End-of-Volume Bonus 5: The Golden Man

  Jia Wenwu was said to possess the handsomeness of a younger Tony Leung and ooze the exceptional charisma of Andy Lau. Everyone wanted a piece of him. The only ones who got it? The upper brass and the heads of families.

  But this time, commemorating the exchange event between the Tokyo Sanctum and the Athens Academy, he was holding a seminar at the Academy itself—and to Mo Wang's despair, she was late.

  “We should’ve pre-ordered our food to skip the queue!” Mo Wang complained loudly as she hastened her steps. “And why is the teleportation array so far away from the theatre?

  “I thought you only liked girls,” Dante pointed out flatly. “Why the excitement over Mr Jia?”

  “Can't a girl find out what all the fuss over him is about?”

  “Hm, valid.”

  “How do the Athens people even wear this?” Felix flapped his sleeves, griping. Every year during the exchange, they were fitted into the Academy's academic gowns—formal dress reserved for lectures and ceremonies. There would always be a new design every year, so they could not reuse their old ones. The black embroidered robes were flowing things, elegant in the way old portraits were elegant: wide sleeves, long hems that swept the floor, and a weightless drape that looked graceful on everyone except the people actually wearing them.

  Mo Wang ignored Felix, gleefully lighting up as she saw the doors to the theatre at the end of the hallway. To no one's surprise, it was a full house, and they had to make do with chairs brought out from backstage. The seminar was a round-robin discussion, but everyone’s attention was fixed on the shining star of the show. It did not help that the girls seated in front of them could not stop gushing, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything being said.

  “I’m so jealous of his wife! It must be great to wake up next to him every day!”

  “I’m surprised that they don’t have kids yet. That's actually criminal.”

  “Right? I’d give him a whole litter so Xijin doesn’t have to worry about heirs, I swear—”

  “Ew,” Felix mouthed.

  As someone with both eyes open and functioning taste, Mo Wang could see where the fangirls were coming from. Jia Wenwu’s face was the kind that stuck in people’s minds. It was as though every element on it had agreed, long ago, on where it belonged and settled. His eyes were dark but warm, the kind that made someone feel seen even if he did not look in their direction. He had a clean jaw. Good bones. The mouth resting in a small smile.

  But Wenwu’s mannerisms were like the cherry on top of a very yummy cake. He was not even doing much. That was the thing. Just sitting there with his chin on the back of his gloved hand while some other sorcerer talked, elbow on the armrest, completely unbothered by the fact that he was the most compelling thing in the room. Not bored—Mo Wang could tell that his attention was genuinely on his peer. He was just comfortable. Irritatingly, effortlessly comfortable, in the way of people who had never once had to think about how they occupied space.

  In front of her, the same girls let out soft squeals that were genuinely embarrassing.

  “Oh, get it together,” Mo Wang mumbled under her breath. But if not bound by her family’s name, she would be drooling over him as well.

  Not that she caught a single word of the actual discussion anyway. Felix was already dozing off.

  As she was going to get her act together, Dr. Farid dragged a chair and sat down next to them. “You didn’t get a seat either?” Dante asked.

  “No.” Dr. Farid clicked his tongue. “I was at the other end, but I spotted you lot shuffling in thirty minutes late. Figured that I’d join as well.”

  “Did we miss much?” Mo Wang asked.

  “Wenwu hasn’t spoken much besides introducing himself. But I’ve heard lots about his wife.”

  “She’s here?”

  “No. Word on the street is that she’s still very low profile. Health issues, some said. Lovers’ spat, others claim. I’d say official business. They are busy people, after all.” Dr. Farid leaned forward. “Dante, what have they been talking about?”

  “Reality Shifts, sir.” It was clear who had actually been paying attention. “There was a question about Cruxes and why they are unique.”

  “I see.” Dr. Farid straightened up, folding his hands with the gravity of a man who had absolutely not just been gossiping. “Well. This will certainly offer additional insights to the class I conducted on the subject.” A beat. “Take notes.”

  “...and I think Cruxes are just that… uh… the reason for your being. The reason to… protect.” The sorcerer exhaled through his nose like he had surprised himself with the answer. “What about you, Wenwu? You… You should know this well, too.”

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  Wenwu picked up the microphone and laughed—low, deep and easy—swinging it just slightly away from his mouth so the sound caught only the tail end of it.

  The God Hands clearly had favourites.

  “Even though I have a Shift,” Wenwu began, “I couldn't tell you what my Crux is. Not really.” He turned the microphone idly in his hand. “It's like — the words you whisper to a lover. They don't survive being spoken aloud in a room. They don't survive being written down. Translations are a collection of interpretations and assumptions made by the translator.” A pause. “And that's assuming you'd want them written down at all.”

  He let that sit for a moment. “At the end of the day, a Crux is a trump card. It's built from things no one else has lived through—which means revealing it is revealing the exact shape of where you could break. And your enemy will find that shape. They always do. So, in fact, I think it’s a good thing that Cruxes are unique in nature.”

  “So do you think that Shifts are also a good thing?” the moderator interjected.

  Another smooth laugh and a bright smile. “Of course,” Wenwu answered effortlessly as he crossed his legs. “I think there's something wonderful about having something that is—without question—yours.”

  ***

  “I see why he’s being groomed to be the next Venerated Elder,” Dante remarked as they queued for the post-event refreshments.

  “He has everything,” Felix said, his mouth full of butter scones which he had fliched from someone else’s plate when they were not watching. “Money, looks and a whole Regalia.”

  Mo Wang picked up a plate of assorted tarts when it was her turn. “Which Regalia does he have again?” she asked. “I don’t see him carrying any weapons around.”

  “Dunno,” Felix replied as he grabbed three full plates of food and a glass of grape juice. “Ask Dante if he feels there is a Regalia nearby.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Dante said, looking down at his ring, Obscure Scarlet.

  “They won’t be drawn towards each other?”

  “No… I don’t think so…”

  “Boo.”

  Mo Wang spotted an empty poseur table and hurried toward it before anyone took it. “But if he never brings his Regalia around, do you really think he has one?” she wondered aloud, playing with the crumbs of her tart between her fingers.

  “Why would he lie about having one?” Dante raised his brow as he ate a tart. “There was a celebration when he inherited it last year…”

  “His dad always made it a point to show it off,” Felix remarked. “Maybe he wants to be different?”

  “How perceptive.” A voice from behind them. “I didn’t expect anyone to catch on so quickly.”

  Dante choked on his tart. Mo Wang turned around slowly. Wenwu stood behind them, a glass in hand. Behind him were his bodyguards and a gaggle of onlookers who could not quite commit to approaching him for a photo or autograph.

  "I—" Felix started.

  Mo Wang shot Felix a warning stare, and he shut his mouth promptly.

  Wenwu's mouth curved. “I thought it would make me more affable if I didn’t have a huge sword by my side. Golden Conquest isn’t a very friendly name,” he said, raising his other hand to wave his bodyguards away. “I suppose that this messaging has been rather effective.”

  I don’t think having a Regalia by your side would ever diminish your popularity, Mo Wang thought.

  “Regalia or not,” Wenwu continued, “you three caught my attention.” He turned his gaze toward Dante, who was still choking. “The Divine Comedy, if I'm not mistaken.”

  Dante pounded his chest. Mo Wang smacked him hard between the shoulder blades without breaking eye contact with Wenwu. The tart flew out and hit the floor.

  “Yes,” Dante wheezed. “That's us. Honoured to meet you, sir…”

  “Then fate has been kind today.” Wenwu's glass tilted slightly in what might have been a toast. “I'm glad to finally meet you.”

  Mo Wang’s heart skipped a beat. This must be how the girls felt when they were watching him from afar. But Felix had to ruin the moment by clinking glasses with Wenwu.

  Wenwu only chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “You are in your second year, aren’t you?” he asked. “It’s been a while since I corresponded with Dr. Stino.”

  “Yes, we are,” Mo Wang answered, already scanning the room for Dr. Farid. “I could find him for you, if you'd like to speak with him.”

  Before Wenwu could respond, one of the bodyguards stepped forward and murmured something close to his ear. Wenwu listened, then straightened.

  “My apologies.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for the offer, but it seems that I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “Wait—” The word was out of Mo Wang's mouth before she could stop it. Wenwu turned. “Could I— an autograph. Could I have one?”

  Wenwu patted his pockets. Came up empty. A small problem, clearly, for a man who encountered many bigger headaches. He considered for a moment—then reached up and pulled off one glove in a single, fluid motion.

  He held it out to her. “Would this do, Ms Meng?”

  The smile that came with it was brief and private, like it was meant just for her.

  Mo Wang took the glove. Wenwu took his leave.

  The searing, jealous stares of everyone in the room turned onto Mo Wang, but she hardly cared as she stared at the singular white glove that she had been gifted. White leather, with golden peonies embroidered along the surface. The Jia family sigil.

  Mo Wang grew lightheaded and gushed, pressing the glove to her cheek.

  Felix rolled his eyes. “Oh, get it together.”

  ===

  Three years later, Mo Wang would watch that same white glove close around the glittering blade of Golden Conquest as it drove through Wenwu's heart. Dante's hand on the hilt.