Chương 162: Ever Enduring

Victoria Walton's POV. Royal Ascot Race, England Vicky watched the argument from the corner of the private box with her back against the window. Hilda's instructions had been simple. Show up. Smile. Get through one event without a headline. That was the bar. Not "impress anyone." Not "win the room." Just survive it cleanly and prove to the old guard that the Pemberton Tea was an anomaly. Vicky could do that. She was doing it right now. Standing in a corner. Holding a glass. Being very, very quiet.

She hated every second of it. Aurelia Windsor stood at the center of the room like she owned it. And she did. The box had her family's crest above the door. Her family's staff arranged the refreshments. Her family's name was embossed on the invitation Vicky used to enter. Penelope Ma sat on one of the velvet chairs, phone in hand, taking pictures of herself with the racecourse visible through the window behind her. She'd been doing this for three minutes without pausing.

"You haven't looked at the course once," Aurelia said.

"I'm documenting them."

"You're posting photographs of yourself."

"I'm making sure people remember today. Isn't that what events like this are for?" Penelope looked up. Her smile was sweet and patient, the kind you gave to someone who didn't understand something obvious.

"The races are lovely. But they end in two hours. My followers are forever." Aurelia's chin lifted a fraction.

"Followers. One might mistake you for an influencer."

"Oh, I don't mind the word. Influencers are just people who understood something early." Penelope set her phone down, giving Aurelia her full attention for the first time.

"It's sweet that you think this is vanity. My content budget last quarter could have funded a Gold Core breakthrough. But you're right, it's just photos."

"I'm sure that's fascinating to someone."

"Money purchases spiritual qi. Spiritual qi purchases longevity. My Instagram account is my immortal potential." She picked up her phone again.

"Even the Queen has an account. Are you saying Her Majesty is cheapening the institution?" Aurelia's jaw tightened. Vicky leaned against the window frame and frowned. Money is immortal potential. The thing about Penelope was that she was right. Cultivation required spiritual qi. Spiritual qi cost money. Money came from wherever you could get it, and four hundred thousand followers was Penelope's immortal potential. Vicky had spent her college years at Yale running CFL drills and learning how to fight with a spear.

Penelope had spent those same years building an audience. And now Penelope had a content strategy, a revenue stream, and a clear path to Nascent Soul before two hundred.

"You have it backwards," Aurelia said. Penelope raised an eyebrow.

"The followers don't come from building an audience. They come from position." Aurelia gestured at the private box. Her family's box.

"You think you're creating influence. You're not. You're harvesting the influence your family already purchased. The Tencent name opens doors. The Ma fortune buys access. Your followers follow because of who you already are."

"And?"

"And when the algorithm changes, what do you have?" Aurelia smiled.

"Any family can accumulate followers. Accumulating centuries is rather more difficult." Penelope's fingers stopped moving across her screen. Because Aurelia was also right. Position came first. It always had. Penelope's followers were revenue, but revenue could dry up. The Tencent name opened doors because the Ma family had Nascent Soul cultivators backing it. The Waltons had Nascent Souls too. Multiple. But Nascent Souls died in the Catacombs.

One bad deployment, one expedition that didn't come back, and a family's entire spiritual foundation could collapse in an instant. Vicky had watched it happen to other houses. Everyone had. The Windsors didn't need followers or Nascent Souls. The Windsors had a Deity Transformation Queen. She could crush everyone in this building without standing up from her throne. The silence stretched. Vicky stood in her corner and had nothing to say.

She couldn't out-argue Penelope's math, and she couldn't out-position Aurelia's bloodline. So she stood there. Get through it. No headlines. Movement at the door. Her eyes flicked toward it. Leo Chen stepped into the room, Morimoto half a pace behind him. Leo had told her about Morimoto. The counterfeiting charges. The diplomatic pouches full of bribery goods. The tracking cuff. The man's entire career was a sequence of felonies connected by self-righteous excuses.

"Ladies." Sloan Savoy, Aurelia's cavalier, stood near the door, wearing the kind of smirk that had probably gotten him elected prom king somewhere.

"I believe we have guests." Sloan clapped a hand on Morimoto's shoulder.

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Kenji Morimoto. House Windsor's formation master for the Ball." He said it with the pride.

"The man who trained the American formation team to victory at the International Summit."

"Mr. Savoy is too kind. I merely go where the formations need me. A craftsman does not choose his canvas." Morimoto bowed.

"Though I confess, when the canvas is Buckingham Palace, one does not refuse." Wang Liyang stared at Sloan. Leo also stared at Sloan. Sloan misread the silence.

"I know." He smiled.

"We were fortunate to secure his services. The competition for talent at his level is fierce. But the Windsor family has connections that other houses lack." Liyang's mouth opened. Closed. He glanced at Morimoto.

"Are you... certain that's wise?" Aurelia smiled from across the room.

"His reputation precedes him." Liyang made a sound that might have been a cough.

"His reputation," he said carefully, "is indeed... well known."

"Especially in certain circles," Leo added. Morimoto beamed.

"You flatter me." Sloan waved a hand.

"The point is, we have Mr. Morimoto overseeing the Ball's security arrays. House Windsor spares no expense." Liyang's expression suggested he had more to say. He glanced at Penelope. She shook her head. Tiny motion. Not worth it. Vicky looked at Leo. Leo was looking at the floor, his jaw tight, something in his expression that didn't fit the conversation.

Leo's POV Leo couldn't meet Vicky's eyes. He had just helped rig the upcoming race with Morimoto. Better to check on the old counterfeiter than stand here looking guilty.

"You look nervous," Morimoto said without turning.

"I'm not nervous."

"Your spiritual pressure is fluctuating, did you know that? Very distracting." Morimoto adjusted his spectacles.

"A cultivator's qi reflects his mental state. I once wrote a paper on this. It was rejected, naturally. The peer review committee had financial ties to a pharmaceutical company that sold anxiety medication." The announcer's voice crackled through the formation speakers mounted in the corners of the box.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the third race of the Royal Ascot. Twelve of the finest spiritual thoroughbreds in the British Isles take to the Queen's Course this afternoon. Seventeen formation gates over a two-thousand-foot elevation change." Leo watched the horses line up on the starting platform. Ever Enduring stood at the far end, his considerable bulk dwarfing the mare beside him. Even from this distance, Leo could see the horse's head hanging low, eyes unfocused. The Scholar's Ink was still working. Good.

"And they're off!" Twelve horses launched from the platform, their hooves striking disks of golden light as they climbed into the sky. The crowd in the grandstand below roared. Ever Enduring was last. Not just last. The horse was barely moving. He drifted sideways through the first gate, his trajectory wobbling like a drunk navigating a hallway. The other eleven horses were already climbing toward the second checkpoint while Ever Enduring seemed genuinely confused about which direction "forward" was.

"Ever Enduring appears to be experiencing some... navigational difficulties," the announcer noted.

"The rank outsider is living up to his price, I'm afraid." Scattered laughter from the crowd.

"Patience. Every great enterprise encounters turbulence." Morimoto said. Leo watched Ever Enduring complete a slow, confused circle. The other horses were passing through gate five. Ever Enduring hadn't cleared gate one. A group of elderly men with racing form huddled in the corner of the box. One of them glanced at Ever Enduring's distant figure and snorted.

"Forty-to-one was generous," he said to his companion.

"Should've been a hundred." The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His companion nodded.

"Some horses simply aren't bred for it." Leo's jaw tightened. Then Ever Enduring's head snapped up. The change was instantaneous. One moment the horse was drifting aimlessly, spiritual sea still clouded with the residue of Leo's technique. The next, his eyes focused. His muscles tensed. His hooves struck the air and golden light exploded beneath them, bright enough to make Leo squint. Ever Enduring shot forward like a cannonball.

"Oh my," the announcer said.

"Ever Enduring has found his stride. And what a stride it is. He's passing Lord Pemberton's Fancy. He's passing Duchess of Dawn. He's... good heavens, he's passing the entire back third of the field." The crowd noise shifted. Murmurs rippled through the grandstands. In the private boxes, heads turned toward windows. Morimoto smiled.

"You see?" He adjusted his spectacles with the satisfaction of a man whose terrible plan was working.

"Faith, Mr. Chen. As the poet said, fortune favors the horse with superior formations. I may be paraphrasing." Leo watched Ever Enduring tear through the gates. The horse's hooves blazed with formation light, each strike leaving afterimages in the air. He was gaining on the leaders now.

"This is extraordinary, ladies and gentlemen. Ever Enduring, the stallion that hasn't won a race in three years, is challenging for the lead. Windsor's Pride and Marquess of Midnight are neck and neck at the front, but here comes Ever Enduring on the outside, and he is flying." The elderly gamblers stared at the sky with significantly more appreciation for the sport.

"How much did you bet again?" one of them whispered.

"Too much," another replied. Leo felt something loosen in his chest. It was working. Ever Enduring cleared gate eight, gate nine. He pulled even with Windsor's Pride, then surged past. The crowd was roaring now, the upset building toward something historic. Seven million pounds. That would solve a lot of problems.

"Mr. Morimoto."

"Yes?"

"He's slowing down." Ever Enduring's pace had dropped. Not dramatically, but noticeably. His trajectory wobbled. His head turned. He was looking at Windsor's Pride. No. Leo squinted. He was looking at Windsor's Pride's hindquarters.

"Ever Enduring seems to be... adjusting his racing line," the announcer said, a note of confusion entering his voice.

"Moving toward the inside. Unusual positioning for this stretch of the course." Windsor's Pride was a mare, a female horse. Leo's stomach dropped.

"Mr. Morimoto."

"One moment."

"Mr. Morimoto, what was in that little blue pill?"

"Performance enhancement. A proprietary blend. Speed. Stamina. Metabolic optimization. I spent three months on the formula. The pharmaceutical industry charges ten times what I charge for half the efficacy. This is the problem with capitalism, Mr. Chen. Innovation is punished. Monopoly is rewarded." Morimoto was frowning now.

"Though his positioning is curious. Very curious." Ever Enduring abandoned his racing line entirely. He curved toward Windsor's Pride with an eagerness that had nothing to do with racing. His nostrils flared. His ears pricked forward. Windsor's Pride noticed. Her stride faltered. She veered left. Ever Enduring followed.

"Ever Enduring appears to be showing... unusual interest in the competition," the announcer managed.

"He's left the racing line and is... pursuing Windsor's Pride through the slalom section. This is highly irregular." Leo grabbed Morimoto's shoulder.

"What. Was. In. The. Pill." Morimoto's hand went to his coat pocket. He pulled out a small case, opened it, and stared at the red pill inside. The color drained from his face.

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"This is the performance enhancement pill."

"And what did you give the horse?" Morimoto closed the case very carefully.

"A different pill."

"Windsor's Pride is accelerating! She's broken from the pack entirely, climbing toward the upper gates with Ever Enduring in close pursuit. Very close pursuit. Uncomfortably close pursuit." The crowd went quiet. They seemed to sense something peculiar was afoot. Leo whispered.

"What kind of different pill?"

"A pill of a... different pharmaceutical category. For personal use. Unrelated to horse racing. Entirely unrelated."

"Windsor's Pride has abandoned the course entirely, ladies and gentlemen. She is climbing toward the cloud layer. Ever Enduring is following. His interest in the mare appears to be... passionate." Across the box, Aurelia Windsor stood frozen at the window. Her family's horse. Her family's pride. Fleeing into the sky from a four-hundred-pound stallion with formation-enhanced stamina.

"This is a nightmare," she gasped.

"Maybe they'll circle back?" Sloan offered. They did not circle back. Windsor's Pride vanished into a cloud bank. Ever Enduring followed. A moment later, a whinny echoed from somewhere inside the clouds that made every lady in the grandstand look away.

"Well. That's... unprecedented." The other mares in the race noticed the commotion. Marquess of Midnight, a sleek gray mare running second, suddenly broke from the track and banked hard right. Lady Ashworth's Grace followed. Duchess of Dawn. One by one, every mare in the race fled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we appear to be experiencing a... collective navigational anomaly. Multiple horses have left the course. Stewards are being dispatched. I'm assured this is well in hand." Race officials streamed from the judge's tower on flying swords, their formal robes flapping as they gave chase. A formation-powered boat launched from somewhere behind the grandstand, its crew shouting instructions nobody could hear. The elderly gamblers were no longer pretending not to gamble.

One of them produced the chalkboard again and frantically calculated losses.

"Officials are attempting to corral the dispersed horses. Windsor's Pride has been sighted in the vicinity of Heathrow. We do apologise for the... irregularity in today's programme." Penelope Ma had her phone out, filming everything, her face lit with joy. Aurelia turned on her.

"Put that away."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a... development. Ever Enduring has rejoined the course. He appears... refreshed." Leo looked up. There he was. Ever Enduring, fat and magnificent, trotting through the final formation gates after a very productive fifteen minutes in the cloud layer. He looked deeply, profoundly satisfied.

"As he is technically the only horse to complete the course, and as the remaining competitors have been retired from the race, Ever Enduring is... the winner." Silence. Then the gamblers collapsed. One of them ripped his wig off and hurled it at the window. It struck the glass and slid down slowly, a sad gray mass trailing powder.

"I was in for the lot on Windsor's Pride." He clutched his head with both hands.

"The absolute lot."

"Forty to one," another said faintly. He was staring at his chalkboard, which now showed a number circled in red with the word DISASTER written beneath it.

"Do you have the faintest idea what forty to one pays out? Have you any conception of what we owe?"

"There is no gambling at the Royal Ascot," his companion said mechanically, his eyes empty.

"This is a prestigious social event."

"That's me finished." The first man slumped into a chair, wigless, his morning coat hanging open.

"Margaret will have the locks changed by supper."

"Small mercies. She can't divorce a dead man."

"You don't know Margaret." The third gambler hadn't spoken. He was methodically tearing his racing form into smaller and smaller pieces, his face completely blank. Morimoto pressed something into Leo's hand. He looked down. A folded slip of paper and a red pill. He opened it. IOU: £7, 000, 000. Payment upon receipt of funds. Terms negotiable. - M. At the bottom, in smaller handwriting: P. S. Keep the red pill. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. Leo looked up. Morimoto was gone.

Vicky's POV Vicky watched through the window as three men on flying swords chased Ever Enduring across the sky. The stallion apparently decided that winning the race wasn't enough. Now he was leading his pursuers on a tour of the English countryside, his formation-enhanced hooves leaving golden contrails as he banked toward what looked like Windsor Castle. Aurelia was on her phone.

"I don't care what the protocol is. Get someone from the household staff on the line. Now." She paced the length of the box.

"Yes, I'm aware the horse is near the castle. That's why I'm calling. My grandmother will hear about this." Sloan hovered at her elbow, trying to look useful. He straightened his coat. Adjusted his cuffs. Glared at a waiter who was doing nothing wrong.

"Should I call someone?" he offered.

"Who would you call, Sloan?"

"I don't know. Someone important."

"Just stand there and look intimidating." Sloan stood there. He did not look intimidating. Aurelia snapped her fingers at a passing butler.

"You. Get me the head of race security."

"I'm afraid that's rather outside my remit, ma'am."

"Then I suggest you find someone whose responsibilities extend beyond the champagne." The butler retreated with the expression of a man who was absolutely going to tell this story later. Vicky leaned against the window frame and watched. Aurelia was trying to spin it. Positioning herself as the princess who swooped in to manage the crisis. But there was nothing to manage. The horse was gone. The race was over. Every call she made just reminded everyone what happened to Windsor's Pride.

Penelope had a different strategy. She was still filming. Her phone tracked the distant pursuit, capturing Ever Enduring's silhouette against the clouds. She narrated something into the microphone, her voice bright and practiced.

"You're watching history, everyone. The most chaotic Royal Ascot in a century, and I'm bringing you exclusive coverage from inside the Windsor box. Can you believe this?" Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Her narration stuttered.

"One second, everyone. Just..." She tapped the notification. Her face changed.

"What do you mean you're making my account private?" Whatever the response was, it made her voice climb an octave.

"I didn't authorize that. I have four hundred thousand followers. You can't just..." She pressed the phone harder against her ear.

"What comments? What are people saying?" The answer took about ten seconds. Penelope's expression went through several stages. Confusion. Denial. Dawning horror.

"They're laughing at me? Calling me a spoiled brat?" She looked at her phone. And started frantically scrolling through tiktoks.

"Delete it. Delete everything! I don't care about the engagement metrics." She hung up and stood very still. The phone stayed in her hand, but she wasn't filming anymore. Vicky laughed. She didn't mean to. It just came out. Aurelia's head snapped toward her.

"Do share, Victoria. We could all use the amusement." Vicky looked at Aurelia Windsor, who was holding a dead phone call to her ear because she'd run out of people to yell at, whose family horse was currently touring the English countryside with a fat stallion, and whose butler had fled to a different floor of the building. And she felt nothing. That was the strange part. A week ago, that voice would have gotten under her skin.

That chin-tilt, that tone, the way Aurelia said Victoria like she was reading it off a disciplinary report. At the Pemberton Tea she'd said something stupid in front of forty witnesses and spent two days hiding in a Brixton gym. Now she was standing in the same room, Aurelia was using the same voice, and Vicky just didn't care. She glanced at Sloan. He stood two steps behind Aurelia with his hands clasped, coat buttoned, jaw set at what he probably thought was a commanding angle. Cavalier posture. Escort mode.

Ready to be deployed. This was Sloan Savoy. The guy who'd breathed azure dragonfire across the entire CFL arena. Who'd summoned a lightning incarnation that rained smite attacks so fast her team couldn't hold formation. Who'd burned through Harry's gravity dome like it was tissue paper and almost eliminated Leo twice in thirty seconds. He looked like a sword hanging on a wall. Vicky picked up her glass from the windowsill, took a sip, and realized something she should have figured out ages ago.

Hilda wanted her to perform. Smile at the right people, climb the rankings, treat the Season like a game she could win if she just tried hard enough. And Vicky had tried, because she owed her grandmother that much. But she couldn't make herself care about rooms like this. She'd been telling herself the problem was Aurelia, or the tabloids, or the old guard freezing her out. The problem was she'd been measuring herself against the wrong scoreboard.

She tried to imagine doing this for the next eighty years and couldn't get past next Tuesday. She set the glass down. And thought about Leo. If Leo were here, he'd probably be doing something useful. Taking charge. Chasing down whoever caused this. Figuring out what actually happened instead of yelling at waiters. Wait. What did she mean, 'if Leo were here'? He was her cavalier. He was supposed to be here. Leo was gone. Liyang was gone. Morimoto was gone. All three of them had vanished during the chaos.

Vicky thought about Leo's face when he'd entered the box. She'd noticed something wrong but hadn't been able to place it. Now, replaying the moment, she recognized the expression. Guilt.