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Over the two years he'd spent as king, Lie had presumed himself to be better than the one who ruled previously.
Now, following Wang Xiaoming, he couldn't help but think: I was wrong.
How could he call himself a good king, a fitting king, when his subjects lived like this? When he hadn't even known that this was what their lives looked like?
Objects taken away not because they were dangerous but because... what? What reason was there to take away paintings? Pens? Heirlooms that harbored neither magic nor ill intent?
He'd assumed his system was working. He'd assumed the issues brought to him really were the important, serious ones.
Now, seeing the lives of people within District 9, he knew: It had all been lies.
And the ban on using magic? He couldn't remember anyone suggesting it. Couldn't remember issuing such an order, but this wasn't done by the one who'd stolen his body. It couldn't be. Not when it seemed to have been in place for a while now.
Perhaps Wang Xiaoming was right. Violence didn't solve everything. He hated that the boy was right.
But violence was all he knew. He'd never been able to tap into mana and magics like other people- he'd assumed himself magic-blind. Without mana. Unable to cast even the simplest spell.
And then along came Wang Xiaoming, who tapped into the mana Lie did possess and proved that he did, in fact, possess mana... and so much of it, too!
The boy was... well. He'd said it himself. They shared a body, now. That made them brothers, in a way. Same blood and all that, even if it was only for a hundred days.
The boy was annoyingly right about how to go about... all of it, really. They did need to win over the people, if they wanted to win against that fake. They did need to keep a low profile, even if he hated it.
Lie hadn't had to keep low in so, so long. Maybe as a kid. Maybe before he'd decided to rebel against the former king.
Subtlety didn't work for him. It didn't come easy to him- punching people was so, so much easier than being diplomatic.
But Wang Xiaoming was right and he had to begrudgingly accept that.
The boy was annoying, couldn't cook to save his life and about as ruthless as Lie had been when he'd fought his way to the throne for the first time.
It both fascinated and chilled him.
Had this been what people saw? When he first started rising to power? A boy out for vengeance, hands stained in blood, the light from his eyes clouded over?
Wang Xiaoming's father had died due to the tyrant's rule. 'Forced labor' he'd called it. Lie hated the word. Slavery, is what it had truly been.
He hadn't voiced his opinions. It had felt pointless.
With a sigh, he trailed after the younger man. Wondered, idly, what would happen once he grew up. He was two years younger than him, from what he'd gathered.
They were so alike, and yet so different.
Both driven by vengeance, but:
Where Lie only knew violence, Wang Xiaoming also knew compassion.
Where Lie had had nothing to lose, Wang Xiaoming wanted to save the love of his life.
Where Lie had let himself be turned blind with misplaced trust, Wang Xiaoming saw the plight of those around him.
Between the two of them, he couldn't help but think that Wang Xiaoming might be the more honorable between the two of them.
Silently, he made a vow to himself: Even once his body was his again, he would not betray him. He would not let things go back to how they were.
Perhaps ruling together could fix what had fallen into disrepair.
For now, they had 97 days left.