The Last Empress [Fantasy/Romance/Adventure | IN PROGRESS]

12. Bright Penchant

The tent MuRong YueChu was seated in was made of lamb's skin held up by thin reeds of bamboo. A large ram's skull signifying the position of its previous owner was currently living out a second life as his footrest. His milk jade ring clinks against dense wood as he moves his thumb in small circular motions over the handle.

Spread out in front of him was a map of the continent, weighed down by four heavy cornerstones. Ashen strands of his hair fall over his shoulder as he bends over the map, his frame appearing ghostly in the dimness. He takes a moment to study the landscape, the tip of his brush tracing over the roads leading to Sui county with thick black ink. On paper, the meandering course of the SanGu river flows downwards from the mountainous region, splitting into three smaller subsidiaries near the village of BeiGuan, where the position of his camp was marked. He places the brush back onto its porcelain holder, pale fingers reaching across the table and lighting a candle. The flame hisses, spitting like a cornered animal.

Its wick was too long.

Suddenly, the tent flap opens. A burly man stumbles in, escorted closely by Ren. His arms are bound behind him, ropes crossed sturdily over his chest. Ren serves the man a swift kick to the back of his legs, causing him to drop heavily to his knees.

Yue stares down at his uncle, a slow smile spreading across his scholarly features. If it wasn't for the blood that still stained the earth at BeiGuan, no one would believe that such a gentle looking man could be so brutal.

The captive spits on the ground near Yue's feet, a string of surprisingly colourful curses involving Yue's many ancestors flowing freely from his mouth.

Yue raises an eyebrow in amusement. It seemed that his uncle had conveniently forgotten that they were descendants from the same line of ancestors. He steps gingerly around the unsightly pool of spit, pulling a pure white handkerchief from his robe. Bending down, Yue dabs at his uncle's mouth, where spittle and blood had dried into a seeping crack in his lip. In the flickering light, his eyes radiate an unnatural yellow glow, luminescent as the eyes of a starving wolf.

"You're nothing but a traitor, just like your father!" Zhong shouts up at him, struggling futilely against the rope. Blue veins pop out from his neck as his face reddens with rage.

Yue's golden eyes appear wet with pity, but the corners of his lips lift in a contemptuous manner. He stands slowly, wiping down his fingers with the back of the handkerchief.

"Ren," He remarks, casually tossing the handkerchief. "It appears my dear Shu Fu's mouth needs a thorough washing."

"Yes, Master." His guard answers, grabbing a jug of water from a nearby servant and emptying its entire contents into Zhong's mouth.

Yue steps out of the tent, ignoring the gurgling sounds coming from inside as Ren forces another jug of water down his uncle's throat.

The cool night air was a welcome distraction.

In some respects, Zhong was right. It was rather ironic, as Yue's father was the most patriotic person he knew. And yet, for someone who spent his entire life fighting for the freedom of his people, MuRong Shen was betrayed by the very country he fought for. The King thought Shen's son too young to understand the truth of what happened, sparing his life on the grace of the birth of his first daughter.

But he had grossly underestimated Yue's penchant for revenge.

Under the boy's docile facade, resentment for the King curled like a poisonous viper, squeezing his lungs and blackening his heart. He hid his true intentions behind a good-natured grin, showing only consideration to those closest to him. Safely, the boy matured into a man. Yet, still, he remained silent about what he knew, carrying out his duties like an obedient lapdog.