The Road North #2
A shadow rounds the corner from the tea house—compact, intense, moving with the coiled efficiency of someone who has spent years in direct action. He registers us, registers the trap, and his hand goes to his blade.
Then the second man enters from the opposite direction.
The first thing I notice is that he is, objectively, remarkably attractive. The kind of face that belongs on temple paintings. Cheekbones that could cut glass. He moves with a mild, unhurried grace that suggests he has no idea he’s walking into an ambush.
The intense one sees him. Freezes.
“You,” he says, with the particular exhaustion of someone who has said this word too many times.
“Oh.” The attractive one blinks. “Hello.”
“You were supposed to be covering the eastern approach.”
“I was. But then the tea house proprietor wanted to show me their storage room. She said they had a rare oolong she thought I’d appreciate.”
The intense one stares at him. “She wanted to show you the storage room.”
“Yes. She was very insistent about the oolong.”
“The storage room. In the back. Away from witnesses.”
“It was excellent tea.”
The intense one turns to us. His expression suggests he is reaching the end of a very long rope.
“I have orders from General Wei,” he says, “to protect His Majesty. My... colleague... has orders from Lady Mei to ensure the Empress remains breathing. We have been”—he seems to search for the word—”coordinating.”
“Coordinating,” Lián repeats.
“It has been a challenge.”
The attractive one steps forward and bows—not parade-ground perfect, but genuinely courteous, the bow of someone who assumes everyone deserves basic respect. “Ailun,” he says. “Mei’s network. Six years. I apologize for any inconvenience our presence has caused.”
The intense one’s bow is sharper, more military. “Tairui. Wei’s command. Eight years.”
“The tea house,” I say. “How long were you in the storage room?”
Ailun considers this. “Perhaps twenty minutes? She had several varieties she wanted me to try. And then her daughter arrived with samples of their moon cakes. They were quite good. Would you like me to describe them?”
Tairui makes a sound. It is not quite a word.
“She was being hospitable,” Ailun adds, apparently sensing some confusion.
“She was being HOSPITABLE,” Tairui repeats. “The tea house owner. Who is fifty years old. And her daughter. Who is not.”
“They were both very kind.”
“The daughter gave you moon cakes.”
“Yes.”
“And touched your arm.”
“She was handing me the plate.”
“She LINGERED.”
“She was making sure I had a firm grip.”
Tairui turns to me. His expression has moved beyond exhaustion into something closer to existential despair.
“This,” he says, “is what I have been dealing with. Every town. Every inn. Every temple. Someone finds an excuse to show him something, or feed him something, or touch his arm while handing him something, and he thinks they are being PROFESSIONALLY COURTEOUS.”
“People are generally quite helpful,” Ailun observes mildly.
“PEOPLE ARE NOT GENERALLY HELPFUL. PEOPLE ARE ATTRACTED TO YOU.”
“That seems unlikely. I have a very ordinary face.”
Tairui’s eye twitches.
This, Tianlong says, with the satisfaction of a dragon who has discovered unexpected entertainment, is magnificent. The attractive one genuinely does not know. And the other one has to watch it happen. Repeatedly. I am deeply invested in this dynamic.
“The stable loft,” I say, attempting to redirect. “Two nights ago. Whose doing was that?”
Tairui drags his attention back to the actual conversation. “Mine. The room smelled wrong. Lavender oil in a border inn. Possible poisoning setup.”
“It was the innkeeper’s wife’s perfume,” Ailun says. “She puts it on the pillows. For guests. Because she is hospitable.”
“You cannot KNOW that.”
“I asked.”
“You ASKED? That creates exposure—”
“She also offered me dinner. And her niece offered to show me the garden.”
“HER NIECE.”
“The garden had very nice chrysanthemums.”
“I am going to walk into the sea.”
The sabotage list emerges in fragments, and with it, the explanation for every inexplicable inconvenience of the past three days.
“The swamp,” I say. “We walked through a swamp that appeared on no maps.”
Tairui’s jaw tightens. “That was my doing. I cleared a path through the market—standard advance work—but when I circled back, Ailun had vanished. Thirty minutes later, I find him in a fabric stall while a merchant’s wife holds silk samples against his chest and asks which color brings out his eyes. ”
“She wanted my opinion,” Ailun says. “I was being helpful.”
“She was TOUCHING YOUR CHEST.”
“She was measuring the fabric.”
“THERE WAS NO FAbrIC TO MEASURE. SHE WAS JUST TOUCHING YOU.”
“That seems—”
“I assumed hostile action. Possible honeypot. I rerouted us through the hills to avoid whatever trap she was part of.” Tairui’s voice has gone flat.
“The hills became a swamp. The swamp was not on the maps because it was not supposed to exist. We walked through it for three hours because a middle-aged woman wanted to feel your collarbone.”
Silence.
“The storage shed,” Lián says. “The one that smelled of fermented cabbage.”
“Also me.” Tairui does not look away from Ailun. “He bribed an innkeeper for the best room—good tradecraft, actually—but then the innkeeper’s daughter delivered the key. Personally. Along with warm towels. Extra candles. And her availability for ‘anything else he might need.’”
“She was being thorough,” Ailun offers.
“She was being AVAILABLE.”
“I don’t—”
“I saw her face. I saw YOUR face—which was, as always, completely oblivious. I assumed it was a setup. Poisoned wine, compromised room, something. I moved us to the shed.” Tairui takes a breath.
“The shed was not poisoned. The shed was full of cabbage. We slept in cabbage because you cannot recognize when a woman is offering to SLEEP WITH YOU.”
“That is a significant misread of the situation—”
“IT IS NOT A MISREAD.”
“The bandit sighting,” I say, because the pattern is becoming clear. “The three-hour detour.”
Tairui closes his eyes. “A woman followed us from the last village. Six miles. On foot. I assumed hostile surveillance—who follows strangers for six miles? I neutralized the threat.”
“You tied her to a tree,” Ailun says quietly.
“I SECURED A POTENTIAL HOSTILE.”
“She was sixty years old.”
“Age is not an indicator of threat capability.”
“She had a jar of pickled vegetables. She wanted to give them to me because I helped her carry water the day before.”
“SHE FOLLOWED US FOR SIX MILES. WITH VEGETABLES.”
“They were very good vegetables.” Ailun’s tone is genuinely mournful. “I shared them with the innkeeper’s family. They seemed to appreciate—”
“I KNOW. THE INNKEEPER’S DAUGHTER TOLD ME. WHILE TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR BEAUTIFUL EYES.”
“That was kind of her.”
“IT WAS NOT KIND. IT WAS FLIRTING.”
“I’m sure she was just being—”
“If you say ‘hospitable,’ I will throw myself off a cliff.”
Lián is leaning against the alley wall, watching this exchange with the delighted expression of someone who has just been handed an unexpected gift.
“So,” she says, “our honeymoon has been chaperoned by two professionals—one of whom is apparently irresistible to every woman in the empire, and the other of whom has to watch it happen while going slowly insane.”
Tairui’s jaw tightens. “That is... an accurate summary.”
“I do not understand this characterization,” Ailun says. “I am simply polite. People respond to politeness.”
“People respond to YOUR FACE.”
“My face is average, at best.”
Tairui turns to me again. His eyes have the hollow look of a man who has explained this many times and been disbelieved every time.
“He is married,” Tairui says. “He has a wife. She is, by all accounts, the most beautiful woman in the southern provinces. I have seen a painting. I cannot describe the painting without losing my composure. And when I asked him about her, do you know what he said?”
I wait.
“He said she is ‘practical.’ He said they have ‘compatible administrative styles.’“
Ailun nods. “Organization is important in a partnership.”
Tairui makes another sound. This one might be a sob.
I like them, Tianlong announces. Both of them. The oblivious one for being magnificently, catastrophically unaware. The other one for having to exist in a world where this happens. This is the finest comedy I have witnessed in centuries.
I step forward. Both agents collect themselves—Tairui with visible effort, Ailun with mild confusion about why effort would be needed.
“Go home,” I say.
“Our orders are to—”
“I am the Emperor. I am giving you new orders.”
Silence.
They look at each other. Then back at me.
“Lady Mei,” Ailun says carefully, “was very specific about the consequences of abandoning our post.”
“General Wei,” Tairui adds, “used the word ‘execution.’ Twice.”
“...Of course he did.”
We are stuck with them. They are stuck with each other. And Tianlong is radiating delight through our bond with the intensity of a dragon who has found a new favorite entertainment.
“There is an inn approximately two hours ahead,” I say. “We will stop there for the night. You will coordinate. Share information. And”—I look at Tairui—” you will accept that not every woman who speaks to your colleague is running an intelligence operation.”
“Some of them COULD be—”
“They are not.”
“You cannot know—”
“They are not.”
Tairui subsides. Ailun looks between us, still faintly puzzled.
“I am unclear about what has been decided,” he says.
“We are working together,” Tairui says grimly. “And you are not allowed to talk to anyone’s daughter, niece, sister, or female cousin without supervision.”
“That seems excessive.”
“IT IS NOT EXCESSIVE. IT IS SURVIVAL.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they say together—Ailun with genuine respect, Tairui with the tone of a man who has accepted his fate.
It is a start.