Emperor Puyin’s outrage echoed through the long throne room hall as he slammed his fist onto the armrest of his imposing throne.

  ‘What else is Mingchi demanding?!’ Emperor Puyin shouted at the messenger from District Pik, who winced as he stood before the throne. Grand Chancellor Zexu, a shadowy figure standing beside the throne, could not stop clicking his tongue and shaking his head, as though he could barely hide his disapproval.

  ‘My emperor, he isn’t asking for anything else. Just severance from tax payments!’ Yuze stammered quickly through his response and avoided eye contact, as if the weight of both Puyin’s and Zexu’s gaze could crush him.

  ‘‘Just’?! That means leaving Kowloon! You don’t ‘just’ leave whenever the fuck you want!’

  ‘He does not want to secede from Kowloon, You Excellency. But Mingchi will have no choice but to cut ties with District Yu if—’

  ‘DISTRICT YU IS KOWLOON!!’ Puyin’s roar reverberated. He’d made it clear that the Unification Pact did not allow optional participation.

  ‘My Emperor,’ Zexu intoned from next the throne. ‘Perhaps it is wise to not shoot the messenger. Why don’t we speak with Lord Mingchi himself and see what his true intentions are?’

  The Emperor’s fiery gaze shot left to Zexu. The old man, hands clasped in front and hidden in his sleeves, looked up at the Emperor and frowned.

  Turning back to Yuze, Puyin snapped. ‘Mingchi cannot handle a few protests? That child breaks at the sight of a march?! Some starved peasants?!’

  ‘My emperor, we are being taxed at the highest rate of all the Eastern districts, 800% more than what we were paying just ten annui-cycles ago. The protests are becoming harder to ignore, and Lord Mingchi believes it time we allowed democracy to—’

  Puyin rose from his throne, clutching the very edges of the armrest. ‘You dare to lecture me on riots and protest, dongfa’shu?!’ he pointed at Yuze. ‘I have seen more rioting during my rule than you and Mingchi have taken breaths! The difference is that I know when to bow to the people’s demands and when not to!’

  Yuze swalloed several times, but did not react to the racial slur. Instead, he gave a respectful nod and dropped his eyes.

  ‘Call Mingchi NOW! I need to hear this from Gaochi’s runt myself. So you call him right now, and I’ll speak to him. That motherfucker has no right making demands of me,’ Puyin said as he sat back down with a huff.

  ‘But my emperor, he asked I not—’ Yuze began, only to be cut off by Chancellor Zexu.

  ‘Yuze, it is not wise to disobey your emperor. The news you have brought is borderline treacherous. You would be better to listen. For Lord Mingchi’s sake.’

  Yuze nodded and pulled out his communicator device from his pocket. ‘I only have an earpiece…’

  ‘That’s okay, Yuze. I have a holoconnect,’ Zexu approached the trembling messenger with measured calm, retrieving a silver disk from within his robes. Taking Yuze’s earpiece, he carefully inserted it into the holoconnect and placed the device on the ground. A blue hologram sprang to life from the disk and projected an enlarged image of the earpiece’s interface in front of them. ‘Make the call, Yuze. Emperor Puyin’s patience is running thin with your antics.’

  Wiping his forehead, Yuze nodded and swiped his hand through the holographic image, searching through his contacts until he found Lord Mingchi. He tapped the box to call him and the line rang. Emperor Puyin squeezed the ends of his armrests as his anger simmered.

  Lord Mingchi picked up.

  ‘Yuze? Why are you calling me? Is the meeting over?’ the digitised voice asked. He sounded young, even through the communicator. It was no secret that Mingchi was the youngest lord across all of Kowloon, at just twenty-six.

  ‘You’re talking to me, you fucking dongfa’shu,’ Puyin leaned forward, his face puce with anger. ‘If you want to make demands of me, you can come here yourself instead of sending your sewer rodent.’

  Mingchi fell into a momentary silence. ‘Emperor… My apologies, I didn’t realise it was you who asked Yuze to contact me.’

  ‘What is this treacherous business of erasing Pik from the Unification Pact? Have you forgotten the sacred oath all gangs took during the Great bloody Sinking? The fealty you low lives swore to my ancestors?!’ Puyin screamed.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Emperor,’ Mingchi calmly intoned. ‘I would rather discuss this under more appropriate circumstances rather than in an impromptu call.’

  ‘Answer me now or you will have much to regret for what I’ll do next!’ Puyin’s threat echoed through the hall. All he could think of was how this callous call for independence was the final proof he needed to know he was no longer feared. He clawed the armrest of his throne as he realised all his predictions were coming true.

  ‘I do not want to sever our beneficial alliance,’ Mingchi began. ‘But I need to protect my people. The Zhaisheng construction projects have elevated taxes to a level our impoverished district cannot afford.’

  ‘You realise it’ll be your people who’ll benefit from the Zhaisheng? It will advance your district like never before. You should be grateful I have even decided to bring my Zhaisheng to the shitholes of Kowloon. Instead, you bite the hand that feeds you. What more can I expect from an easterner?!’

  ‘We are grateful for all you have done, Emperor. However, it will be a decade before the Zhaisheng yields any benefits for Pik. By then, the Eastern famine will have claimed as many lives as we lost during the District Rebellions. Our coffers are empty, drained by my father’s wasteful rule. The only viable path I see is to withdraw from the contract binding us to pay taxes to Yu – unless you are willing to negotiate a deal that supports us while keeping us within the Unification Pact?’

  ‘Hah!’ the emperor roared with laughter. ‘You want to alter the pact? Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You – demanding changes to a sacred document untouched for over a millennium?!’

  He slammed a hand against the arm of his throne. ‘The moment you leave us, you will forgo everything I‘ve given you. Water from Kam Shan, gone! Electricity from Taiku Xhing, gone! Gas from Tsai Pak? You’ll be shoving pipes up your fucking ass for cooking! Because all of those transactions, all those lifelines to your dying district, were arranged by us! Me!’

  The emperor’s face was crimson, veins straining across his head. ‘I’m the reason any of you are alive! I ended my father’s bloody war! I stopped Kowloon from tearing itself apart! And you dare speak of leaving me?! If you think your people are starving now, wait until you follow through with this treason and watch Pik self-destruct. Then you will truly know death – no, murder! And entirely by your hands!! YOUR HANDS!!’

  Mingchi remained silent as the outburst still echoed down the hall.

  ‘In ten cycles, I expect you to come to the tower,’ Puyin hissed. ‘I will give you one final chance to present your wishes to me. But if you dare ask to secede again – to follow in the footsteps of that dog Xinjian who I will deal with soon – we will have nothing more to discuss!’

  ‘Understood, my emperor. You have made your opinions clear. Perhaps I was rash and did not consider the consequences of my plan. I will rethink my proposal and meet with you at your tower in ten work-cycles. With your permission, I would like to end the call now.’

  Puyin breathed deeply as his anger started to recede. ‘Fine. Zexu, cut the fucking call.’

  The chancellor pressed the end button, and the holodevice blinked off.

  ‘Return to the sewers, messenger. I have no more business with you,’ Emperor Puyin said as he descended from his throne. ‘Zexu, tell Denzhen to meet me in my room.’

  As Zexu nodded and walked away, Yuze bowed and left the throne room under the watchful gaze of several Manchukuo standing in the shadows along the walls of the hall.

  ‘Brother, you summoned me?’ General Denzhen asked, his voice steady as he stepped into the Emperor’s chambers. The room, dimly lit in preparation for the sleep-cycle, exuded an air of serenity. A large entertainment screen hung on the right-hand wall, broadcasting the news on mute, its flickering images casting soft shadows across the space.

  At the centre of the room stood a grand canopy bed, its wooden surfaces carved, its red curtains drawn back and hooked to the polished corner frames, creating an inviting yet imposing focal point. The hardwood floor gleamed faintly, while the tan walls were adorned with subtle textures that made the room feel full. The Emperor, in regal red robes, stood by the foot of the bed, watching the silent screen and holding the remote with his arms crossed.

  On the left wall, a massive oil painting dominated the space – a revered masterpiece depicting Dong’s triumphant return to Kowloon after his miraculous four-year pilgrimage to the surface. Beneath him, thousands of tiny faces crowded the canvas, each one caught mid-breath, mouths parted and eyes lifted in realisation of their prophet. Commissioned by Emperor Hongwu, the legendary piece radiated with the weight of that extraordinary moment in history. This was Kowloon’s moment of consecration, the scene that signalled Songzu Dong’s ministry had truly begun.

  ‘Yes, come in, Denzhen,’ Puyin replied as he dropped his arms. The general entered silently, closing the door behind him. Empress Cixi, seated on an ornate sofa to the right, nodded at him over a book she was reading. Denzhen bowed deeply to his sister-in-law, honouring the Empress’s presence.

  ‘Empress, how are you?’

  ‘Well, Denzhen. How about you? And Keung? I’ve heard he’s started a new training regimen under you and Aiguo. Is it going well?’

  ‘He is. A talented young man, but unfortunately, he lacks the hardened heart needed to fight with Kingmaker resolve. But we’re working to fix that. And how are the young prince and princess?’

  ‘Aisin is in her room studying; she has a few tough exams coming up. I think our young prince is with the Kingmakers on level seventeen doing some sparring. It’s all he does nowadays, isn’t that right, Puyin? He’s turning out a lot like you, Denzhen. You’re his idol.’

  ‘Well, he’s going to be Emperor one day,’ Puyin interjected. ‘It’s a bit of a waste looking up to a limp soldier whose glory days are long behind him, eh, Denzhen?’ the Emperor remarked, switching off the news broadcast on the screen.

  ‘Puyin! That’s a nasty thing to say!’ Cixi exclaimed, slapping the book against the sofa she was sitting on.

  ‘I’m just teasing, my love. There is no other man I would rather my son look up to. Come here, brother,’ Puyin approached Denzhen with open arms, greeting him with a hug.

  ‘Tell me, what troubles you, big brother?’ Denzhen asked. The bags under his older brother’s eyes had grown since he had last seen him.

  ‘Hah, what doesn’t? It seems like I am Emperor in one of the worst times to be one.’

  ‘Then perhaps it is the best time to be a younger brother. Talk to me and allow yourself to share your burdens.’

  ‘Then come and sit with me.’ Puyin gestured toward the side of the bed, and they both settled there. The Empress kept reading in front of them, silent, the only sound in the room the soft flick of her turning pages. ‘Do you remember how you, Jian, Han Xi and I used to play Thieves and Bandits on this bed?’

  ‘How could I forget? You always staked your claim under the heating vents before anyone else even sat down.’

  ‘And how many times did you help Jian cheat against me?’

  The two brothers shared a laugh as they settled next to each other on the edge of the bed. Then the lightness in Puyin’s face faded, replaced by a slow, gathering seriousness.

  ‘Have you heard about what’s happening in Ho Man Ting?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Aiguo notified me immediately. Have you called for the others?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve summoned leaders across the Central, Western, and Northern districts,’ Puyin growled. ‘I still can’t believe their audacity! Xinjian’s gross act of rebellion will not go unpunished, and I have half the mind to burn down every house in Ho Man Ting to show it!’

  Denzhen winced at his brother’s call for violence. There was no use in trying to cool his nerves; Warlord Xinjian’s sudden move to expel all foreigners and close the borders had caught everyone off guard. Instead, Denzhen tried to steer his older brother into calmer conversational waters.

  ‘Lord Xinjian will soon be held accountable for his actions. We mustn’t allow the situation to get worse. Learning from history is key; Ho Man Ting has always played a central role in Southern affairs.’ Denzhen explained.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m aware of the fragility of our relations down south. Diplomacy is our only chance for peace. I’m just angry, that’s all.’

  General Denzhen nodded, breathing some air out, feeling as though he’d disarmed Puyin’s volatile emotions.

  ‘Warlord Xinjian’s message to you was very confronting,’ Denzhen chose his words cautiously. ‘Yutai’s report suggested he has embraced the Yang ideology in full. Though I can’t help but notice none of Ho Man Ting’s closest allies have denounced him yet. Does that concern you, brother?’

  Emperor Puyin stroked his dark goatee thoughtfully. ‘You’re right… I hadn’t thought about their silence. By now, Ho Man Ting’s neighbours should have issued public condemnations, but none have. But what could this mean? Could they have been aware of Xinjian’s betrayal all along? Are they secret conspirators themselves?’

  ‘Southern brotherhood is one of Kowloon’s strongest bonds,’ the general cautioned. ‘But it isn’t so strong that they’d risk going through a second civil war. I personally know many of the southern warlords who’d never protect Xinjian if it risked destabilising the region once more.’

  Puyin crossed his arms and glowered. ‘I am not some spineless mongrel to be pushed around. My subjects must never forget that.’ He wagged a finger at Denzhen. ‘I need to set an example.’

  ‘Tell me how you plan to do this so that I may impart my counsel,’ Denzhen said softly.

  With a nod, Puyin stood up from the bed and paced left and right in front of Denzhen. ‘Mingchi, the whelp lord from Pik, has been making some bold demands of me lately. He’s requested we stop all Zhaisheng related construction projects in his district. He blames their famine on my efforts to uplift them.’ Puyin said with disdain hanging from his lips.

  ‘A leader can only go so long watching his people starve,’ Denzhen said under his breath as he tracked the Emperor’s pacing. He noticed Puyin frown at the comment, tension slowly mounting as he continued.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  ‘He has stood idle while his people voice treacherous demands in the streets. Gaochi never let sedition flourish under his damn nose! Did you know that they’re out on the streets openly calling for secession from the Unification Pact?’

  ‘People say a lot of things when their district is in shambles, brother,’ Denzhen muttered.

  Puyin continued talking right over his brother. ‘And this morning, I received word that the Yang have become emboldened – they’re setting up tents set up in broad lamplight! We have sent instructions for Mingchi to move his Kuishi and make arrests, yet we’ve received no word back.’

  ‘So what now? Will you call upon a meeting with Lord Mingchi?’Puyin stopped to face Denzhen. ‘It’s clear that Mingchi’s small acts of defiance are following in the footsteps of Xinjian’s betrayal. These two alone have given rise to rumours of my weakness. I will give Mingchi one more chance to bend his knee to me, and if he disobeys, I will call for a grand royal regicide! Once everyone remembers why we’re called the Kingmakers, I will force every warlord and lady of South Kowloon to denounce Xinjian! When that fool realises no one will join him in his bold rebellion, he will either step down or I will do the same to him as I did to Mingchi as all of Kowloon watches. I swear brother, with Dong as my witness I will do whatever necessary to avoid a second rebellion!’

  Denzhen stood up from the bed. ‘Light, brother! You just declared diplomacy to be our only recourse, and now your plan sounds like a call for war! Don’t forget, it was a royal regicide that started the District Rebellions!’ His usual steadiness faltered, a thin strain tightening his voice.

  ‘I don’t want a royal regicide, I don’t like this path either. But Mingchi is limiting the options available to me. Doing away with him first is the smart move. Think about it; there is no chance his eastern allies will help him. Relations between the eastern states have only frayed since the District Rebellions, unlike South Kowloon, where it seems to have only gotten stronger. A regicide in Ho Man Ting would most definitely make Yu the enemy of the south once more. But none will object to Mingchi’s removal. Not even his own people.’

  General Denzhen’s face was locked in a deep frown.

  Puyin’s gaze hardened as he continued. ‘But Denzhen, remember that all of this depends on how Mingchi reacts in the upcoming meetings. If he falls in line, regicide will not be necessary.’

  ‘No, big brother, we mustn’t discuss regicide so casually. We haven’t invoked these powers since father died twenty-five annui-cycles ago. Let diplomacy be our options A, B, and C before we look to anything else.’

  ‘Denzhen, this chaos is unfolding because the leaders of Kowloon no longer fear me. Fear is the foundation of loyalty. Fear of being an ineffectual subject and losing their master’s favour. Fear of becoming replaced by someone better. Fear of regicide. Even Zexu agrees that many of Kowloon’s problems could be resolved if every lord and lady lived in fear of two things: their creator and me. They’ve already half severed their damned connection to the Light, and now they openly denounce me.’

  The mention of Zexu’s name cast a dark shadow across Denzhen’s face, his deep frown accentuating his disdain for that small man… Always whispering into his brother’s ear, much like he had done with their Father. Denzhen had always wondered about Zexu’s role in Emperor Guangxu’s incitement of the District Rebellions. Now he wondered how many of Puyin’s words were actually Zexu’s.

  ‘So then, have you and the grand chancellor already decided this is your plan?’ Denzhen asked.

  Puyin scowled at his younger brother. ‘Why are you always so critical of me? In every meeting, you’re the first to voice disagreement, the first to show disapproval, hiding behind the guise of the ‘worried brother.’ I don’t see worry; I see a desire to oppose my ideas! Sometimes I swear you only smile once mine dies from your criticisms!’

  ‘What in the world would I gain from opposing my own brother?!’ General Denzhen’s tone escalated, a rare departure from his calm nature. ‘Take my advice or leave it at the door, but don’t call me here just to insult my input!’ The tension in the room thickened as the brothers’ disagreement took a hostile turn.

  ‘Puyin…’ Cixi said softly. Puyin’s head snapped toward her, a frown forming as he listened. ‘If you feel disparaged by Denzhen’s words, that’s a different conversation for another time. Perhaps you need to be clearer about your main point.’

  Emperor Puyin nodded and took a deep breath.

  Turning back to the general, he said, ‘I understand your fear of the potential consequences of a regicide, Denzhen. You fear will respond against us as they did 28 annui-cycles ago, I understand. But you’re only afraid that’ll happen again because we’ve lost our only bargaining chip, the primary leverage we’ve used since Kowloon’s sinking! A regicide used to be the symbol of the Yaozhi Dynasty’s authority. Even the mere threat of one would terrify every lord and lady into submission. But the district rebellions proved that defying us is possible and we’ve been too afraid of invoking these regicide powers for nearly thirty annui-cycles. Now my own lords and ladies are daring me to try something! We must remind them of our power.’

  ‘These words sound like Zexu’s! Not my own brother, not the Emperor’s. You have never cared much for this meaningless traditionalist garbage. “Bring this back, remind them of this again!” You almost sound like Father! And not even Father sounded like Father, because he too resorted to mirroring Zexu’s words near the end of his life!’

  Puyin walked right up to Denzhen, stopping just short of him. ‘I must consolidate my power! Because if I cannot, Kowloon will soon face an enemy far greater than anything we have ever conceived!’

  ‘What? What in the hell are you talking about? What enemy?’

  ‘The surfacers!’ Puyin finally admitted with a shout, the main reason for his worries. The revelation temporarily silenced Denzhen. Puyin continued his zealous speech.

  ‘Hwa-Chee has shown considerable interest in our resources. He’s cornering me, insisting that trade is the only path forward for mutual prosperity. He’s even starting to sound vaguely threatening when I hesitate. Now, he wants integration of our banks of all things!’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Denzhen asked.

  ‘And have all of Kowloon know there is a whole world above us? I have negotiated a reasonably favourable deal for the Zhaisheng, swapping our concrete for crucial steel, yet he wants more. If the people catch wind of these exchanges, what would the Yang do? If Hwa-Chee caught a whiff of how unstable Kowloon is becoming, what if he used that as an opportunity to intervene and invade us?! I need every district to be under control until I can put a leash on that mutt Hwa-Chee and show him we are not to be trifled with! How do you not understand this?!’

  ‘Brother, how in the world is Hwa-Chee forcing you to do anything? What threats can the man make?! He lives almost a thousand kilometres above us!’ Denzhen pointed upwards.

  ‘He claims to have already mapped a route down to Kowloon from the surface, and he talks of us as if we are a constant threat until I accept unrestricted trade. He views the commerce between us as a necessary sign of goodwill and the only way forward. And guess what that bastard told me at the end of the fucking meeting? That there are thousands of weapons of mass destruction trained on us! Ready to bury us under rubble any moment!’

  ‘How haven’t you already called his obvious bluff? No one can map out No Man’s Land. We have only been able to do so as we were present during the Sinking! And bury us under rubble? Are you daft? We live BELOW the man!’

  Puyin frowned at Denzhen, but he continued. ‘Father instigated a civil war because he could never see solutions to a negotiation stalemate beyond resorting to regicide. You’ve just shown me you think the exact same way! Do not look to create one issue in an attempt to solve another. Do not consider a regicide against Mingchi until every single option has been exhausted! Your haste will be everyone’s undoing!’

  ‘You couldn’t even lead a unit of gangster’s straight,’ The Emperor’s shoulders tensed as he stood nose to nose with Denzhen, who was nearly the same height as him. ‘And you dare to instruct me on how to be Emperor?!’

  Cixi looked up from her reading. All three knew the tale. Denzhen had abandoned his unit to race back to his labouring wife. His soldiers, leaderless and doomed, slaughtered before Denzhen even made it back to the tower. His jaw tightened, a faint tremor running through the muscle as he pushed the memory down. ‘Not at all. I am not telling you how to be an emperor, but how to avoid a catastrophe I can see coming and you apparently cannot,’ he said firmly. ‘What you’re doing will undoubtedly inch us closer to another uprising. Your legacy is veering dangerously close to Father’s!’

  ‘Then what the fuck am I to do?!’ Puyin demanded at the top of his lungs as he thumped his chest with his palm, demanding an answer. ‘All around me, I am surrounded by traitors who take me for being weak! Father was weak! I won’t be!’

  Denzhen recoiled, caught off guard by the sudden explosion of anger.

  ‘Puyin, my dear,’ the Empress finally intervened, standing up and stepping forward between the two brothers. ‘Denzhen is only trying to help you in the way he believes is best.’

  Denzhen, still recovering from the outburst, glanced at Cixi and offered a nod.

  ‘My apologies, my lord,’ Denzhen said softly and regretfully, his head lowered. ‘I did not mean to overstep. I only wish to avoid a repeat of the horrors I witnessed during the war. As I know you do too.’

  Puyin took a quick breath and stepped backward. He avoided looking Denzhen in the eye, instead staring at the floor.

  ‘So, have my powers to appoint lords and ladies expired?’ Puyin asked with a weary shrug. ‘Am I witnessing the beginning of the end of the Yaozhi dynasty?’

  ‘Perhaps…’ Cixi replied with a hand on her husband’s shoulder, she spoke softly. ‘What you need is some cha and a short nap. The dynasty will definitely still be here when you wake back up.’

  Feeling the weight of the sombre atmosphere after the argument, Denzhen’s shoulders sank and his eyes dulled, as if a light behind them had dimmed. Fights between the siblings were rare. The silence that followed set Denzhen’s stomach sinking, a cold dread pooling in his gut.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, brother. Light willing, I will see you at the meeting with the others. Be well. And you, Empress.’

  Denzhen bowed to Cixi and Puyin, then moved towards the door in silence, leaving the unresolved tension with his brother behind him.

  The next morning, as Puyin walked towards the royal dining hall where the Empress and their two children would be waiting for the early-cycle meal, he found he could scarcely spare a thought for Mingchi’s demand.

  At least he already felt confident on what to do with Mingchi; a speedy royal regicide. In fact, he even had a rough idea on who would replace him.

  But what frightened Puyin far more was the unknown. And the unknown was coming straight for him, right after lunch, in his next meeting with Sir Hwa-Chee.

  The surfacer had proven to be a shrewd negotiator, far sharper than Emperor Puyin, who had long forgotten what it felt like to speak with someone of greater authority than himself. His father had been gone for twenty-five annui-cycles. Each deal the surfacer proposed was more egregious than the last, and it was clear Hwa-Chee was beginning to salivate over Kowloon’s markets. But when does sharing turn to surrender? Puyin thought.

  He looked up from his plate of cooked grains and roasted meat. At the other end of the dining table his wife, Empress Cixi, was eating her meal in silence. She wore a high-collared jade-green blouse of adaptive silk, its pattern flowing in delicate waves with her breathing. A long dark skirt completed the outfit, and a thin band of gold traced her neckline, a subtle piece of jewellery that was unmistakably Yaozhi and imperial.

  On the right side of the table was Prince Tsai, broad-shouldered for his age because of his hobby to train alongside the Kingmakers. He was dressed in a fitted dark-grey jumper, the kind Kings wore during their off-duty hours when the Kowloon’s ventilations entered its cold period. His hair was cropped neatly to the side, shimmering smoothly in the light as he leaned closer to his plate.

  On the left sat Princess Aisin, still dressed in her study clothes. She wore a soft cream top beneath a sleeveless smart-fabric tunic that adjusted its weave with the humidity, cooling or tightening as needed to keep her comfortable. A tiny embedded screen glowed softly on the collar. She stared at her untouched food, her fringe falling over eyes tired from long hours in the tower library.

  ‘Eat, Aisin. You’ll lose even more weight if you start skipping meals,’ Empress Cixi chided from across the table.

  ‘I’ll eat your food, sister,’ the prince chimed in between mouthfuls.

  ‘Light, one child is trying to starve and the other wants a bigger gut than General Han Xi!’ the Empress exclaimed. ‘No, Tsai. Just eat whatever portion you’ve been given. That includes you, Aisin. There are people in East Kowloon dying from starvation.’

  They weren’t really children any more as Tsai was a bit younger than Keung, approaching 21 years of age, and Aisin was just four years younger.

  ‘Who cares about easterners?’ the prince remarked callously, earning a disapproving frown from Princess Aisin.

  ‘They’re people too!’ she snapped.

  ‘If you love them so much, why don’t donate that plate of food to them? See if your little virtue signalling turns into action for once,’ Prince Tsai sneered.

  ‘Gladly.’ The princess dropped her chopsticks with a sharp clink on the plate.

  Cixi frowned at her children. ‘No one’s donating any food to anyone. My point was that you should exercise some gratefulness, Aisin, as Dong teaches us. And you, young man, need to learn a thing or two about showing some humanity.’

  Some silence passed as the princess forced the first bite. Prince Tsai faced the Emperor. ‘Ba, how are the meetings with the surface king going?’

  Emperor Puyin, momentarily pulled from the labyrinth of his thoughts, blinked at his son, as if wondering what he’d asked.

  ‘Huh? Oh right. Tsai, as I’ve mentioned before, he’s not a king. They call it ‘prime minister,’ an elected position. He holds it for about ten annui-cycles before another election is called, where he could either be re-elected or lose his position.’

  ‘They elect their leaders? Like, his people? How could anyone respect a ruler who doesn’t have a genetic claim to his throne?’ Tsai asked.

  ‘It hardly makes sense for people to undermine a leader they chose to follow. The surface dwellers could just as easily judge our rule the same way. They may ask, why would anyone respect a ruler they had no say in choosing?’

  ‘But it’s different, Ba. Our ancestors forged the world today. I mean, people can choose to ignore our dynasty’s contributions to Kowloon, but they’d be ignoring our hard-earned right to respect. We have every right to rule,’ the prince argued, his chin lifted and his eyes bright with certainty.

  ‘You keep saying ‘our’ this and ‘we’ that. Neither you nor I have done any of that,’ Puyin replied. The prince’s face dropped as the emperor continued, ‘Kowloon was built by our ancestors, and so that honour is for our ancestors alone. Respect is not hereditary, Tsai. I didn’t inherit Hongwu’s legacy and greatness. So I am creating my own with the Zhaisheng. After I plunge Kowloon into a prosperous era and I have passed onto the next world, and you become the next Emperor of Kowloon, none of my greatness will pass to you. You have to either build your legacy on your own or pass into the next world as an insignificant and foolish man, just like your grandfather.’

  Prince Tsai nodded and continued eating his food.

  ‘Is it true that you’ve ordered a regicide against Ho Man Ting?’ Aisin asked her father.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I saw it on the Kowlooni Network. They are saying a regicide is imminent. I hope you realise by now that there’s not a single South Kowlooni who’ll kneel before a puppet lord. Anyone with a brain knows that, it’s what started the District Rebellions.’

  Emperor Puyin’s hand curled into fists under the table, but he kept his face neutral.

  ‘Don’t pay attention to the gossip you hear on the Network. There is no shortage of rumours and fake news in Kowloon. I have not made any such decision.’

  ‘Right, like you’d even admit it,’ she shot back.

  ‘That is enough, Aisin,’ Empress Cixi said sharply. ‘You will not speak at the table like that.’

  ‘So what happens if Ba does want a regicide?’ Tsai asked. ‘Those Southerners are doing what they do best; rebelling.’

  ‘They are rebelling because Ba ignores what people are suffering through,’ Aisin retorted.

  ‘Aisin, where have you been hearing these things?’ Cixi demanded.

  ‘Ignore?’ Puyin cut in sternly. ‘What exactly am I ignoring?’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean! Have you been seeing what all of Kowloon has been saying about you? Everyone my age is calling for Yaozhi intervention in the Eastern famine. Thousands are dying everyday!’

  ‘Your father is working tirelessly to keep Kowloon afloat. You are speaking very disrespectfully,’ Cixi snapped.

  ‘Aisin,’ the Emperor said, breathing out through his nose, ‘I can assure you there is no one out there that loves those Easterners more than I.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ she shouted as she slammed her fists onto the table. ‘I heard you call that eastern man from Pik a dongfa’shu at least twice!’

  ‘ENOUGH,’ Emperor Puyin thundered, his patience reaching its limits. ‘Speak to me like that again and I will slap you so hard you will not hear another one of your professor’s lecture in your life AGAIN!’

  The abrupt eruption silenced the table, yet the princess stared at her father without flinching. She lowered her eyes only to eat, each slow bite deepening the uneasy tension in the room.

  Apart from Empress Cixi reminding her children to eat with manners or to pass something on the table, no one said a word. Emperor Puyin finished his meal quickly, the tension from the earlier outburst still thick in the air. Without a word, he rose and left, his abrupt departure leaving a heavy, unspoken weight in the room. Cixi and Prince Tsai gradually resumed their conversation after he left, though the charged atmosphere lingered. Aisin, silent and brooding, soon excused herself and retreated to her room.

  In swift strides, Emperor Puyin navigated the regal corridors, his flowing gown trailing behind him as he headed to the meeting room. His anxiety about the upcoming meeting propelled him forward. He crossed the second-class dining room, where Grand Chancellor Zexu ate alongside the cooks, Manchukuo guards and, if present, other respectable residency guests.

  Sometimes the Emperor would catch his daughter, Princess Aisin, eating with the servants and maids in the third-class dining rooms a bit further down the hallway. He disapproved of this behaviour, but Cixi had persuaded him it was harmless; a small act of defiance and her own way of rejecting the rigid traditions of the Tower. The empress reminded Puyin that it wasn’t so different from how he and Denzhen had rebelled in their youth, albeit in their own ways.

  ‘Boys and girls rebel differently. Boys fight against what they know is wrong, while girls reach out to heal the wounds they’re told not to touch,’ she’d tell him.

  The emperor entered the dimly lit meeting room, his mind still tangled in memories of the past.

  He could almost see his father, Emperor Guangxu, standing in this very room again, face red with anger as he towered over Denzhen. Guangxu had always been certain that his younger son was corrupting Puyin, dragging the prince away from his duties. He remembered the accusations vividly: that Denzhen had convinced Puyin to skip his lessons, slip out of the palace to spar with Kingmakers downstairs, eat and play cards with them, even vanish into North Kowloon with the Tribunes to enjoy the women.

  Emperor Guangxu would beat the younger Denzhen endlessly thinking he was the culprit behind these rebellious ideas. Puyin was to be trained in the arts of leadership, not hang with the militants downstairs like Denzhen, who at that time was a Kingmaker-in-training.

  But Puyin knew better. He was the one who would often stroll downstairs on his own accord, looking to join Denzhen and his impressive Kingmaker comrades. Yet, Denzhen had always taken the blame, shielding his elder brother from their father’s wrath. In those moments, Denzhen seemed more like the older sibling, protecting Puyin with quiet loyalty.

  Now, as the father of Tsai and Aisin, Puyin couldn’t help but see the same dynamic playing out between his own children. Aisin was the one who stood up for Tsai, stepping in when her older brother hesitated. Aisin was the embodiment of the younger Denzhen he could so clearly remember.

  Regret tightened in his chest as he thought of his earlier outburst at Aisin, the only Yaozhi who seemed to have inherited his and Denzhen’s rebellious spirit. Everyone in the Tower could see it: the famed Yaozhi spirit had skipped both Keung and Tsai. Keung never found his nerve when it mattered, and Tsai’s pride kept crowding out any chance of genuine leadership. Sometimes he wished his daughter were born a boy, and perhaps before Tsai, too.

  He promised himself he would apologise to Aisin.

  And perhaps Denzhen as well.