Chương 29: Coming of Age

The Imperial Library of Bianjing contained the collective knowledge of the Empire. Within it were hundreds of thousands of scrolls, bamboo slips, and bound folios, covering every topic imaginable. The many-storied building was home to dozens of librarians and bookkeepers, each engaged in the slow, meticulous struggle of imposing external order upon the world's secrets. To most scholars, it was paradise. To fifteen-year-old Yan Shu, it was starting to feel like a very prestigious mausoleum.

The young Collator sighed, setting his brush down on an inkstone. He rubbed his eyes, staring blankly at the meticulous transcription he had just finished of an agricultural census. It was mind-numbing work. He had passed the grueling Imperial Examinations at the unprecedented age of fourteen, catching the eye of Emperor Zhenzong himself with his flawless calligraphy and masterful poetry. The young man was a certified prodigy, the pride of his family, and a rising star in the bureaucratic heavens.

But his reward for showing unparalleled genius was to spend twelve hours a day trapped in a windowless archive, counting theoretical bushels of wheat. Beyond the thick, soundproofed walls of the library, the capital city of Bianjing was practically vibrating with excitement. Emperor Zhenzong had recently announced his intention to perform the sacred Feng-shan sacrifices at Mt. Tai.

The political and logistical machinery of the entire Empire was gearing into motion to prepare for the event, even though the ceremony itself was still several years away. Yan Shu desperately wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to see the world, to ride alongside the Imperial vanguard. To write poetry that would be carved into the side of a mountain – not filed away in a dusty cabinet.

"Collator Yan," a reedy voice called out from the end of the stacks. The young poet looked up in sudden alarm.

"Yes?" An older attendant peered around a towering shelf of books.

"The Head Librarian has requested your presence in his private study." The man allowed his spectacles to fall down his nose for emphasis.

"Immediately." Yan Shu's heart gave a sudden, hopeful leap. He quickly gathered his composure, offering a polite bow before following the attendant through the maze of shelves. The Head Librarian's study was decorated with ornate mahogany furniture – and illuminated by a rare but very welcome window. The elderly scholar was seated behind a wide desk, his aged face highlighted by the morning sun. Resting on the desk in front of him was a tiny, tightly curled slip of silk – the kind carried by courier falcons.

"You sent for me, my lord?" the young Collator asked, bowing deeply.

"Sit down, Collator," the Head Librarian replied, gesturing to a lacquered stool on the other side of his desk. The old man waited until his protégé was seated before fixing him with a shrewd, appraising gaze.

"You are fifteen this year," the Head Librarian began, "and you possess a mind that comes along perhaps once in a century. The Emperor himself wept when he read your verses on the changing of the seasons. So tell me, young man: how are you enjoying collating tax records?" Yan Shu swallowed hard, careful to keep his face completely neutral.

"I serve the Empire in whatever capacity I am needed, my lord. It is an honor to help maintain the Library." A faint, knowing smile grew beneath the Head Librarian's shrewd eyes.

"A beautifully diplomatic lie, that. I know you are going mad with boredom, boy. You have the soul of a poet and the ambition of a prime minister. You cannot be happy being cooped up here." The young man lowered his eyes, choosing silence over confirmation.

"The Ministry of Rites is assembling a preliminary Survey Team," the older man informed him, shifting the subject abruptly.

"They are departing for Shandong province at the end of the week. Their task is to evaluate the infrastructure surrounding Mt. Tai, in preparation for the Feng-shan sacrifices." Yan Shu's breath caught in his throat. Mt. Tai! The center of the coming storm.

"They need to plan the route, determine which roads need to be widened, commission the construction of waystations, and in general handle the logistics of moving an Imperial procession that will number in the thousands." The Head Librarian leaned forwards, resting his forearms on his desk.

"I have officially recommended that you be attached to the Survey Team as their Chief Secretarial Envoy." The young Collator's eyes widened, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. This was a chance to step out of the dusty library and directly onto the stage of history. His voice shook slightly as he spoke.

"My lord... I... I am profoundly grateful. I will not fail you!"

"I know you won't," the Head Librarian replied softly.

"But there is a specific reason I am giving you this opportunity, Yan Shu." The old man reached out with two wrinkled fingers and pushed the tiny slip of silk across the polished wood. The young prodigy leaned in to read the ominous brushstrokes. Send us your finest poet. His sleeves will be heavy upon his return. – Kang Hyeon-je Yan Shu frowned.

"Kang…Hyeon-je? The Sect Leader of the Tai-shan?"

"The very same," the Head Librarian sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Mt. Tai is not just a pile of rocks waiting for the Emperor's grace. By Imperial decree, it is the sovereign territory of the Tai-shan sect, and the Survey Team will be operating in their backyard. If the Sect Leader decides to make things difficult, the infrastructure projects will grind to a halt – and the Emperor will be furious." Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The old man tapped the silk slip on his desk.

"And there is one more thing. Many years ago, long before I wore these robes, Kang Hyeon-je did me a favor. It is a debt I have carried quietly for decades. Today, he has called it in." The young Collator looked from the silk slip to his superior, understanding the implications perfectly.

"He asked for your finest poet. So…you are sending me to placate him."

"I am giving you the bureaucratic opportunity of a lifetime," the Head Librarian corrected him.

"And while you are there, whatever the Sect Leader asks of you – be it an ode to a sword, a eulogy for a dog, or a poem to woo a tavern girl – you will write it. And you will ensure that the Tai-shan Sect Leader is thoroughly, completely satisfied with your work." The old man met the teenager's eyes, making sure the gravity of the transaction was understood.

"You will secure the Survey Team's success, Collator Yan Shu. And in so doing, you will also clear my debt. That is the price of your ticket out of this library. Do we have an understanding?" Yan Shu looked down at the tiny piece of silk. He didn't know what a terrifying martial legend could possibly want with a poem, but he knew a bargain when he saw one. The young prodigy stood up and offered a dramatic, sweeping bow.

"My brush is at your disposal, my lord," he replied, a soft smile on his face.

"And I swear on my life: if it is a tavern girl – she will be completely smitten!" Far to the east of Bianjing, a fleeting sense of normalcy settled over the Tai-shan sect. In the mornings, Chae-ha returned to the private courtyard she and Mu-cheon used for training. The young girl spent hours drilling the intricate footwork and supporting motions of her 108 Phantom Steps. Mu-cheon joined her in the afternoon, where she would try out all her latest innovations and learn the hard way why most of them failed.

By the time the sun set, she would leave the courtyard bruised but slightly closer to a breakthrough. When night fell, her battlefield shifted. Chae-ha traded the dust of the courtyard for the cold solitude of the Lower Laboratory. Most of her Field Inspector's salary went towards paying the Medical Pavilion for access to corpses, so she could keep honing her craft. To Chae-ha, this routine was her normal. But in the Jianghu, normalcy was just a temporary cover obscuring a brewing storm.

After less than a week, the facade collapsed. The summons arrived at dawn. When Mu-cheon stepped into his father's expansive, dimly lit study, Chae-ha was trailing two steps behind him. As a newly appointed member of his personal retinue, she finally had the institutional right to be in the room. The young girl stood quietly by the door, her hands tucked neatly into her oversized sleeves, content to remain in the shadows. When Sect Leader Kang Hyeon-je spoke from behind his desk, it was with an aura of finality.

"The matchmakers have returned from the Cheok family estate. I am pleased to announce that Patriarch Cheok has received our proposal favorably. He is amenable to a union between his daughter, Yeong-ji, and the heir of the Tai-shan." Mu-cheon stiffened slightly. Taking a slow breath, the young man bowed his head.

"I will fulfill my duty to the sect, Father. Thank you for letting us know." Chae-ha put a hand on his arm, whispering softly.

"Don't worry. We'll have three years to finalize the preparations and negotiate the dowry. It should be plenty of time to establish a relationship." Hyeon-je's steely gaze swept across the pair. He shook his head slowly.

"You misunderstand me," the Sect Leader replied, softly.

"I did not summon you two to discuss a prolonged courtship. I summoned you to talk about a wedding." Mu-cheon blinked in surprise.

"What? But I'm seventeen. I won't be eligible for marriage until –""Waiting until your twentieth spring is a luxury for times of peace," Hyeon-je cut him off.

"The Meng-shan are pressing our borders now. For that reason, we are moving up your capping ceremony." Mu-cheon's mouth opened slightly, but no sounds emerged. Chae-ha pulled her arm away as she spoke.

"If I may ask, Sect Leader: what is the new date?"

"Mu-cheon's eighteenth spring arrives in four months. I have consulted the astrologers – and told them to declare it an auspicious occasion. His capping ceremony will take place then. And afterwards, the wedding. The time in-between will be spent fulfilling the Cheok family's requirements for the union." The Inner Disciple's nostrils flared.

"And what does the Cheok family demand in return for the hand of Lady Yeong-ji?"

"Competence," Hyeon-je replied bluntly.

"Her father is a military patriarch. He wants a warlord for a son-in-law, not a pampered Young Master." The Sect Leader's eyes hardened.

"The Cheok family boasts a highly disciplined, independent fighting force of two thousand elite soldiers. In the coming war against the Meng-shan, those two thousand swords are the difference between holding the Laiwu valley and losing our eastern borders entirely. But Patriarch Cheok is a military man. He will not hand his daughter – or his army – over to an unproven boy." The Sect Leader's gaze turned to his son.

"That is why I am deploying you and your retinue to the battlefield. You will lead the vanguard against the Meng-shan in order to collect military honors. And in so doing, earn the hand of your betrothed." Chae-ha glanced at Mu-cheon from the corner of her eye. The young man's jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles seemed to be squirming beneath his skin.

In the span of a single conversation, his father had stripped away the remaining years of his youth, shackled him to an arranged marriage, and ordered him to the front lines of a war.

"Four months," Mu-cheon repeated, the words sounding hollow in his own ears.

"Four months until your capping," Hyeon-je confirmed.

"And three weeks until your deployment." The Sect Leader turned away slightly and gestured dismissively.

"You may leave." Mu-cheon turned on his heel, his movements dangerously stiff, and marched out of the room. Chae-ha bowed deeply and turned to follow him.

"Inspector." Chae-ha stopped, looking back over her shoulder. The Sect Leader reached into his sleeve and pulled out a tightly rolled slip of silk. He held it up between two fingers.

"I received a bird from an old friend in the capital this morning. The Emperor has officially decreed his intent to perform the Feng-shan sacrifices here at Mt. Tai. An Imperial Survey Team is already departing Bianjing to prepare the province for his eventual arrival." Chae-ha's eyes widened.

"We live in historic times, Sect Leader. I am sure hosting the Imperial procession will be a logistical nightmare. And quite costly."

"It will. But that is not why I am telling you," Hyeon-je replied, dropping the silk slip onto his desk.

"Attached to that Survey Team is a guest. I have called in a rather expensive favor. The poet you requested – the very best that money can buy – is on his way." The Sect Leader tapped a finger on his desk.

"Preparations for the reburial are also in progress. In two weeks, your father will finally get his eulogy." Chae-ha's eyes blazed. Although she showed no outwards sign, her heart rate rose, and her breathing quickened. She clearly understood the message that was left unsaid. I am upholding my end of the bargain. And you had best uphold yours. The young girl put her hands in her sleeves, raised them, and bowed deferentially.

"Your generosity, Sect Leader," she replied softly, "is the stuff legends are made of." With confidence and grace, Chae-ha calmly turned and strode out of the room. She didn't know exactly how yet, but the young girl was determined to fulfill her vow to the Sect Leader. She needed to get back to training; there wasn't a moment to waste. It was time to go to war.