79 Barbarians at the Gates (1/2)
The headlights stopped some distance away from the palace gates. The man sitting inside the armored vehicle leading the assault glared at the sight before him, the scars on his right cheek fulminating with rage.
The men inside the car with him had the same grim look of blazing, almost uncontrollable rage. Their fury was tightly held in check, like taught wires waiting to be sprang free, their objective to crush and pummel, to debone and tear apart. They had been stewing in their own bile for more than an hour now and they were getting dangerously impatient.
The siege of Laniang conducted in the cowardice of night have upset their rational balance. It had pushed them towards the edge of reason, of madness. They see nothing between them now but the primal urge to draw blood, to massacre and kill. Only then will their baser instincts be tamed and satisfied. Blood will flow, but this time it will be in the direction of Yuqui. The dead of Laniang demand it. And they look to this man to make that happen. They sat on the back of the vehicle tense and restless, awaiting his signal.
Behind the feral gleam in his eyes the man, however, seemed lost in his own thoughts. The man's name was Ju Xing, the pride of the family of Ju, the paternal family of her eternal highness, the majestic empress of Yuqui, the mother of his highness the emperor Gu Fang. Ju Xing's mouth curled in derision as the kilometer long honorifics played in his mind.
Ju Xing was twelve when the subject of his parents' identity came up during the annual gathering of the elders. It snowed that week, the whiteness of winter covering every inch of Laniang so that he was forced to stay home instead of outside in the ocean learning how to swim underwater. The voice of one of the elders was loud, reaching him in the next room where he was hiding, waiting for the right moment when nobody was looking for him so he could skip and could go outside to play.
At first, the words didn't mean anything to him. The words were jumbled, like a secret code or a secret language until he heard his name and the question of his identity came up. He thought all along that his mother was the woman who raised him, Ju Heng, but it turned out he was wrong. Ju Heng was related to him but as his grandmother and not his mother. He listened, stunned. He felt unmoored somehow, unbalanced and yes, scared.
He waited he didn't know how long in hopes that the identity of his mother or even his father would slip accidentally out of the elder's mouth but the voices suddenly spoke in hushed tones, as if the speakers were afraid to be heard. Maybe they guessed he was in the next room listening and restrained themselves, he wasn't sure.
He never told Ju Heng what he overheard. Although burning with curiosity, he didn't asked either. Perhaps deep inside, he dreaded the answer. And so, the farce of him calling her his mother continued.
That same year when the weather turned warmer, the entire town nearly overturned with excitement when a letter from the palace far away in Yuqui arrived. His grandmother almost tore down the house cleaning and scraping and tearing until the old house sparkled like new. He was looking out the window, waiting like everyone else when the parade of carriages arrived. Six magnificent horses the color of chestnut carried the main carriage in front like a tender, breakable fruit. The watchers tried to steal a glimpse of the people inside but the curtains didn't even move as if even a stray wind was too shy or too scared to insist to be let inside.
The parade of carriages passed thru the front gates, drove to the house, then stopped by the great doors of the old house. Eunuchs with noses nearly pressed to the ground let the steps down. A white, delicate hand was held out and gently grasped; a jeweled foot encased in gold shoes stepped down, followed by an elegant body dressed in fire yellow robes, then the charming head which lifted up to reveal the softest white skin, the arched eyebrows, the bright eyes, the small nose, and the smiling mouth which all proclaimed the presence of her eternal highness, the mother of heaven and earth, the empress of Yuqui.
Yu Xing's eyes burned as he looked at her. The beating of his heart was loud in his ears. He was sure she could hear it because her eyes unerringly found him, hiding behind his grandmother, peeking at her with curious eyes. She smiled and moved as if she couldn't help it but then someone called out her name from the carriage behind.
The empress turned and her brilliant smile flashed and then she saw only him, the little boy who next stepped out of the carriage, calling to her imperiously with a little whine. To everyone's surprise, she bent down to take his hand, pinching his cheeks until he laughed, the young voice a little doting and shy.
She stopped in front of his grandmother, a small yet dignified old lady, who grasped her hand and pulled her inside. Ju Xing was pushed to the side. The empress passed by him as he stood by the entrance, the tails of her dress, the dragon pin in her hair, her smell, all of these left impressions on him like marks on his skin. Even the little boy whose hand she still held didn't pay him any heed.
The empress shed her formality and behaved like a normal woman inside the house. She even cooked noodles for them one morning; she even started talking to him, a little stiffly at first but naturally as the days wore on.
He loved the ocean, the smell of the sea and when summer finally arrived, he ran eagerly to the water and nearly drowned. The empress swam against the tide and saved him. It was the first time he saw her cry. He woke up cold and sick and she was there, her tears warm on her face, her arms tight around his shivering body.
The boy, her son, came to live with them for eight years. And every year, she would stay in Laniang for a month. He would sometimes look at Gu Fang and feel unbearable envy. The jealousy in his heart would sometimes almost overwhelm him and he would feel suffocated. He hated Gu Fang and in his heart of hearts, he wanted very much to kill him. He didn't know why. He only wanted to do it because then his heart would ease and he would be able to breath again without that unfamiliar constriction in his throat.
He finally had a glimmer of the truth when he turned thirteen. That year, as if he had eaten some magical beans, his growth spurt accelerated and never stopped until he reached an inch below six feet. His face thinned and his complexion, which was tanned by too much exposure to the sun, dramatically improved.
A girl in his grandmother's house started eyeing him differently, covetously. He realized what it was when she would accidentally touch him, the touch lingering and warm. Then one night she entered his room and woke him up, her little mouth on his, her tongue entangling with his. Her naked warm body was pressed against his, her bountiful breasts emitting the smell of earth and musk. Aroused, he pressed her on the bed and clumsily yet hungrily kissed and explored her body until she took hold of his hard manhood and guided him to that warm place between her legs. He tangled and pushed and emptied himself into her again and again until the morning broke and she left the bed and he went back to sleep totally satiated.