{Chapter 2} The Bellows of War

Plop!

He jolted to a warm substance slapped to his cheek. Without reaching for the substance, his face darkened when the squawk grew silent in flight past him. 

A deep breath in and out, he shook his head as he lifted his finger towards the substance, but that was not likely, given his frozen hand above the white and brown splotch. "Oh, great. I'm not touching this right now. Nope. Nuh uh." 

Under his cheek breastplate, a long fabric followed Zihun's hand to which he tarried not a second to wipe his face. He grimaced and saw all the barrels of fresh water were nowhere to be found aboard the deck; if the bird had flown by a bit earlier, perhaps he would have a semblance of hygiene. 

No amount of grunting and grumbling under his breath made him feel a little better Still, he found his eyes closed to the howl of the sea breezes, salted ocean breeze against the mast of swift ships that rode the deep blue waters. Within the fog's nests, a tiny dot was a landmark of the map. Instead of the crackles of steel-to-steel and blood to sweat, the blue waves were thunders that hurled themselves, endless in a vicious attempt to topple the looming vessel of war. Sometimes, the waves had risen like a mountain around the meager ship, droplets from the ocean's claws in a splash against his body and face. 

Beneath a soft huff, fingers pried against the inner clothes under the armor where beads of sweat turned cold. He took a deep breath when the wind blew against his skin. Slightly creeping under the black plated armor, patterned with studded outlines and the image of a Roc on the breast, a rush of coolness hasted. 

Thick metal resounded in a brilliant gong, and the small dot had begun to take shape a color. He extended his hand, thumb stuck out upwards. In the distance where land rested upon emerald green mountains, the peaking sun began to set its light upon the land no longer what he remembered, not when there was nothing to feel the nostalgia. Ten years was too long to feel familiar, and many changes surely happened daily. 

His gloved thumb covered the faraway dot, like it was almost out his reach. Zihun stared onwards as still as a statue. To where the endless stretch of deep azure in boundless turbulence, he was a symbol of a war god: long brown hair rippled along the thick cloak over his shoulders, torched eyes in tempered battles, and strong masculine features of a sharp nose and jaw.

One hand held a bow, and the other wrapped in white bandages and a wristguard. Her gaze, a fierce regard of power, and her body built in a powerful warrior and leader spoke less and showed more to the people who knew her. She swung her hand to the side to direct a soldier who bowed and left at once. 

She turned her head to see the silent figure whose outstretched hand seemed to encompass the route of the vessel. With a curious tilt of her hand, she jogged to the man and put one arm around her abdomen and the other on her hand in direct respect. 

"Xiaowei Mao! Reporting, we will soon reach Yinghua harbor."

The man perked and turned to see the woman. He pulled his hand towards himself and nodded. "Mm, thank you, Xiaowei Gong."

He took into account her dark brown hair slicked into a neat bun and tied back with a silver hairpiece of intricate design, much like his own—one of the apparels of the Xiaoweis of Zhongguog. 

She nodded and trotted away. 

Shouts across the deck and ardent footsteps bombarded the ship, more sailors to emerge from behind the doors. The crewmates were quick on their feet and hands, one side with stocks and other to pack away ropes to be used later. Others found themselves inspecting the area.

His line of sight drifted to the left side of the ship where Lin and her four direct soldiers stood as straight as a pin, and he thought of his own back at the empire. Although there was little choice, given the direct order of the Tianzhi of Zhongguog who was explicit in dismissal to the requests. 

Zihun held his chin between his fingers. He was not a dull blade but even he was not sure about the reasons not to bring his own direct soldiers, although it proved unnecessary. His brows furrowed at the thought. 

The large bell rang again, reverberating through his ears and bones, and the great vermillion walls. For a second, Zihun gazed at the westside of the city, right behind the walls, and saw in his mind the estate with chrysanthemums and azaleas on pavilion grounds. He opened his mouth and closed it. 

"Xiaowei Mao," a rough voice called out. "We will dock in under ten minutes."

The first mate behind him waited for a response and Zihun simply stared forward. With no attention to pay to the sailor, she left with no words. A sigh escaped; he preferred this silence and only when he found necessary exchanges did he engage. 

Then, his eyes widened. He turned his head to fully face the sailor who spoke earlier and saw her holding a map in her hand, or maybe a report. He stared for a second longer and blurted, "First mate, I have a few questions."

She froze like a deer, eyes like a dart right back at him. Zihun didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that, only able to give a wry smile. He didn't blame her too much, given his position and apathy to conversations for the past month on boat. 

She averted her gaze. "What is it, Xiaowei?"

"Hmm…" he lowered his gaze. "What is the current economic status of Tianchao?"

She shook her head, eyes still hesitant to look into his. "I am not sure. I've heard after the start of the war, there were shortages of food and water after some reservoirs were sabotaged. I'm not sure, actually, but others say it is the rebellion army."

"Mm." He nodded, considering what she said. The rebellion army that formed fifty years ago, maybe even longer than that. After many were dissatisfied with the current emperor's rule, they began to join the side of the exiled prince. Although it was debatable whether the rebellion was the direct cause of the economic depression. 

"Then…how is the condition of the civilians during the war?" 

Just as she opened her mouth, she clasped it shut and snaked her arms around her torso. With furrowed eyebrows and a downcast gaze, she muttered, "I don't know, Xiaowei. I haven't been in Tianchao for five years, and the last time I was here…"

A glint to what can be called curiosity festered in his eyes. Interesting. "Anyway, what can you tell me about Tianchao?"

"Is Xiaowei curious about this nation?" 

"Of course I am."

She swallowed and tried to give a smile, a little tight by the corners. "Hmm" —she hummed— "I was working under the Big Belly Fisheries when I was there; I wasn't anything special or whatever, but after I got a job at at the Golden Warship I was blessed enough to get away from Tianchao before the economy became as bad as it is now. 

He tilted his head to the side. "And your family?" 

His gaze deepened at her pale face, as she took small steps back. Her fingers trembled against her body. 

"You can go now, First mate." 

He heard from others who visited Tianchao that many families were separated or executed out of suspicion for rebellion, and he could only wonder if that was what happened to the first mate, too. A careful glance at her retreating figure made him pity the lady.

Sailors shouted across the deck, running up and down. The harbor of the great nation of Tianchao loomed over the vessel of war. A few shadows roamed around the pier as the ship entered. Not a single person apart from the few were around, even the gates rusted and collected dust. From the moment the plank dropped to cross over to the pier, Zihun rushed down in wide strides, steel clanking with each step. Adorned in silver embroidery on the black shirt hems, a plated chest, and leather cuirass, his mere presence garnered more scrutiny than admiration. Lin followed close behind in similar apparel, the only difference being the spear and bow to each respective Xiaowei. 

"I'll see you later," Zihun whispered only to her ears, to which she smiled. 

"Good luck, Zihun."

+++++

The sterling sun rose from the east where patches of rice fields flutter with gentle spring winds, and the verdant highlands tower from the north are lined by the golden heads of wheat. The city behind the Northern gate illuminated in the golden light of the heavenly body. 

Snowy clouds plummeted down the back of humped mountains like a plunge of smoke in a far and fogged distance; it reached for the stone walls painted with red columns, although too far to bring the cold. A pale blue sky overlooked the flowering city of Yinghua, the capital of the nation Tianchao, where sorrows were wiped by the leaves of the eternal spring. Pink cherry blossoms and red crabapple scattered on the black pavements of the city, teeming like a girl's blush; the soft sounds of birds weaved with the winds.

The empty streets started to overflow with the leaves from trees found on every corner; lonesome stalls tucked themselves away as people in steel outfits walked by; barren businesses and places of service collected dust on their wooden frames, public benches coated with dirt. Confused, shaky voices tingle the air, one thick like rope, a little too frail in houses.

Then a boom erupted. Birds fled to the skies. Thunder to the ground, as loud as a gong but deep as a drum. A wisp of smoke followed. It grew like a serpent, suffocating the crisp air at the break of dawn. The soldiers began to falter, and he watched them and looked beyond the plains.

Outside the walls, men stood arm-to-arm, heads straight forward. The steel at the end of the pikes glinted. Sweat trickled down their chins.

Another boom erupted.

They shuddered. They swore they heard it next to them, but it wasn't. They gave each glance, some looking to the back at the main gates of Yinghua for salvation. They already knew what was waiting for them on the stretch of the green plains they stood upon.

A thunderous boom came again, now like a heartbeat that rattled the trees, sending the tree leaves in flight and small creatures deeper in forests.

Zihun glared and stood watch from the walls of Yinghua. He returned today to Tianchao, yet his visit was unwanted—more like, it was all in the worst timing. Eyes strayed over to his to-be men.

"Xiaowei Mao."

Upon hearing his title, Xiaowei of Spear, he turned to the side: a soldier there. "Tianzi is looking for Xiaowei."

He swallowed down a scratchy throat, and when he thought of the Emperor of Zhongguog, a pool of conflict arose. Still, he was sent back here...to Tianchao. He was waiting for Tianzi to find him, and it was clear that his presence was reported as soon as he arrived; he was here by Tianzhi's orders, after all.

With the flick of his black cloak, he sighed and walked into the watchtower to the left. He knew where the Emperor was without needing to guess or hear where; there was no way he would mistake it when the Tianzhi always spoke, to hide is to go left, and to fight is to go right. Although, Zihun knotted his eyebrows at those words, one of many things he contemplated in a strange regard. 

A boom sounded again with the slight shrieks of fright from the soldiers, even behind these walls. Zihun grunted and pressed forward in wider strides. Down the path to the watchtower, where a door with a small window at the top blocks my way, he knocked once.

"Xiaowei Yang Zihun, enter."

His hand clasped to the handle, he slammed it down and pushed and closed, all within a second. To that, he dropped to one knee, head bowed. Light flickered in orange hues at the center from the lamp on a desk. Upon the highest room, a man in intricate designs of a mythical Roc of red robes stood, and Zihun knew: it was his emperor just from the hems of the robes. By the edge of the watchtower he concealed himself in the shadows, and only to the bow of Zihun, did he take a step forward. 

"Tianzhi.".

"You served me well," his crisp voice echoed as clear as crystal yet deep enough to command respect. "Return to Tianchao."

Zihun stiffened from those words. He tried to find the words to say, to reply, but there was nothing to say to something he had not expected. 

"However," the word curled in a strict tone. "There is a mission that you must complete though, while you stay for the rest of your life here. Before you are released from your duties of ten years, fulfill your one last task."

"By Tianzhi's orders," Zihun said. 

"Slay the holder of the Mark of Heibao."

Silence slithered within the room, like it waited to strike, and Zihun stopped breathing for a second to settle his thoughts. The Holder of the Mark of Heibao—what else was it that he had expected. He pursed his lips, fingers clawed on his knees. There was nothing else but murder that the emperor commanded of him. 

Just then, a great roar ripped the air alongside the soldiers. Dust fell from the ceiling, and quakes ran through his body. Zihun immediately jolted and ran out of the room, and down the narrow hallway. He slammed the door open to the pathway above the walls, the light of the sun hitting him, along with the smoke of a fire. A rough cough strangled out his throat; few tears formed at the corner of his eyes as bitter clouds of smoke grew larger. 

In that moment, he pried his eyes open, and a sudden flood of what he could not describe but anything between admiration, excitation, fear, bloodlust pulled him in an undertow. A black panther mask, robes like the free bird of the sky, dark as the raven's wings, and a brilliant breastplate caught every soldier in a daze. 

The black sword, XueHua, and the figure faced against an army of a hundred stood with a prideful stance. But around his body swirled a violent purple light, a course of lightning in the bloodthirsty sword. 

"It must be him," Zihun uttered. "Ji Qiangxin, the rebel prince of Tianchao."