Arc 1 A god descends
Little victories lead to bigger victories that affect the battles, that eventually win wars.
Equally small failures, if amplified can lead to greater loss.
Eventually Shi Shuan came to wholeheartedly despise each candle he met. Lit, unlit - they were all reflection of his failures. This was how his illness started. He put out every candle in his field of vision. At the beginning the old priest thought it was not more than a whim, but the god was very delightful in his duty and at some point the feeble man called it a day and so the manor's east wing where the god routinely hung out was suffused in darkness.
It was of great deal for the servants managing the place, as cleaning in complete absence of light was quite a feat for the most skilled butler, for them simply mission impossible. So, after a week of pained screams filling the east wing in the middle of the night, the main butler was forced to forbid night activities and cram tasks in day schedule. Everyone was a tad busier now.
Nonetheless situation had some pros too. Shi Shuan became expert at moving in the murk. His eyes got used to the level of light quicker and he learned to 'see' the signs (other than painful bumps) of furniture or walls approaching.
He darted to the dining hall like a silent ghost. Then with swift turn in opposite direction, to the library. Smug about losing his tail he greeted Zhen Yu with a smile.
'You're late.'
'Sorry, I couldn't find the book.'
'No need to feel sorry, it was only a little delay.' he terminated the topic.
'I still can't get over the candle.' Shi Shuan said plainly, putting the book on the desk.
'And why the hurry? The first-level exams are far beyond the horizon. You still have a few weeks left, that is from what I know. Take your time.' He leaned back on the sofa, 'Besides it's not like there's no tomorrow if you fail.'
Even if he didn't have exams he still felt his pride hurt.
'I feel reassured.' He growled sarcastically and stuffed his nose in the book with no desire to continue the conversation.
'It's still good to learn a few spells even if they are of no use for now.' That was the mindset he nursed to distract himself from the candles.
Zhen Yu threw him a sideway glance and returned to his own studies, 'Hey, don't be so down. You look like a grim reaper. If you don't smile, no lady will want you~' He teased with his eyes back on the book.
'That's what I'm worried about.' It's not like he had to be a god, it's just that he won't find his other half.
Zhen Yu didn't pay attention to his junior's dissatisfied scoff.
Shi Shuan wasn't interested in relationships then, why should he be now? Especially with all this mess hanging above his head.
'Women shall remain as flowers. Pleasant to the eyes, not to the touch.' That's what he was taught. Yeah, sure women are pretty, but one shouldn't forget they can talk with those poisonous mouths of theirs. Better leave them beautiful and faraway as they are.
Like that two hours went by in utter lull. But was this reading profitable? He felt he will never be able to trigger his spiritual power.
He daydreamed about being exposed and granted another death. Maybe then he can finally be that damn cat? Or rest. Rest was also fine.
His steps echoed in the empty dull corridor. It was so spacious that he didn't need to focus and so his mind drifted. His feet carried him on their own following the route engraved in his subconsciousness. One step after another. The monotonous sound put his mind to sleep.
'Wait, something is off.'
He thought he heard a quiet sound of footsteps that did not belong to him. He paused in his steps but didn't turn around. The night was moonless and pitch black. He wouldn't see anyway.
'Zhen Yu?'
He didn't get affirmation nor refusal and there were no more sounds heard. His imagination?
He continued the walk but with a next few steps he felt something forcibly pressed on his nose and after one careless breath he laid motionlessly on the floor.
-----
Drunkards party started for good at the - as the label with paint peeling-out proudly announced - 'Golden Hawk' inn.
No person was left sober deep in the night. But strangely no mind was clouded from the alcohol. As if the worldly matters were too heavy to lift their feet of the ground and drift with no worries. They were like actors playing the 'drunkards party' episode. They danced, laughed, cried with flushed faces but the eyes reminded always clear. Maybe they were enjoying their last moments. Maybe they all knew that.
'Jue Kingdom will fall.' The peasant said what weighted them all, sipping red liquid from round-belied calyx, 'There's no force walking upon this country that can shield us from those Western barbarians. It's inevitable with this imbecile in charge.' There came some heavy words.
Another fellow spat on the floor, 'Imbecile? That too light, dear brother! This slut will take us with him to the yellow springs.'
'Man, he will leave first to ascend from heavenly pleasure of opium!' The widely known rumors of the prince being an addict reached even the dirtiest of slums.
Whole hall burst out in a hollow guffaw.
The people of Western Wie are also known under a different name: The Hunters over the Dunes. Western Wie is not simply a country, it's a republic of united desert clans. The vast land, regrettably blessed with nothing but dry sand, not suited for edible plants and animals upbringing, made people constantly fight over oasis to survive. For the way more comfortably living, 'civilized' residents of decently prosperous in food and water Jue Kingdom, those wild, ruthless, unkept clans are simply put into a deluxe package signed 'barbarians'.
The name is well suited and came from a commonly told story. If there's a Western Wie, why is there no Eastern Wie? – some quick-witted asked. That should be the logic, and of course there once was, centuries ago, that no living dependents remain, only gods remember. It was doing even better than its Western sibling. Full of learned people of science and Confucianism it slowly overcame the deserts and build a healthy country. Just then a terrible drought broke out in Western Wie. People became desperate when their live-keeping ponds and rivers dried little by little in their eyes, so they began to plunder the blooming Eastern territories.The pacifistic scholars, with no will to fight couldn't resist at all when they were slaughtered, chased away. At first they came up with brilliant strategies, but the dune's people expanded more and more, getting better and stronger with every raid. They beat intellect with pure brute strength. Soon whole Eastern side was taken over by terrifying barbarians from behind the dunes and swallowed by Western Wie. Next in queue was Jue.
'Tis' old man's ears heard the winds say that he summoned a war god.' A man hunched behind the bar threw casually.
'Are you sure your ears workin' good, grandpa? What is that war god doing right now?' A youngster said lightly, but he's got the point, 'I don't believe someone would come down to this slum from up there,' He pointed at the sky here. 'even if that dog begged.'
'But what if High Priest asked?' Some well-informed lady spoke up.
The silence lasted for a moment. They all knew that man. He was like a saint, wrongly born to be a human. He helped rich and poor equally like his own brothers and sisters, with attention listened to a mere beggar. No person could say a bad word about him and they all knew that.
'Now that you said so, I think I heard that he did this, directly opposing the prince. He outtalked him so badly our damsel run with his tail between his legs.'
'Hell no! If he won over that jerk, then pigs fly.'
'B-but I heard that he's really strong. As a child he was able to lift two carriages from the river with nothing but his will.' The youngster's eyes sparkled with admiration, such a pure feeling only a kid could hold.
Another wave of laughter run through the room.
The youngster's face flushed from embarrassment and he hung it low.
Others laughed it off, but inside they envied him. They wouldn't believe it anymore even if they saw it with their own eyes.
No one took this conversation to heart. Words spoken lightly in anticipation for short-lived fame or just a moment of attention. Most stories told were even less reliable than dreams, but no on voiced a word of complain. Hence all this god-talk was considered more of a day-dream than a real possibility.
Only one man quietly sitting at the corner thought of it seriously. Sturdy middle-aged individual snorted and emptied the cup in one gulp licking the creamy foam off his moustache and lips with content, then curving them into a mocking smile.
'If only they knew...'
'What do ya' think? Which god would come?'
'For tis' prince? Ain't god of wine and ecstasy fits?' The older woman quipped.
'Ahh... can't ya' be serious at least once ?!' The younger one beside her complained annoyed.
'Only Bishamon can pull us up from this shit he'd made.'
'Don't forget there's one more war god with equal power!'
'Ha?' The woman seemed visibly confused.
'Lord Byakko, you idiot!' The other one punched her in the arm, by all means not lightly, 'How could you forget the story of the Saint with a Broken Sword ?!'
'You really think that they have enough power to call someone from the inner circle? F*ck, you shithead! Don't punch!'
'Yeah, I would rather believe you don't get paid for f*cking !'
This battle of (im)polite words morphed into battle of fists as two women fell to the floor.