Sky Pride Vol. 4 Epilogue I

Censor Hanshen pressed his head to the cold tile floor. Each tile was made of Gotsu clay, transported by wagons and boats five hundred miles to the tile makers of Pei. There they were fired in kilns so hot, they couldn’t be opened for a week afterward. The tiles were glazed with crushed semi-precious stones, powdered metals and colored sands and refired. The final result was layers of red, gold and lapis, shimmering gently in the light. How the colors shifted through the course of the day, or with the movement of the oil lamps, was the subject of numerous poems, though none dared to try and paint them.

Censor Hanshen felt no shame, genuflecting and pressing his head to the floor. Why should he? It was his honor to be in the presence of the Son of Heaven, and his fortune to be able to make his report in person.

The man behind the beaded curtain gently lowered the memorial to the desk in front of him. Pageantry, the courtiers knew. He had read the memorial the night before, and quickly reviewed it before holding court today. It was his usual custom. The memorial reached him through an uncustomary path, but having the author delivered by immortals in a flying barge directly into the Forbidden City was reason enough to expedite the process. 

The emperor wasn’t a brilliant man, but he was caring and diligent within his capabilities. He wasn’t pedantic, given the circumstances. 

The Emperor was, Hanshen knew, also quite loyal to those who supported him in his youth. Loyalty was an admirable trait in most people. Most people weren’t the Emperor of a nation of a billion people, where immortals and devils mixed. Those early supporters were far from good people. His report would directly threaten those people. Not their interests, their lives. Censor Hanshen couldn’t help but wish the Emperor had a bit of his ancestor’s ruthlessness. He would feel much more confident of walking out of court alive if he did. A ruthless man might spare his family. A weak one never would.

“The heretical impeachment is not concerning in and of itself, but your memorial puts it in the context of prefects and magistrates abandoning their posts and fleeing for the capital. You also link it to the sudden decline in birth rates in places where massacres have occurred, crop failures and banditry. All based on your travels with two immortals from the Ancient Crane Monastery.”

“Reporting to the Lord of Ten Thousand Years, your slave had observed the trend in Bluestone County for more than a year, and has submitted memorials recording his observations. It was his travels with the immortals that confirmed his observations and provided new information.”

“‘Rebuke the sons of bitches buying salt and selling lives,” he said. You believe the salt trade may be somehow connected to the heretical rebels?”

Censor Hanshen felt sweat pop under his court robes. Of course the Emperor knew how salt came into the country. He wasn’t involved directly, but he profited from it. On the other hand, several of the top ministers and directors were directly involved in the salt trade, and the tax on merchants made up a sizable portion of the national tax base.

“Reporting to His Majesty, the Immortals certainly do. Your slave lacks the wisdom to understand the complete truth.”

That got a silent snort from the whole court. Simply by mentioning it in his memorial, Censor Hanshen was slapping dozens of faces a mere sixth rank lower division official shouldn’t dare to even look at, let alone touch. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that he made the salt trade, and its infinite corruption, official business. So long as no one said anything, every eye was blind to it. Hanshen’s memorial wasn’t just a rebuke, it was slicing away everyone’s eyelids.

Silence settled over the hall. Broadsky Kingdom was a hot and humid country, but the Imperial Court was cold. Famously cold. “Imperial Yang must be cooled by good counsel, lest his anger burn the land to ash.” Not something said where Imperial ears could hear it, but every official knew the expression. Most agreed with the sentiment too. It made royal initiative so much easier to manage and direct to productive ends. A finger tipped with a long golden sheath tapped the little desk by his side.  

“They honored the Immortal Beseeching Token?”

“Reporting to the Emperor, they did.”

“What did they demand for their assistance? Your report makes no mention of it.”

“Reporting to the Emperor, they demanded, and I offered, nothing. It was clear from the moment I met them that there was nothing I could offer that they wanted. They traveled in a fishing boat they dredged from the bottom of the river and patched with green timber, rowing with their own hands from sunrise to sunset. Not because they lacked gold or other means, they simply enjoyed it.” The Censor let the image fix itself in the minds of the Court before continuing.

“Immortal Tian and Immortal Hong were as comfortable in unlined linen as heavenly silk, and would rather toast with water than wine. They found the actions of heretical cultivators and bandits intolerable, so they killed them with all the fuss of a gardener weeding. Since they were headed towards the Great Mountain anyway, they condescended to take your slave with them. They asked for no favors and demanded no promises. All they kept was the token.”

That did cause an audible stir, which triggered a secondary, silent one. The court rules were exceedingly strict. There would be punishments, official and otherwise, flying out after court closed today. Hanshen understood it perfectly, however. This wasn’t how the court worked. It wasn’t how anything worked. There was always an exchange, always a price, even if that price was ‘friendship,’ or ‘connections.’ 

Immortals capable of slaughtering bandit camps the army didn’t dare fight, hundreds of monsters and eight immortal assassins while poisoned by Tyrant’s Breath? A poison they just slept off? That kind of military power was never free and always came with strings. It had to. That kind of power moving by its own will was a comet- a heavenly omen of disaster and one that could strike anywhere, or everywhere.

The golden sheathed finger tapped twice more on the desk. “Summon the Grand Tutor and his assistant.”

Barely two minutes later, a scholar resplendent in his court robes and long white beard entered the court. At each appropriate point, he knelt and genuflected, stopping at the exact correct distance from the throne. The teen girl in blue and white robes accompanying him did not genuflect, but she stopped with the tutor at the appropriate point, and bowed. No one thought she was seeking death.

A cultivator at the peak of the Earthly Realm could slaughter the whole imperial palace, after all. Indeed, part of her role was to keep the children of the Imperial Family safe from cultivators. No one knew why the Immortals of the Great Mountain condescended to serve the Imperial Family that way, for all that the Imperial Family proclaimed it as proof of Heaven’s favor. The Immortals never bothered to explain either.

“Immortal Lin, are you familiar with Immortals Tian Zihao  and Hong Liren?” An official asked.

She nodded slightly. “I am.”

“Can their statements be relied on?”

“Brother Tian has an odd perspective on things sometimes, but he is exceedingly honest. Sister Hong is more measured in her words, but likewise despises dishonesty. If they reported something, it is quite likely true.” 

“Quite likely?”

Lin smiled thinly. “If three men reported to you that a tiger was loose in the hallway, would you believe them?”

The official rolled his eyes and did not deign to answer.

“Three men can make a tiger from empty air. It wouldn’t make you a liar if you passed on the report to another. You would simply be wrong. May I ask what has brought my sect siblings to the Court’s attention?”

The memorial was passed to her, Tian’s declaration subtly indicated. She glanced at it and nodded slightly.

“It seems he was quite upset with your censor. I have seen him show greater courtesy when beating someone like a dog in front of their entire sect. In neither circumstance, however, was he lying, nor was he mistaken.”

She neatly folded his hands in front of her. “In this specific case, I know the facts on which he bases that declaration. I endorse it word for word.” 

The throne room was pin-drop silent. Hanshen thought he could smell the fear. This would end in blood. It had to end in blood. But whose? How many heads had to tumble to appease the Immortals? Never mind the question of whether anyone’s actions were actually responsible for the calamities befalling the kingdom… 

“Before anyone makes any hasty declarations about the accuracy of his, or my, assessment, I would also add that Brother Tian’s father is the same generation as the current sect master of the Ancient Crane Monastery, and indeed, his father and the sect master share the same master. Sister Hong’s background isn’t quite so fierce, but both her grandmother and Martial Aunt are in the Heavenly Realm, and it is virtually certain that both of my sect siblings will ascend to that level within the next decade. My own background… is not less than the two of theirs. We personally, as well as numerous brothers and sisters, investigated the salt trade. This included performing audits of official records, interrogating border soldiers, seizing shipments of smuggled salt… essentially every step of the production chain from the selling of slaves within the kingdom to the smuggled salt, right through to when the money lands in the treasury or private accounts. We know whereof we speak.” She smiled thinly.

There was always noise in the Imperial Palace. The Forbidden City was a vast machine of people and architecture, constantly in motion. Mortals using mortal ingenuity to solve the myriad matters of the mortal world. That humming human machine was momentarily silenced by a single woman reminding them that there were mountains beyond mountains, and people above people. 

“Three men make a tiger. Three immortals make a crisis. Salt has gone from necessity to poison to our nation. What should be done, then?” The Emperor asked.

Immortal Lin clasped her hands and bowed slightly. “Merchants are useful up to a point, and not beyond that. When a calf grows too fat, it becomes unhealthy.” Looking directly at the throne, in a voice that froze the blood of the entire room, she declared “Slaughter the calf and feed your people. Use its leather for armor and its tendons for bowstrings. Combat the present crisis with the entirety of your might, sparing none, least of all those in the Capital. Such an action will garner much legitimacy and merit in the eyes of the people, the fatty morsel snatched from the tiger’s mouth by the dragon’s claw. While your blade sweeps outward, let your blade sweep inward as well. The civil service must be purged. Ruthlessly. And terminally. Many fat calves rot away within it, sickening the rest. No true healing is possible while the sources of sickness remain.”

This time the stir was considerably louder. Censor Henshen’s back was completely soaked, and he wondered if he was leaving a dent in the tiles with how hard his head was pressed to the ground.

“It is what the Ancient Crane Monastery is doing. Not without resistance, but it’s happening. The descendants of immortals are finding their ancestors' blades particularly cold.” Lin’s voice should have frozen the air. It nearly triggered a riot.

The hand of the Son of Heaven rose. “Enough.” There was enough strength in his voice to silence the room. 

“Censor Henshen, we have received your memorial. You have earned considerable merit. Your evaluation from the Ministry of Personnel will reflect this. You were a protege of the late Chancelor Wen. Did he transmit his full legacy to you?” 

Censor Hanshen didn’t have to look up to see the eyes of the court eunuchs narrowing as they glared at him. 

“My thanks to the Lord of Ten Thousand Years for his consideration. Chancellor Wen honored me with his complete teachings.”

The emperor knew, of course he knew! How else could one of his palace attendants, a one-time rising star, find himself banished to the edges of the empire as a mere sixth rank lower division bureaucrat if it wasn’t for palace politics? The legacy of Chancellor Wen wasn’t as simple as connections or a few books. It was power. Martial power, suitable for scholars and those who would never leave a lineage of blood. How could others not envy it? How could they not scheme to acquire it by any means necessary? And the Eunuchs had never considered any methods beneath them. 

The Emperor snorted softly and opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off. A golden dragon smashed through the roof of the hall, five claws flashing on each paw, long whiskers flying. 

“AO!” 

The dragon’s cry shook every heart that heard it. Before any could understand what they were seeing, the dragon swam through the air, diving through the censor, ripping apart his robes and branding his flesh. Like a twisting river, the dragon turned through the air and wrapped around Immortal Lin before heading upwards again. The immortal was carried up into the heavens by the dragon, ripping a second hole in the roof.

There was panic in the throne room, only quelled by the order of the Emperor, and then by the harsh blows of his Throne Defending Guards. Their steel gauntlets were painted Imperial vermillion.

“Censor Hanshen, under the circumstances, This Throne will exempt you from punishment for breach of court decorum and wearing Our dragon.” The Emperor’s voice was commendably steady, even holding a trace of humor. “We will, however, burden you with a new task.”

“Your slave is ready to receive the order, and obey!” His back was burning, freezing in the hall air and burning. Something was branded on him. A dragon? How?

The Emperor looked down on the Eunuch, noting the muscular back that had been hidden under a scholar’s robes. Vividly remembering the stories passed down through the Imperial Family of the cruelty and ruthlessness of the eunuchs when they managed to hold power. It was always whispered well away from eavesdropping servants, and came with repeated warnings about grasping a blade with two edges and a very, very short handle. 

Until now, it was a blade he had been content to leave in its sheath. 

“You will bear Our token and go forth from this place. Purge Our civil service. All who you require are at your disposal. My Brocade Guard shall assist you. For all those below the rank of Vice-Director, I give you permission to execute first and report after. Better a hundred innocents should die than a single sinner escapes judgement. However, you must be meticulous! Your actions will be scrutinized by this Throne personally! All seized sums and properties must be carefully accounted for and submitted to the treasury. As you do so, you will provide names and charges to Our Guard. The merchants shall be directly taken in by Us, as will their wealth. The Military is not to be touched, brush and blade shall not cross. Fear this command, and tremblingly obey!”

There was a gasp of horror. Such an order hadn’t been given since the evil days of Empress Zhu. And to a mere Sixth Rank lower division censor? Ministers stood, ready to protest. The Chief Censor stared them down, a slight smile on his face. He, too, had been a disciple of Chancellor Wen. That fact hadn’t been very important, until just now. After all, he couldn't receive the true legacy. He merely inherited the money, treasures, education, training and patronage network. At their level, who hadn’t inherited such an estate?

“Your slave obeys!”

The Son of Heaven stood from his throne, looking out through the roof of the palace at the sudden twisting chaos of the stars. He wasn’t a particularly intelligent man, nor was he as ruthless as his ancestors. He knew where his duty lay, however, and he knew his own weakness. He couldn’t bear to be merciless to those who had paved his steps to the throne. But that was alright. He had people for that kind of thing. 

Imperial eyes glanced at the genuflecting censor, once more admiring the strong muscles corded across his servant’s pale back, bearing the burning gold of an imperial dragon. It suited him, the Emperor decided. The Censorate had always been the emperor’s blade within the Civil Service. One he had hesitated to swing before. Now?

“The Heavens are rent asunder, chaos descends on the land. We have squandered our fortune and dissipated our merits. So be it. We shall descend into Hell, and resolve our sins. Then, when we are unburdened, we shall rise again. To that end, we need our own Judge Yan. We command it- Show Us the benevolence and righteousness of the King of Hell.”