Chapter 27: Zhimian's Tale III
Thirty-One Years Ago
How had this happened?
Terror gripping his heart, Zhimian-Lang hurried, just short of running, through the dark hallways of Ruolan-Jun's palace. Every few paces, a red lantern hung on the wall gave him a glimpse of his surroundings, then plunged him back into darkness.
They'd had an agreement. A hostage for a hostage, and no war between the lands.
He checked over his shoulder: Jing and Ming were following, hand-in-hand. Ming's face was terrified, her shoulders shaking. Jing was clearly scared, too, but she was tense and ready to fight. As the shouting drew closer, Zhimian-Lang hoped they wouldn't have to fight.
Ruolan-Jun hadn't said where she was going. Zhimian-Lang hadn't thought she'd be this foolish. She'd been angry and growing angrier, yes, but to take it this far –
He could only be grateful one of her guards had managed to escape and warn him in time.
He stopped at the end of the hallway and crouched, yanking aside the carpet. He felt along the stone floor for the edges of the trapdoor, and pried the wood up.
Beckoning his daughters closer, he whispered, "Climb down, and start running," He refused to let his hands shake as he fixed their cloaks. "Don't stop. Take care of each other, alright?"
Jing nodded, determined and serious as always. Tears spilled from Ming's eyes, but still she was silent. Zhimian gathered his daughters in his arms for a brief moment, then pulled back.
"Go," he ordered.
Jing jumped down first. Ming sat on the edge of the trapdoor and Jing reached up, grabbing her sister by the waist and helping her down. Jing's eyes glinted in the red lanternlight for a moment, before both girls disappeared into the darkness.
The shouting and thundering footsteps were nearly in the hallway. Hastily, Zhimian lowered the trapdoor, and arranged the carpet over it again, smoothing it down. They couldn't follow the girls. He wouldn't let them.
As the demons surged into the hallway, he turned and faced them, holding up his hands. "I surrender!" he called.
The general, a hulking demon in black armour, eyed him suspiciously. "Find the daughter!" he ordered.
"Did you not hear me?" Zhimian-Lang spat as soldiers edged forward. "I surrender."
"We were sent for you and the daughter," the general sneered. "Save both of us time and pain, and tell us where you've hidden her."
The guards were behind him now, nearly on top of the trapdoor. Zhimian-Lang forced himself to not move, to not look. The general sauntered forward, a hand resting lazily on his sword.
"I am the only one you need," Zhimian-Lang insisted. "Take me to him."
The general's hand snapped out and caught Zhimian-Lang's throat. Zhimian-Lang scrabbled at the general's gloved hand and gasped for air.
"Sir!" a guard called. "There's a trapdoor!"
No! NO!
Zhimian-Lang struggled more violently, but the general was twice his size, and he was beginning to feel woozy.
The general grinned viciously. As darkness crept into Zhimian-Lang's vision and his head spun, the general ordered, "Catch the bastard, and bring them both to Tianlang-Jun."
---
Zhimian-Lang woke kneeling on the floor of Tianlang-Jun's throne room. Cold shackles dug into his wrists and ankles. Blood seeped into his eyes. He cast a disoriented glance around the room. Dozens of nobles and advisors stared down at him, as did his old friend – Tianlang-Jun himself.
The Demon Lord had grown more fearsome in the past ten years. He was taller, his robes more ornate, his cheekbones sharper, and his eyes cleverer. And more furious.
Zhimian-Lang felt like a bug pinned to a board beneath Tianlang-Jun's gaze. He couldn't help his trembling shoulders anymore. He dropped his eyes, and nearly vomited. At Tianlang-Jun's feet lay a decapitated head – Ruolan-Jun.
Her hair was half torn-out and jaggedly cut, blood had dried around her mouth and nose, and her now-dull red eyes stared glassily at Zhimian-Lang.
He bit back a cry, and ducked his head, hyperventilating.
"Baba," a voice whined nearby.
Zhimian-Lang's blood ran cold. No. No, no, no – !
Beside him, similarly shackled, Jing and Ming clutched at each other, staring with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry, baba," Jing whispered, shaking. "I'm sorry."
Zhimian-Lang swung his head back to stare at Tianlang-Jun. "Lord! Lord, please! I swear, I had no idea what Ruolan would do! My daughters are innocent! Lord – !"
"You will be silent," Tianlang-Jun commanded sharply.
Zhimian-Lang shut his mouth. The rage simmering in Tianlang-Jun's eyes had never been directed at Zhimian-Lang before.
How had this happened?
"Ruolan-Jun," Tianlang-Jun announced to the room, standing, "murdered my sister. I have already taken my revenge."
He kicked Ruolan-Jun's head sharply, sending it hurtling down the steps to land at Zhimian-Lang's knees. As Zhimian-Lang forced himself to not look, he felt close to blacking out again.
"But it is not enough." Tianlang-Jun held his hands behind his back, scanning the room of nobles. "This was a clear act of war against the Southern Kingdom. The self-titled lords have all been captured and will be individually negotiated with. The Southern Kingdom will absorb all the lands of the former Eastern Territories, through bargain or battle."
A cheer went up from the gathered nobles and soldiers, echoing around the stone room. Zhimian-Lang winced at the sound.
Ruolan-Jun's dream of a united land… lost. She would be furious. Zhimian-Lang couldn't bring himself to feel the same anger, only fear for what would happen to his daughters.
"My lord!" he called, desperation cracking his voice.
Tianlang-Jun looked at him. Something flickered in his eyes – perhaps some sympathy for his former friend. Zhimian-Lang hoped that was the case.
"Please, my lord," he begged. "I will suffer any punishment, any humiliation, any execution. But please let my daughters go free." He leaned down until his forehead touched the stone floor, beside Ruolan-Jun's head. "I beg you, my lord!"
The room was silent. Zhimian-Lang imagined every eye was turned to Tianlang-Jun, waiting for his decree. Footsteps echoed in the silence as Tianlang-Jun stepped down from the dais and crossed the floor. Zhimian-Lang could hear him breathing only feet away. The minutes stretched, but Zhimian-Lang didn't dare look up.
After an eternity, Tianlang-Jun sighed. "Raise your head."
Zhimian-Lang did. Tianlang-Jun looked down at him with a pained expression. "You served me well, Zhimian. More than that, you were a true friend to me. In respect of that friendship, I will allow you and your daughters to live."
Zhimian-Lang wanted to cry for joy, to kiss his lord's boots, to hug his daughters close – but Tianlang-Jun wasn't finished.
"However, I can't allow you to escape punishment."
Zhimian-Lang held his breath. What would it be? Flogging? Slavery? Public humiliation? He steeled himself, and shot an encouraging glance at his daughters.
"You and your daughter's demonic powers will be sealed," Tianlang-Jun announced, "and you will be banished from the Demon Realm for eternity."
Zhimian's blood turned to ice.
His memories after that remained vague. He remembered screaming, begging, as Jing was dragged forward, as Tianlang-Jun pressed his hand to her forehead and the room glowed with fiendish light; as Jing writhed and shrieked in agony; as Ming collapsed, the fear too much for her to bear; as Tianlang-Jun turned his hand to Zhimian and the agony coursed through him in turn.
By the time they were dragged to the border, his throat was raw, and he could barely even whisper. The soldiers shoved them roughly across the border and brandished their swords as Zhimian dared look back.
Cradling the still-unconscious Ming in his arms and clutching Jing's hand tightly, Zhimian crossed over into the Human Realm.
What… do I do? he wondered helplessly. He felt naked, alone, like an ant liable to be squashed beneath an uncaring boot.
Empty fields stretched for miles, crisscrossed with dirt roads. He spotted a cart passing by along the nearest road, pulled by an ox.
"Baba," Jing whispered, looking up at him. Her eyes were black now. Gone were the glittering red gems, the orchid-like demonic mark. His heart broke a little more.
"Let's go," he murmured, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
They hurried forward, waving down the ox cart. Wherever it was going, Zhimian didn't care. He would find a way to survive, and keep his daughters safe.
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