Weaves of Ink and Song

Another Path (Part 3)

"Your letters were much warmer than this welcome. I'm hurt, Little Mo." Shiyao's velvet voice drifted out of the yurt.

"You read too much into them." Junmo's voice had shed its silk, leaving only cold steel.

Mengzhang edged closer to the entrance. The flaps were lowered; he couldn't see what was happening inside. Junmo had led the copper-haired man into his yurt for a private conversation. So Mengzhang waited outside, chewing idly at a blade of grass as he attempted to eavesdrop. He couldn't help it. Shiyao had a face that could rival Tian'ping's top courtesan.

Shiyao laughed. "You're angry. Why? Because I entertained your precious refugees without your permission? They should be grateful. Not everyone gets to hear Ariq'khan's top musician play."

"You know that was not merely a song. Don't tempt these folks."

"All I did was give them a brief respite from their troubles." Shiyao's voice dipped, the rest of his words lost in a musical murmur.

Mengzhang's face was almost touching the entrance flaps. He shuffled instinctively closer, so close, the fabric tickled his ears. Shifting his head slightly, he adjusted his position to peek through the tiny gap where the fabric flaps divided.

Shiyao's was whispering into Junmo's ears, amber eyes downcast.

"No." Junmo's voice was resolute. He took a step back.

"I helped you keep the boy here. And made sure the rations kept being sent. You didn't need to ask twice. This is how you thank me?" Shiyao mocked.

"I am grateful." Junmo sighed. "Mengzhang was a chess piece that didn't need to be sacrificed. Not when you've already lined the path to Ba'ye's demise."

"Now you're accusing me of deviousness. When I was just fulfilling my assignment. My hands are bound, Junmo. My master made a deal with the capital. Mount Lingyun does not tolerate failure. Unlike your noble Kuang Sect."

"There are other paths."

"Like what? Leave Mount Lingyun? Join Kuang?" Shiyao laughed. "We've both known that was impossible the day my sect picked me off the streets of Tian'ping and left you behind." Bitterness curdled Shiyao's voice. He drew nearer to Junmo, eyes flashing. They were so close, their noses were almost touching. "This face is my boon and my bane. I can never leave Mount Lingyun without being found." A smile curled his lips, though it did not reach his eyes. "Besides, I'm good at what I do. I might as well return and claim the position I deserve."

"What you do doesn't need to involve playing with the lives of innocents. We should protect them. Shield them from being sacrificial pawns in the game of power."

"Is that what you're doing now? Forsaking your sect and your kingdom to be what? A half-qualified physician for these half-breed innocents?" Shiyao hissed.

"All men are equal," Junmo said. "No race is better than the other. Liaotians and Ba'yens, these are just names. Cut us, we bleed the same. You're of two bloods too, Shiyao. You should know that fact as well as I do."

"You say that, but how many can you save without power? You need power to win wars. To protect the ones you love," Shiyao said. "Don't believe me? Why don't we ask General Liao?" He turned amber eyes to the entrance, gazing directly through the gap where Mengzhang was peeking.

"Come in," Junmo said. Gentleness once again coated the iron in his voice.

Mengzhang shuffled into the yurt, stopping awkwardly a few paces in. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, you definitely meant to, General Liao." Shiyao rolled his eyes.

"How do you know me?" Mengzhang directed his question at the slender musician.