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 prefectures where massacres have occurred, localized 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 even killing 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.”

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“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.