Letters from the Sanguine Realms (Tales of Southern De Long Guo)

[North Timistania]

Hongwon City

Capital of southern Aria

11th year of the reign of Chenghua Emperor



CHENG TAO ​

I Race down the packed highway, lane splitting to avoid the congestion, around me cars and rickshaws pack the smog-filled lanes. The M’beki 2000’s* hybrid engine roars with power as I leave the miserable commoners behind, their own passage blocked by choked roads and endless rows of stranded commuters.

I can't help but feel that this reflects the wider malaise of our land, Aria is trapped by its own tradition, and while we languish and stagnate the barbarians speed past unfettered by bonds of piety or culture. I leave the motorway, the city of Hongwon* glitters below me, neon-lit districts co-existing in uneasy proximity to ancestral shrines and austere temples.

Smog soon gives way to the rarefied airs of the noble district, the perfumed scent of orchids and cherry blossoms quickly dispelling the stench of the highway. It is a place most can only dream of, here my father's court exists insulated from the hardscrabble misery of the common folk below.

For generations, my family has ruled these lands in the name of the emperor, the house of Meng-Tao standing as a beacon of culture and refinement. Now though we are like the rest, a ship overburdened by past glories and sorely lacking in present direction. The emperor has sought to rectify this, to reform our stagnant empire but it is a battle fought against an enemy as implacable as any foreign invader, our own culture.

Aria is a land of tradition, we are a pious nation, loyal to our fathers and ancestors, it is in this way we have kept heaven's mandate and it is in this way we might lose it. I arrive at the gate of Mèng gōng*, the way is barred and guarded by men of the most ancient clan bodyguard, armed with very modern Predicean machine guns. I remove my helmet and the way is immediately opened.

“The prince has returned!” comes the call

***************************

The red lacquer room is the most intimate of settings, scarlet wood covers every surface, and delicate lines of graved gold dance across their face. It is here amongst the subdued lantern light and red silk drapes that my father comes to entertain concubines and close family, it is a bizarre choice to hear the audience of the abbot of the Song. Such a display of vulnerability could be a show of trust, or a trap to lure an overconfident enemy close.

As I enter the scent of incense fills my nostrils, sandalwood and clove fills the air with its warm spice. My father sits upon a cushion, his floor line desk heaving with the dishes of the day's second meal, he sips wine from a bronze drinking cup and barely seems to take notice of the exasperated holy man in his presence.

“My lord this decision offends heaven! You cannot remove a temple to build some elicit foreign gambling den! This is an affront!” the abbot bellows in an outraged voice

He is an aging man, not so old as to be decrepit but far from young, he covers his white hair beneath a ceremonial blue cihang cap* and his beard is neatly oiled and braided in the manner of a distinguished sage. He carries an ivory cane though I suspect less for support and more for pageantry, appearance is Afterall everything in a land of traditions.

Lee Song, the current abbot of the brotherhood of song’s* southern chapter, a greater hypocrite the world has never known. His order protests the degeneration of Aria even as they willingly grow rich off the deluded poor who would benefit most from modernity. He and his order would have us live in the manner of our fathers, with themselves at the head of the stagnant table.

“Do not think to lecture to me on the will of heaven priest! My ancestor fought at the side of the gods!” My father replies coldly

Meng Yi, the red dragon of the south, lord of Hongwon, and Duke of the sanguine realms, my father. At 45 the lord of the south is in bullish health, handsome despite his bulky frame and drink-reddened cheeks, he lounges in simple linen robes and seems to regard the abbot with a mixture of amusement and contempt, like a boy tormenting a trapped spider.

For years now the steady tide of modernization has washed over Aria and with each passing season the change becomes more marked and the divide more fractious. My father and the brotherhood spar constantly, every move protested and countered, they are a thorn in progresse's side and a chain that our nation would be blessed to rid itself of.

The delicious aroma of grilled pork and tofu in chili oil makes the meeting all the more grueling, the abbot has almost certainly missed his own dinner and the scent of so much rich food is almost certainly torturous. My father pulls the rigid monk along on strings of the fool's own making, toying with the fanatic even as he prepares to humiliate him.

“Destroying a shrine is blasphemy!” Lee continues his voice now rising well above the level that most courtiers would tolerate

“A shrine you did not maintain! Your order has been generously compensated; I will hear no more of this!” my father growls with a dismissive wave

“I will petition the emperor! This will not stand” Lee protests with an angry wagging of his cane

“See to it that you give my regards to our noble lord!” Meng Yi shoots back in a mocking voice

The abbot storms off, indignant steps clattering on the polished wooden floors as he leaves. My father chuckles and pours more wine into his cup, he sips it with a smug expression as he savors his small victory. The conflict is almost certain to grow worse from here, the pride of that wretched order pushing it deeper into sedition with each passing day. For now, my father regards me with a curious expression.

“Riding that death trap again I see, a less indulgent father would forbid such recklessness” Father quips in mock disapproval

“Then I thank the ancestors I am born to the house of Meng Tao” I reply with a knowing wink

“Ha! No more indulgent a clan walks the face of this earth!” my father laughs loudly as he downs his wine

He beckons me to sit, tea and food is brought and for a time we eat in comfortable silence, the food seems to have the desired effect, he sobers up rapidly and free from the haze of the wine my father regards me with a serious expression.

************************************

“The Brotherhood is growing more brazen, they have support amongst both the poor and the wealthy, there are many who do not see our emperors project for the salvation it is” my father explains as the servants clear away the bowls and plates

Embassies, industrial growth, borders that grow open ever more rapidly, foreign goods and foreign tongues, the era of Chenghua is upon Aria. But while most sane souls realize we cannot continue in isolation, countless old clans would beg to differ and violently so. This casino is merely a skirmish in a larger war.

“This casino, it is worth angering the brotherhood?” I ask apprehensively

My father’s expression becomes thoughtful as he ponders my question, he sets down his cup and stokes his beard contemplatively. After a long silence he speaks once more but now his expression is not the solemn wonderings of a sage, now his eyes bear our clan's telltale expression of mischief in their showing.

“Tell me boy, how would you deal with the brotherhood?” he asks with a quizzical tone and a probing expression

I think on it for a while, I bear their order no love and after all the trouble and disrespect they have offered, I would love nothing more than to have them all buried alive in the manner of disobedient scholars*. I answer recklessly.

“I would have them arrested for sedition” I exclaim in a boastful tone

“Jailing holy men, perhaps that might have worked once, but now they are as a nest of hornets my son, trouble one and the whole swarm emerges.” my father replies with a disappointed shake of his head

“And if we do nothing, we lose face!” I snap back in exasperation, the wine evidently making me less then civil

“Perhaps...or perhaps by doing nothing we allow our enemy to stumble” he replies with the slightest of smiles

“I don’t understand,” I say in an uncertain voice

“What is the sacred law of the Tao*?!” my father asks of me in a commanding voice

“Action through inaction "I reply with practiced speed, after years of tutelage I could recite the ancestral law in my sleep

“Exactly and it is no different here, this casino...it is a ploy my son...a ruse to draw an overconfident enemy out into the open!” my father replies spreading one hand across the table for emphasis

“And once they show their hand?” I ask

“Then we cut it off for good” father replies with a vicious smile

“Clever, very clever father,” I say with an approving nod

“If it works” he replies somberly

A gamble then, I would almost approve and consider it apropos if it was not our family's survival that was being wagered. Nothing in this land is certain, even the mighty dragon must now chart an uncertain path through the coming days.



*The M’beki 2000 is a hybrid motorcycle designed and sold by Astragonese company Kazingo motors. Noted for its speed and the elegant lion motif on the bikes front.

*Literally “red bay” named for the bruised wine-colored sunsets, main port and capital city of southern Aria.

*literally “The Palace of Meng”

*Traditional monastic headdress

*The brotherhood of Song, an ultra-orthodox sect of the faith, this order preaches isolation, adherence to tradition and the rejection of all things foreign. Founded a century prior as a reaction to foreign incursions.

*Ancient punishment reserved for scholars who had offended the emperor and his dragons

*Ancient philosophical and mystical treaties that have become intertwined in Aria’s ancestral culture.

​

 

[North Timistania]

ONG

Hongwon City

低潮-Dīcháo district

11th Year of the reign of the most beneficent Chenghua Emperor ​

The Dichao district was a constant reminder of the fragility of man's endeavors, once thriving it was now better known by the people of Hongwon as the derelicts. It sprawled over a section of the city's harbor zone, a bloated mass of rotting tenements and overcrowded apartments, it lay like a drunken slattern, unapologetically splayed on the ground in a bed of its own filth.

The great centerpiece of the derelicts was an ancient gate, the once pristine stone now blackened by grime. A great lion statue stood at the head of the gate, a distinct foreign-looking creature whose mouth was open and locked in an eternal roar. The beast's maw was filled with trash and its flank was marred by what were unmistakably bullet holes. There had been other statues once, their empty plinths now serving as the only sign they had been there.

The lion gate was a reminder that the world had once been very different, that Dichao had once served not as a slum for the destitute but rather as a window to the wider eras. Dichao had once been the foreign quarter, hosting visitors from across the world, the revolution in 1911 had seen that brief era of openness abruptly end.

When the country had emerged from the abortive conflict of 1911 the foreigners had been expelled and in their place the poor and the dispossessed had flooded in to occupy the abandoned district. The better part of a century of neglect had done the rest, today it was nothing more than a slowly collapsing relic.

The district had become so rundown that the present duke's great-great-grandfather had ordered a vast wall constructed to conceal the miserable place. Behind that wall, life had devolved into a hardscrabble mix of gangs, drug abuse, and casual violence, the wider city willingly blinded to the horror beyond the lion gate. And in that out-of-sight and out-of-mind place, the seeds of revolt were growing at terrible speed.

*************************************************************************************

Rain hammered the rooftops, a deluge of filthy runoff battering the rotting wood and corrugated iron of Dichao. Ong watched as the streets descended into a brief period of chaos, with drunks and paupers rushing to find shelter. Ong frowned as his oilskin coat became slick from the downpour, given the choice he would have much preferred the comforts of a dry apartment and hot noodles, but work was work.

He moved down the main street, passing a familiar rogues gallery of scrawny urchins and wild-eyed beggars, his old bones seemed to absorb all the chill of the evening like a sponge. Ong moved on stiff legs down flooded processionals, suddenly feeling very grateful that he was wearing waterproof boots. His destination awaited the end of the road, flickering neon characters revealing a rundown but still very much open winehouse.

The interior reeked of stale alcohol, smoke, and Mould and there was an oppressive humidity that almost made the storm outside seem inviting. Ong walked in the chill of the street replaced by the cloying heat of the bar, his clothes felt heavy and cold and the opportunity to sit and eat next to a heater had begun to seem very inviting.

“Uncle why are you walking out in the rain, come inside!” a barmaid said motioning to him in a fussing tone that seemed genuine enough that it was oddly comforting.

“I'm here to see Zhao,” he said in a calm tone

The woman's cheer vanished as soon as the words left Ong’s lips, conviviality replaced in an instant by deeply ingrained terror. Zhao was a name known by every should in Dichao, a crime boss who fancied himself a revolutionary but who behaved in a manner closer to a tyrant. For years Zhao had patronized orphanages and shrines, paid for the funerals of victims of Industrial accidents, all a carefully constructed image designed to win loyalty.

What the average person did not see were the immense networks Zhao maintained, a vast train of logistics designed to support drugs, prostitution, gun running, and anything else that Zhao deemed profitable. What people did see was the bodies that floated down the sludge-filled canals at dusk and the victims unceremoniously dumped in alleyways and trash piles. Zhao might have played the philanthropist but everyone in Dichao knew what happened when you crossed him.

“This way sir!” the girl said fearfully, giving a forced bow

He was led up the stairs to a private room, the barmaid knocked, and a man answered by pulling open the door with a rough yank. He had a face that was a tapestry of scars, bruises, and burn marks, some appearing very recent, Lo Feng glared out at Ong with the look of a world surveying its next kill. The maid bowed low and scampered away fearfully, Ong stood his ground knowing that to demure would be to show weakness.

“What do you want old man!? The Mahjong club is down the street!” Lo Feng snapped dismissively

Lo Feng was infamous for his brutality, anyone unfortunate enough to fall into his hands typically died screaming or lived on so disfigured they wished for the former. He clung to Zhao like a loyal hound to a doting master, he had no qualms about murder or mutilation, whatever his boss required, he delivered without question or hesitation.

“I'm here to see your boss, tell him Mr. Shen has arrived,” Ong said in a firm tone, dropping his assumed name as he did so

“Who is it at the door Feng? That draught is interrupting my stories!” a familiar voice beckoned from inside

“Some old codger, says his name is Shen” the man name Feng replied dismissively

“Shen? Let him in!” the voice replied in an excited tone

Begrudgingly, Ong was led into a circular office.



*************************************************************************************

The man who ran Dichao did not match up with the fearful urban legends that the locals exchanged with hushed tones and fearful glances. Zhao was a big man in every sense of the word, he had a belly that was round like a shrine bowl and his pudgy and ruddy-colored face was a swollen portrait of overindulgence. He sat eating loudly, resting on a battered old leather couch, his shirt was unbuttoned to expose his belly and myriad tattoos and his greasy moustache and ponytail lent him an almost comical air.

“Ah, Shen! Come in! come in! I was just watching my stories, fantastic new program!” Zhao beckoned with an eager voice

Television wasn’t anything new, Aria had manufactured and even aired some of its own programs but for the average person, it was a rare luxury, especially if that person was living in Dichao. The programs were usually twenty-year-old re-runs from across Eras, but that didn’t stop people like Zhao from finding the novelty irresistible. He was presently laughing with a full mouth at a skit from an ancient Astragonese comedy show.

“Feng! Have the girls bring tea!” Zhao commanded with a snap of his fingers, Feng nodded and left the room to attend to his master's wish

Zhao had a talent for being charming when he needed to be, violence was only half the equation when it came to running a slum. Zhao had everything he could wish for, money, power, and complete impunity to demonstrate both. However, he still lacked the one thing he craved most, legitimacy, if the duke remained in power he would never be seen as anything other than a petty crime lord.

“Tell me, has the abbot considered my offer?” Zhao asked his voice growing apprehensive

“His eminence has indeed pondered your words with great care Master Zhao” Ong replied calmly

“And?” Zhao snapped, almost losing the jovial tone completely

“We will indeed require your aid in the coming days, his eminence will be relying on you to deliver the promised items,” Ong said in a reassuring tone

“My sources are reliable, the explosives have already been procured, Aurorean army surplus and very good quality, the eminence will have all the tools he requires to restore Hongwon to pious rule "Zhao explained his voice adopting the lilt of a charismatic salesman

And there it was, the fiendish details of a plot, Ong nodded respectfully and pretended he was receiving matter-of-fact news. Inside he felt a chaotic clash of fear, panic, and excitement, the flood of information and the ensuing implications were almost unbearable as he struggled to maintain composure. Ong forced the flurry of emotions down and kept to his carefully prepared script, close the deal and get out alive.

“This is excellent news Master Zhao; his eminence will be most pleased, and I am certain you will be greatly rewarded for your efforts when he has installed a new regime here”

Zhao grinned from ear to ear, his dreams were within reach, and now he only had to provide the materials to make them a reality. The crime lord reach for his teacup and raised the aged porcelain vessel in a toast, Ong followed suit and the two glasses clinked as both men proceeded to down the warm oolong in one practiced motion.

“To a brighter future for both the abbot and myself!” Zhao declared ebulliently

“And the delivery?” Ong asked interrupting Zhao’s enthused moment

“I will send my best men to hand over the explosives, the old warehouses by wharf 13 should be discreet enough, what you do with the devices is up to your master to decide” Zhao replied attempting to re-assure Ong

“Good, I will go at once and make the arrangements,” Ong said rising and giving the master of Dichao an exaggerated bow and moving to leave

“One more thing,” Zhao said in a quizzical voice

Ong felt a chill flow down his aged face, had he been too swift to walk out? Did Zhou suspect he was a mole? He turned to face Zhao, who was now holding something in his fist. It was a small leather pouch, evidence of Ong’s infiltration? He muttered a silent prayer to the ancestors and prepared for the worst to follow.

“A gift for the abbot, to further emphasize my devotion to his cause,” Zhao said offering the pouched with both hands in a traditional gesture

Ong took the gift in both hands and gave a low bow in response before leaving through the open door and heading out into the street below. His heart didn’t stop pounding until he was three blocks away and heading for the district gate. He didn’t even notice the chill or the sticky unpleasantness of wet clothing, he was focused on getting out of Dichao alive.

**********************************************************************************

Back in his car, Ong drove for what seemed like a long time, back into the mass of raw humanity that was downtown, back into the smog, night markets, and anonymity. He didn’t stop until he was certain that no one had been tailing him, at which point he parked up at the nearest noodle vendor and purchased a steaming bowl of greasy and steaming Lo Mein*. He took them to go and settled back into his car, wolfing down the mass of pork, vegetable, and chillis with the abandon of a man who had just cheated death.

After he had finished, he reached for the phone concealed in his glove compartment, a flip phone that while reasonably expensive in Aria was already years out of date in wider Eras. Ong barely knew how to work the thing, in his prime everything had been handled by payphones and letters, how quickly Aria was now changing. He fumbled the keys and finally was able after much swearing and pounding with a thumb to input the police number.

“Hongwon magistrates office, what is your query,” a stern woman's voice asked after the call was put through

“I need to speak with Inspector Li, it is an urgent matter”

“One moment” came the reply, only slightly less stern than before

“This is Li” a blunt voice replied after the transfer passed

“Li its Ong, we need to move quickly, our suspicions were correct, the brotherhood is planning something and many lives are in danger”

“Back to the station now, we must make plans” came the authoritative reply

Ong closed the phone and revved the car's engine, the aging motor groaning into full life as it began to amble down packed roads and crowded streets. The motorway beckoned and haste was paramount, whatever the brotherhood was planning it was not going to be a peaceful act, the abbot was preparing for war and the magistrates needed to be ready to fight back.





*Egg noodles.

 

[North Timistania]

HO

11th year in the beneficent reign of Chenghua emperor

Hongwon City

Liaoning temple

Headquarters of the brotherhood of song ​

“Long ago” the abbot began as the crowds of faithful watched in reverent silence “long ago this land knew balance, balance, and harmony, every man knew his place and was content to serve as heaven mandated. The farmer tended his fields, the nobles governed the lands, and the emperor served the will of the divine. But the hearts of men have grown corrupt, tempted by foreign whispers of wealth and comfort! Just as before this flirtation with devils from across the sea will end in misery for the land of Aria!” The abbot continued his voice becoming a booming roar

The crowd bayed angrily, spewing forth condemnation and xenophobia as the grim picture of open borders was painted for them. There were hundreds of them crowding the vast temple hall, they ranged from elegantly dressed nobility to commoners who thronged the lower levels. For now, their numbers were too small to challenge the emperor but given enough time and discontent the abbot was certain the halls would echo with the voices of thousands.

“In 1911 we drove the foreigners from our shores! We shall do so again if need be! Aria needs none of their degeneracy, our traditions shall be preserved!” the abbot boomed and raised a wrinkled fist

The sermon ended with cheers as the tithing bowl was filled and the faithful filed out with newfound vigor. The monks collected the donations and retreated into the treasury to count the daily takings, it was a meticulous operation and one which had made the brotherhood immensely wealthy. Brother Ho watched the proceedings from afar, the abbot had already retired to his private rooms. Ho gazed down at the worn leather purse and then made his way up the stairs toward his master.

*************************************************************************************

Abbot Gang Liao liked to portray himself as a severe old ascetic, a contrast to the indulgent ways of the emperor's government. This façade was well cultivated when in the public eye, behind closed doors however a far less austere being dwelled. He reclined on a soft divan of red predicean velvet, body wrapped in gold-lined astragonese silk, and the glass of wine in his hand was undoubtedly santonian red. The abbot regarded Brother Ho with a dismissive glance.

“Ah Ho, I trust you come to disturb me with good news,” the abbot said in an irritable tone, swirling his wine with an idle hand before taking a long gluttonous sip

“Yes Sifu*, we have received word from Zhao, everything is prepared” Ho explained in a low respectful voice

“Usually, our slum lord friend sends a gift with such news” the abbot muttered as he rose from the divan and seated himself behind the great oak desk

Ho bowed low and presented the pouch with both hands raised, he placed the gift on the desk where the abbot proceeded to snatch it up and empty out its contents without a hint of care or ceremony. Several carefully wrapped parcels rested upon the ornate oak, Ho didn’t know what they were, but he suspected they did not contain anything a priest should be imbibing. He kept his eyes to the ground, both out of respect and secretly to contain his disgust.

Gang Liao was in many ways the antithesis of the order's ideals, he was decadent and possessed of a hypocrisy that made the more devout Ho deeply uncomfortable. And yet? The old man had led the order to immense power and his sermons and political activities had borne success, Ho doubted any other could have achieved so much. And so, he let the abbot indulge in his worldly excesses, minor sins could be tolerated if the nation was restored to heaven's mandate.

“Zhao informed our agent that the bombs will be placed around the casino in preparation for the grand opening, the effect should send a clear message to the emperor” Ho explained matter-factly

“Yes! Soon Chenghua’s foolish experiment will be discredited as folly, once the bombs go off our supporters will begin demonstrations across the country, the spark will become fire and the emperor will be forced to accept a return to orthodoxy” the Abbott replied gleefully

That was the plan at least, the nobility who supported the brotherhood's traditionalist agenda were displaced in the present court hierarchy. The modernist factions held immense sway over the emperor and his advisors were all true believers in the continued opening of Aria to the rest of eras. However, if the openness was seen to bring disunity and rebellion, even Chenghua would be forced to accept the will of his nobles.

“I want you to oversee the final preparations Ho, once the riots begin, we will have to move fast to establish a power base within the court. Oh, and before you go” the abbot said nonchalantly

“Yes, Sifu?” Ho asked

“Send for my handmaidens, the sermons have left me weary, and I would take comfort in their presence,” The abbot said with a flash of lecherous amusement

“Yes, sifu!” Ho replied obediently as he bowed and turned to leave

He felt the disgust burn within his very soul as he descended the stairs, the abbot's behavior was more befitting a degenerate king than a holy man. He forced his emotions down with an exertion of will and continued walking, The mandate of heaven did not require Ho’s approval about whom it chose as its instrument, he needed only to obey and watch as the ancestor's will was done. He took comfort in that mantra but the laughter of young women behind him seemed almost mocking as he walked away.

*Teacher