Twinned Destinies 71. The Battle of Jade Dragon City (IV) (Patreon)

Ruyi had rocked there on the rooftop all day, staring at the mountains so long she could see their outlines even when she closed her eyes. The last wink of the sunlight was passing beyond the peaks. Below, the Temple Monks had taken seats on a cleaner patch of grass. Half the army was on a knee. Was it a ploy to wear them out? If it was, it was working. Everywhere she looked she saw hung heads, hunched backs, folk leaning on their spears. You could only hold folk under high tension for so long before it burned them out.

Jin, some Monk, a man in army blue, and an officer were huddled at the fore, speaking intently. Jin gestured to the distance, where two figures clad in bark-browns and leaf-greens were sprinting for him full-force, shouting, flapping their arms. They were the scouts she’d seen him send off just an hour before.

He listened to their reports. Then he whirled around, hands on his head. Ruyi tried to make out what he was saying, but he was too far away; she couldn’t read his lips. Again she chafed at the unfairness of it—she ought to be down there.

Jin gestured, spoke, dashed around. He yanked together a small squad, a few monks, a few Villa swordsmen and army folk with lots of pins on their coats. They set off.

The walls were all watched; hundreds of Guard manned the top. There was no way out without sounding an alarm. So she could only watch as his dot grew smaller and smaller, and at last vanished through the trees.

She stared at the spot where he’d vanished for a long time, feeling dread slowly knotting her insides.

How long had he been gone? The sun had set. Half an hour? Longer, maybe? What had he gone for? Had he got some stupid idea in his head—were they going to make some kind of peace treaty with the demons? She regretted not going after him now—what if they’d put him in a cage, or hung him or something? What if he’d been ambushed? He was always so dumb and self-sacrificial. She had to go after him, it didn’t matter if anyone saw—she got to her feet.

Then a dot that looked very much like him poked through the treeline. Behind him were the red dots of the Monks, the blue dots of the Villa. They weren’t moving very quickly at all. The army perked up, as did she, when they neared. But only they could hear what Jin and the general said.

The city gates opened wide, and they poured back in.

What the Hells was going on?! Ruyi couldn’t take it anymore. She said as much to Jin the moment he stepped through the manor door.

“You won’t believe this,” said Jin. His hair was disheveled, his eyes darkly lined yet bright; he seemed worn out and excited at once. “But they’ve left.”

“Heh?!”

“They’ve turned around marched for the Demonlands. Our ravens put them at the base of the Desolate Wastes by now.”

“It’s a trick,” she said.

“I thought so too when I first heard it. But we’ve since checked—they seem to be fleeing as fast as they can. We’ve got ravens tracking them all the way. If they came back we’d know.”

“But…” Ruyi felt strangely disappointed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t get it either,” said Jin. “But it seems real. We’ll keep our army at the ready for a few more weeks.”

“So that’s it?”

“Seems so.”

***

The Post wasn’t very trustworthy, but you had to read it like you were panning for gold—you had to sift out the little nuggets of truth it let slip. Through its loud proclamations of total victory, through its twice-a-day columns devoted to praising the Emperor’s quick thinking, and once-a-day columns praising Chen Qin’s sturdy leadership, Ruyi got that the Demon Army hadn’t stopped marching west. In a week they’d crossed into the Desolate Mountains.

The Post would have everyone believe it was the sheer size and magnificence of the army which did it. Once assembled, the demons were so frightened they dared not attack; they were frightened into fleeing. “Although it was I who led the defense, and masterminded our show of force,” Chen was quoted as saying, “I could not have done it alone. Some credit must be due to my second-in-command Jin.” Even when he was trying to be humble he managed to annoy Ruyi.

The Post went on and on about the incredible generosity of the Emperor—he drained the imperial coffers for this, it was quick to remind everyone. With his great generosity he saved the dynasty! It then hinted, unsubtly, that perhaps it was time to repay him.

In the weeks that followed Jin was made to parade himself about a bunch of snooty banquets in his honor, one at the Emperor’s palace, and several at the requests of some Dukes. He would’ve preferred not to go, but he was a man of the Guard now, he said; he had to represent them well.

Ruyi was not invited to any of them, nor did she particularly wish to go. She spent most of her time in the Lower City, as usual. She was just happy her wards were still up. The most common piece of litter you’d see floating around was a copy of the Post. The Emperor must really want his message out there, since they were giving them out for free. He’d failed to consider that nearly two-thirds of the Lower City couldn’t read—or maybe he just didn’t know. The third that could read took pride in using the Post as toilet paper; it became a crude joke to wipe one’s ass with the Emperor’s face.

Father healed. He was set to be deployed back to the border to keep watch and make sure the demons weren’t coming back.

They had one last family dinner before he left. To her surprise, he was the one who insisted on it.

Jin greeted him at the door like the good boy he was. “Father,” said Jin. “You look well.”

“Don’t flatter me,” said Father. His lips were quirked ever-so-slightly, a hint of a sardonic grin. “I look terrible. Where’s your sister?”

“In her room, sulking,” said Jin. “Probably listening with her ear to the door.”

Ruyi pulled her face away from the door, cheeks burning. This little—!

“Not over me, I hope.” said Father’s muffled voice, amused. “Or have I upset her that badly?”

Ruyi walked out the door. “Of course not,” she said archly. “Good evening, Father. You look like shit.”

He was smiling. Smiling. “There’s my girl. One should always be honest.”

She didn’t know what to say. When she looked at him she couldn’t help but see her Father, even now. It sickened her how good it felt to hear him say that.

“Err—shall we go to the dinner table?” said Jin.

After they’d banished the servants from the main house Jin had picked up cooking; Ruyi could hardly put a sandwich together. Of course he was excellent at it. Tonight’s main dish was a glossy purple elixir tofu, with a side of golden turtle soup simmered with ginseng and goji berries. There were tiger’s meat spring rolls too. He’d made Ruyi’s portions for her specially; for instance he’d coated the spring rolls’ insides with fresh blood.

“It has been brought to my attention,” said Father, once they’d sat, “That I may have been too blunt when we last spoke. By this I mean your Mother gave me quite the castigation. And several strongly-worded letters.”

Was this his way of apologizing? By saying Mother made him do it?

“I thought you were just fine,” said Ruyi archly. “I was being soft and stupid. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Honesty, Ruyi.” Father never called her Rue.

“I am honest.”

Father sighed. He put his chopsticks down. “I have always expected the best of you,” he said. “Just as I have of your brother. I’ll admit it upset me to see you so emotional. Emotions are not evils, but they should be like horses at a yoke. They are most useful when mastered—but it is folly to let them drag you. And you have always been so emotional. It is one of your greater weaknesses.”

“Is that why you’ve come here? To insult me?” said Ruyi coldly. It felt like he’d punched her in the gut; she felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes, but she made herself too angry to let any of it show.

“No,” said Father. “Though you seem to take most of my observations as insults. Regardless. Perhaps I have been too… narrow-minded.”

“Oh?”

“What I expect is best for you,” he said. “May not be what is best for you. You are something special, Ruyi. You have such immense potential, if only your weaknesses can be sanded away… but perhaps those weaknesses make your strengths.”

She blinked at him.

Jin quietly sipped his soup, trying desperately to fade into the background.

Father shrugged. “It is spite which drove you to where you are. Perhaps it is not so bad to be driven by feeling—perhaps it is only different. I ought not expect a soldier of you. Which is all to say… I am sorry. Perhaps I should have been gentler.”

“Did Mother make you say that?” said Ruyi, her voice thick.

“You did,” said Father. Neither of them had touched their food. He’d brought a briefcase. From it he withdrew a stack of neatly folded papers and placed them on the desk. He unfolded one—she saw it was a copy of Alchemy Weekly, the latest one.

“Where’d you get those? One of your Alchemists?”

“They’re mine,” said Father dryly. “These are every Alchemy Weekly from the past three years.”

“Why would you read Alchemy Weekly?” The Weekly was highly technical and Father had no interest in alchemy. He’d hardly know what any of it meant.

“Because you are in it,” said Father, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He picked one out at random and pointed to the one section on the page where every paragraph was marked with a neat annotation—her column.

“Oh,” she whispered. The tears were coming back up again.

“I have always felt you cared about my opinion of you far too much,” said Father. “You always seemed to want for my approval. In truth I felt some time apart would be good for you. Some distance might teach you to seek greatness on your own, without need of me. And you have. Your Mother tells me my terseness at the Villa gave the wrong impression, so allow me to amend this. I was there, in disguise, at your Grandmaster ceremony. I have spies stationed at your wards who bring me reports on your wellbeing each time you visit. And I was never meant to stop at the Sword Villa, but I did to see you. Of course I have always cared for you, Ruyi. You are my daughter.”

She ran over and hugged him.

To the side, Jin shook his head and sighed.