A Thousand Burning Masks

Epilogue

"The Emperor is the chosen leader of the High immortals. Should the Emperor misbehave, the disorder of his life shall bleed into his kingdom. Red are his sins, and red shall be the blood that bleeds from his people."

Heaven's Mandate—The Immortalist Tales

EPILOGUE

An endless flow of people flocked the city square. So much so, they almost knocked down the wooden barricade set around the execution perimeters.

I sat on my throne, my crown heavy on my head. I had it made in the likeness of Bowen's crown, but instead of vines, it was shaped like a stag's antlers. The green and bronze banners bearing the new sigil of Erden flapped in the autumn breeze—the stag prancing amidst a field of paddy.

"It's almost noon," said Biyu. I turned to smile at him. He looked stunning in a rich silk robe. It had been a week since I ascended the throne, the welts, and gashes on his face had receded into dark scars, but I could still see the shadow of them underneath the pink and beige face powder.

All around me, I had newly sworn soldiers and maids—emancipated slaves who willingly stayed back to serve their new Empress. Ara stood next to me, her hands folded over her stomach, looking a little green in the face. She had never seen a mass execution before. Perhaps I should send her back to the Palace.

I stared at the wide platform in front of me. There were five rows of ten prisoners, all of them chained and held in place by an executioner in black. Mama Ruga knelt on the first row. Bao was next to her, his puffy face pale with fear as he surveyed the booing crowd and the glint of the executioner's axe. Slave masters, brothel owners, men who used children for their pleasure. All these people must die. I would not tolerate such scum in my empire.

A bell tolled in the distance. I rose to my feet.

It was time.

The autumn wind was cold on my naked face. I had no need for any faces. Even Nüwa's face was locked in a chest and buried ten feet under. I had spent too much of my life hiding. But not anymore. The faces allowed me slight moments of reprieve, and I believed I was worthless without them.

I wasn't worthless. I was brought up in a society that taught me how little my value was, but perception change. People change. Laws change. And I was the one initiating the changes.

"Faithful people of Erden." I flung out my arms and embraced the crowd. "We have gathered here today to witness the execution of those who had tormented us for so many decades. We have lost family and friends to slave masters, suffered so much at their hands. Today is the day we cleanse Erden of such filth."

The crowd cheered—a crowd of freed slaves, families reunited, and people released from the oppression of the previous dynasty.

I held up my hand, signaling to the executioners. "May the execution commence."

The first row of heads rolled. Blood drenched the platform, flowing over the wooden edges and dripping onto the ground.

Ten more heads rolled.

I smiled at Biyu, who stood next to me watching the historical moment unfold. His eyes were sad, and as I tried to take his hand, he moved away to the other side of the platform.

He didn't understand. This was the sacrifice a ruler must commit in order to right the wrong.

Ten more heads rolled.

There was a loud buzz in my ears. I shook my head and cast my gaze into the crowd. Standing in the middle of the cheering crowd was a tall man with gray hair, stormy eyes, and a golden crown of branches on his head.

Bowen raised one of my banners into the air and let it loose.

The green and bronze banner fluttered onto the ground where it was trampled by the numerous people fighting to get a better view of the execution. Then, I lost him to the crowd.

Ten more heads rolled.

I sat back in my throne, waiting for the exhilaration of vengeance as I watched the last of the heads were severed from the necks, picked up, and impaled on stakes where they were paraded for all to see.

But it never came. 

Redness splattered the floors, drenched the air with its coppery bite, and it was the only color I could see. The dead eyes of the severed heads stared at me, their mouths gaping, tongues limp. These were the people I hated the most, despised with every inch of my soul, but why did I feel like one of the prisoners on the platform, awaiting my bloody end?