The Foreign Empress

A Hundred Whispers in the Night

A cloaked figure stealthily weaves its way through the dark and desolate alleys of the imperial capital. Tonight, the waning moon's light is further obscured by a layer of clouds. A thick layer of fog, so dense one might lose their surroundings, has swept in from the dock and fallen upon the city. The city guards, undermanned as they are, only patrol the blocks closest to their barracks. In other words, tonight is the perfect night for our cloaked enigma.

The figure moves through alleys with an unnatural speed born from an absolute confidence that can only come from a local. This figure has only ever been to Luoyang once. The figure takes a left, then another, then a right, plunging further into the labyrinthine urban sprawl of the capital. Another right. A dead-end! A normal person would surely despair at the sight.

Yet, with absolute confidence, the shadow strides forward. It bangs its fist against the stone wall at the end of the alcove. The action seems to be one of frustration, until a stone slides to the side to reveal a pair of suspicious eyes. "Password?" The voice hisses.

"The Azure Sky is already dead; the Yellow Sky will soon rise."

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the wall splits apart to allow the figure into a secret room. The room, dimly lit, is packed with various other cloaked figures, a meeting of shadows. The newly arrived shadow speaks in a gravelly rasp, "My apologies for my tardiness milords, let us begin with all haste."

A rotund figure, swathed in voluminous elaborate robes, speaks up. His voice is a high, effeminate squeak, "When will you act? The Heizhenzu are relentlessly determined and thorough. None of us are truly safe from their reach, and if we go..." The figure trails off in an unspoken threat.

The new arrival speaks. His voice is firm and deep, imbued with the faith and conviction only the truly devout can muster in the face of potential death. He speaks, "Listen to my words oh great men of the empire for they come from the Great Teacher himself." The man clears his throat and resumes his speech, his tone becoming reverent and near-fanatical. 

"Floods and famine devastate the poorest of the empire while corrupt government gorges itself on relief money. The people are left destitute, taxed into oblivion by greedy and lecherous officials. The government is filled with raving and age-addled scholars who spout nothing but rhetoric. The Emperor is a weak fool, obsessed only with women and wine, ignorant to the desperation of the people. It is clearer with each passing day, with each new drought, with each starving peasant, that the Han have lost the Mandate of Heaven."

"You great men assembled here know this. You see the plight of the people; you understand their pain. Our new heavenly realm will need individuals like you, selfless, sagacious, and sincere." The speaker scoffs internally. These... pigs are anything but. I truly do not understand what the Great Teacher sees in a bunch of corrupt, kleptocratic, and nepotistic eunuchs.

The speaker is suddenly interrupted by an impatient series of cries from the assembled figures.

"So what?"

"When will you rise up? We can't keep our heads forever!" Sighing exasperatingly, the speaker addresses the chorus of questions from the crowd:

"The time is not yet ripe. The people are not yet desperate enough to take up arms against the government, until that point, any uprising should surely be crushed." A maelstrom of voices breaks out as the other figures anxiously debate how to avoid death at the hands of the Heizhenzu. Slowly a consensus is formed.

The rotund figure speaks once more, "We need more allies in court. Someone close to the Eighth Prince, who can influence him or pressure him." Heads nod in agreement.

"Do you have someone in mind?" The new arrival asks.

"I believe so; a certain bruised flower ought todo."