of her people, she has undoubtedly been subject to the woes of the Yuque, in more ways than one. In a way, it’s similar to his time in that claustrophobic confessional booth as he watched the dust mites float lazily in the air. How many worries was he subject to? How many times did he wish for a haven?
They may not be two birds of the same feather, but they certainly fly in the same flock.
“I want to know whether a place like that truly exists,” says Sunday.
“As do I,” Yao Guang replies. “If you won the Phantasmoon Games, is that what you’d wish for?”
Sunday pauses. Becoming Aha for a minute and crafting a utopia, is that not exactly what he’d tried to do back on Penacony? An Aeonic power is not something to be taken lightly. He knows that more than anyone.
And yet… if he could use that moment to fulfill his wish…
“You’ve got a good chance at winning this thing, Sunday,” Yao Guang smiles. “Let us stop this catastrophe.”
“Why me?” he asks again. “You could have picked Dan Heng, or Miss Tingyun, or anyone really – it wouldn’t have been hard for someone of your status. And yet–”
“I told you before,” says Yao Guang. She grabs the unfinished crepe from his hand and boldly takes a bite from it – his wings flap helplessly at her forwardness. The General is certainly a character. “I saw how much you wanted the mask. I only served to fulfill your wish.”
“No other reason? Truly?”
There’s a winning glint in her eye that enthralls him more than he cares to admit. “Want to use your tuning and find out?”
Well… if she’s offered…
He hesitates for only a second, and then reaches out a hand, extending his reach. His halo glows a burnt golden as the eyes snap into place.
But the eddies and flows of the many voices in Planarcadia are overwhelming, and for the first time, Sunday struggles to latch onto the General’s mind. Yao Guang seems to notice this (she seems to notice everything about him) for she reaches up her own hand…
…and intertwines her fingers with his.
The connection strengthens like a taut string of thread between them. Sunday takes care not to dive straight into Yao Guang’s personal mindscape, though it would be very easy for him to do so, subverting her thoughts entirely and heading straight for the one thing she wants him to see.
Tuning is a complicated thing. It allows for thoughts to be read, signals to be transmitted and most importantly, for memories to be shared. That’s what Sunday looks for now. The memory Yao Guang wants him to see.
(The conservative part of him is a little embarrassed – sifting through memories can be a deeply personal thing. Yao Guang doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, but Sunday is hyper aware of their linked fingers and the connection that spins and tightens around them both. He’s tempted to cover his face with his wings to hide the rising blush.)
“Found it?” Yao Guang asks.
“...I have.”
The memory is an older one.
(“The Oak Family?” Yao Guang says.
She sits at a table where a half-discarded game of cards lies strewn across the surface. Sunday recognises two of the figures from Dan Heng’s retellings – The ‘Sleeping General’, Jing Yuan and the ‘Merlin’s Claw’, Feixiao.
One of Yao Guang’s manicured fingers lazily shuffles through her deck. Sunday doesn’t know the game they’re playing, but a warm feeling of weal spreads through the memory. She must be winning.
“Mr. Sunday,” Jing Yuan elaborates. “According to the IPC, he’s been labelled as a wanted criminal.”
In the present, Sunday feels a jolt of apprehension spike through him. Why had Yao Guang chosen to show him this memory? Surely she isn’t planning on turning him in?
“Really?” General Feixiao laughs. She’s lounging in her chair, barely focused on the game before her. It must be hot, for she’s fanning a couple of loose documents before her face. “What did he do?”
“You won’t believe it,” Jing Yuan smiles.
“Give me three guesses,” Feixiao grins.
Without waiting for an answer, she ploughs on, lifting one finger. “Stole money from the IPCs accounts.”
“I’m glad to see the Xianzhou Generals think so highly of me,” Sunday mutters under his breath. Outside the tuning mindscape, Yao Guang’s laughter rings loudly in the air.
“Wrong.”
“Hm. Killed an executive IPC member.”
“Not enough to warrant a bounty unless they’re a Stoneheart,” Yao Guang muses. “And if it was one of them, we’d have seen it on the news.”
“You never know. The IPC likes to keep things hush, hush. Much like the Yuque in that regard.”
Yao Guang only smiles politely.
“That’s also wrong,” Jing Yuan replies.
“Aw, really? Jing Yuan, give me a hint.”
“You need to think bigger.”
“Much bigger,” Sunday says.
“How big?? Stellaron level?”
“You’re not far off,” Jing Yuan replies.
“Aeonic?” Yao Guang guesses.
Another winning feeling spreads through the memory, in perfect sync to Jing Yuan’s growing smile. The emotion is quickly replaced with shock and then disbelief.
“What the hell did he do?” Feixiao gasps.
“According to the Nameless,” says Jing Yuan. He sets down his hand, and both Generals groan – he’s won the game without even trying. “Mr. Sunday attempted to revive an old Aeon. And, of course, almost ascended to Aeonhood himself.”
General Feixiao’s jaw drops open, and Yao Guang’s disbelief only grows.
Replaced soon by something which feels unnervingly like… awe. In the real world, Sunday’s heart thumps against his ribcage.
“What in the universe happened in Penacony?” Feixiao says. “The affairs of Aeons are not something to be meddled with. We only have to think of the Reignbow Arbiter… the destruction wrought after the arrow befell the Third Abundance War…”
The gathering falls silent. A shared old pain ripples through everyone’s gaze. Yao Guang takes a breath.
“I for one think it’s admirable.”
Both gazes snap her way, and Sunday’s shock is so great it almost throws him out of the memory there and then.
“Trying to revive an Aeon??” General Feixiao says. “That’s just–!”
“No, no, doing such a thing is a fool’s errand,” Yao Guang amends. “Who would want to be an Aeon? What a miserable existence to be bound by a single law of nature.
“But the man… Sunday, his name was? He had the ambition, or perhaps it was the insanity, to challenge the might of the Aeons. He almost made Ena succumb to his will – by the stars, he might have even succeeded had it not been for the Nameless! That is the sort of madness I can get behind.”
“Careful Yao Guang,” Jing Yuan smiles. “A General applauding a criminal is not the best of looks.”
“Hah! You’re the one warning me?”
Yao Guang shuffles her hand and places it down on the table. She gets up from her chair, and the other two Generals follow suit.
“A war between Aeons is coming,” she says solemnly. “And for us to truly succeed, we cannot follow our old tactics like cowards. We must aim for something truly exceptional to earn a spot at the victor’s table.”
“Is that a prophecy?” Feixiao asks. “Have you seen something…?”
Yao Guang waves her hand dismissively.
“Think of it as my own personal advice. Mr. Sunday tried to create heaven, and while I think his motives were flawed, his bravery was commendable. We could learn from a man like that.”
Feixiao mutters something like ‘it’s often the insane that provide the best ideas’ and Jing Yuan laughs heartily as he packs the cards away.
Yao Guang steps back, and observes the weal signs hovering over both Generals. The forecast for today is pleasant.
“Mr Sunday…” she mutters. “What an interesting character. I would love to meet him someday.”)
The memory fizzles out, and Sunday returns to the present, his mind spinning. Yao Guang’s sharp-edged smile greets him. She’s finished off his crepe.
“So? What did you think?”
“You’ve done your research,” Sunday replies.
“But of course! I’ve done my research on all of you,” she laughs.
Sunday leans back, releasing their fingers and surveying the General with a new eye. While he regrets his actions back in Penacony… Yao Guang does have a point. Trying to revive Ena and ascend to aeonhood was pure insanity. It almost put him in the same league as the Aeons.
Is that not what Yao Guang is trying to do now? She’s playing these games with the long term goal in mind. She’s looking Aha in the eye and goading them to change her destiny.
“Perhaps… forming an alliance wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Sunday mutters, almost to himself.
Yao Guang slings her arm around the bench. “I knew you’d come around eventually.”
They lock eyes once more; Sunday quickly shifts his attention to the gurgling river, afraid of what he might find in her gaze. He’s unused to a tactician being so open. Is this another ploy of hers… or did Yao Guang choose to disclose this information purely to see his reaction?
“Hm,” Yao Guang hums. “This has felt like a very one-sided conversation.”
Sunday’s wings flutter, once, twice. The creamy light of the phantasmoon illuminates the General’s expression and he steals a glance. There’s a hint of apprehension there, though for the life of him Sunday cannot figure out why.
(And something else too. Something more than camaraderie. Wonweek dwells on that for a while, turns it over in his mind like he’s trying to uncover a precious secret.
The General was in awe of him. Did he meet her expectations? The guilt of his past actions wars with the pride he feels at being praised; everything with Yao Guang is like this – weal and woe, the flip of a blessing, two sides of the same coin.)
“I’ve talked enough,” says Yao Guang. “So tell me Mr. Sunday, excellent ex-diplomat of the Oak Family. What do you think of me?”
“You’re a very dangerous woman,” Sunday says instantly. “Even with tuning… I cannot discern your true intentions.”
A soft smile graces his face as he fully relinquishes his tuning. The bird on Yao Guang’s shoulder takes flight, stretches its inky blue wings, and disappears into the night air.
“Any Penaconian diplomat worth their salt would likely quake in their boots at the sight of you.”
“Are you afraid of me?” Yao Guang laughs.
“Alas, I am not a family head any longer,” Sunday quips. “So no.”
“A pity,” Yao Guang purrs. “I enjoy being intimidating.”
You still very much are, Sunday thinks, watching as the tassel flowing from her ear sways in the breeze. A part of him has missed this feeling – mind-games, readings, trying to learn the person before him and figure out whether she is friend or foe.
Well… Yao Guang is undoubtedly a friend. There was no malice when he used tuning on her.
“And what about Sunday: the Nameless?” Yao Guang asks. “What does he think of me?”
Sunday pauses, deliberating over the answer, his wings covering his face to hide the myriad of emotions that play through his mind.
“I trust you,” he tells her.
“...really?” He’s shocked her. He wonders how many people have spoken these words to the General’s face.
“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise,” Sunday smiles. “Innocent until proven guilty, no?”
“Is that the creed of the Nameless?” Yao Guang laughs. “A little foolish."
“They’re trusting to a fault,” Sunday says. “I’m learning to be too.”
“Then… I’d better keep that trust intact.”
“I’d like that very much.”
Both of them stop for a second, surveying the other through eyes trained to spot weakness. They both know truths the average person would balk at. A diviner and a tuner. A General and a criminal.
Mr. Sunday and Lady Yao Guang.
“Well then!” Yao Guang announces suddenly, shattering the strange atmosphere. Sunday takes a deep breath, schooling his expression once again.
She gets up. “That’s all I wanted to say. Our alliance is sealed then. For the rest of these Phantasmoon Games, I’ll be waiting to see what you do, Mr. Sunday.”
He gives her a polite nod. “If you need anything else from me, Lady Yao Guang, you need but ask.”
“That’s just like you!” she laughs, offering him a hand. He takes it without a second thought. “How about this then – when all of this is over and we’ve thwarted the plans of Destiny, have a card game with me. I’ve always wanted to play against a prestigious member of the Oak Family.”
Sunday frowns. “You know… I’m not an Oak head any longer.”
When Yao Guang smiles, it’s the most sincere he’s ever seen her to date. A warm feeling spreads inside Sunday like a ray of sun, fingers to wings, heart beating a rhythm against his ribcage.
“That’s even better,” she says. “Because I’ve wanted to play against a free man even more. A Nameless is ten times better than a politician, after all. Politicians cheat too much.”
Sunday shoots her a wry smile. “Aren’t you a politician?”
“Excuse you! I am a wonderful card player I’ll have you know.”
He laughs, as they walk beside the riverbank together. Tomorrow he will take part in the games, and he might be gazed upon by Aeons and his Destiny may remain tumultuous and uncertain, but at least he has the Astral Express crew… and now Yao Guang, on his side.
That provides him comfort.
I look forward to it, Sunday thinks, and he walks over to a familiar night stall to buy another two crepes.