Sahaliyan Ula Aigun'70 Aigun '75 {1870-75}
Ariabella -
You're very lucky that this letter found it's way to me! Due to a rather incredible series of recent events, my current work in the palace has come to a rather jolted conclusion. Never fear, however - I have found a kind of simpler work, and have enclosed details of my new residence and methods of reaching me in this letter. It impresses me that you've gone to work at one of the new textile mills; and as much as I hate to say it, it may be an unfortunate necessity. I can no longer continue to send the earnings of my travails to home.
I'm very sorry, Ariabella - I know that Mama is getting increasingly distant and withdrawn, but what it just means is that you and Humphrey need to keep an eye on her. She has full reason for her detached demeanor after all. At least some small measure of fortune is upon us - that this friend of yours has been staying with the family for some time is a boon in and of yourself. You mentioned that she had some skill in poultices and herbal identification?
We could benefit from those skills here, ha. Hong Mei Ling and I - How is it that you and Mother were so perceptive? I dare say I hadn't told you enough to guess that little fact, ahaha! - have been subsisting mostly on the supplies we can earn or make ourselves - or trade for in town. It's much like home; although the plants and animals are quite different, I have been learning much of the local fauna... It is a treasure trove, our planet; lady Nature is a miraculous woman, to have created all this.
Again, I am sorry for the lack of information on either side of this letter and my caged attitude in regards to current events. It is my belief that by simply including the information in a manner only an Osskisson would know to check! I'll be trusting you. Please.
Lovingly,
Clark
Ariabella tapped a finger against the letter without any addressing besides their own. Although the sender seemed to be Clark, it wasn't like him to close so clumsily. And any 'method' he was counting on her to remember, she surely could not. Sighing in exasperation, she ran her fingers through her hair and wondered if Humphrey would find any work today. Deciding it was unlikely, she stepped into the foyer, where Mother, reading glasses perched upon her nose, was reading one of the books that Carmeline had brought over. She had a peaceful expression upon her face - indeed, was peaceful indeed, so long as conversation was short and simple.
She was about to sigh again, when she felt, rather than saw, Carmeline staring into her back. It was quite possible she did it unintentionally, or for the presence it created. Either way, Ariabella turned to face the woman she had found living out in the hills. Ariabella had offered to make her new clothes, ones that weren't so constantly mended - and so many shades of yellow - but Carmeline had refused with little more than a shake of her straw-like hair.
Really, she looks more like a scarecrow than a respectable woman! Giggling inwardly, Ariabella fanned herself with the letter.
"It's from Clark - but I cannot make heads or tails of it. The silliest idea I have is another game we had as children, where we'd take lemon slices and drip them onto paper; you could use the juice as sort of ink, one that would only show up under heat." Carmeline's expression didn't change; it rarely did. But her eyes shone with intrigue at this new puzzle.
"Do it, then. If everyone's read it, there's nothing to lose." Mother looked up at Carmeline's words, a smile on her face that did not meet her eyes, which were staring into a point just above their heads - far off into the distance, into a past she could not and would not leave.
"That would be fine, Aria. It didn't say much at all anyway, did it?" Laughing, she turned back to the book - some sort of strange text detailing the superstitious 'meaning' behind numbers and occurrences. Where Carmeline found tomes like this, Ariabella couldn't guess. She held the letter above a candle - gasping in slight shock as another message tore it's way through the paper like writhing gold.
Sister - don't worry about me. Indeed, do not spare a second thought if these letters cease entirely. Events as of late have taken a turn I could not foresee; but at least I have it on good word that you are all alright - as much of that as any of us can be, hah. The Osskisson curse is alive and well, is it not?... You'll notice an address here if you need to reach me. Take care of everyone, sister.
Clark
Face contorting with pride, worry, and reserved melancholy, she memorized the location to her mind even as her fingers crunched the letter into dry scraps. Hot tears poured down her cheek as she threw the message into the unlit fireplace. "Don't you understand that we need you here, brother?... You stupid, arrogant, man!" She was about to storm off in a huff, Carmeline tensed to walk after her with a font of advice she did not want or need to hear and mother immersing herself in her reading, one the door tinkled open. In it stood Humphrey, looking world-weary as usual, circles hanging thick under his eyes. He took one look at the scene, and sighed.
"I brought the news, and a few ducks... What did I miss this time?" The scene melted down as a tiny fire was lit, fiery tongues licking around the surface of the letter and engulfing it completely.
Carmeline watched intently, eyes trying to remember the symbols she had seen for a half-second before they were obliterated by the fire.
-
Emperor Tongzhi sat in the back of the palace. Although the Mother Imperial sat far off in the corner of the huge chamber, on a tiny seat that could barely be called a throne, all eyes were on her. It would've bothered him if he'd been a jealous man - but he had learned many things from his mother; one of which was that if people did not value you, if they scorned you with their eyes the few times they looked at you - they did not understand you, and by doing so underestimated you. Besides, with his Empress at his side, he needed nothing else.
He wasn't really listening to the merchants and venture capitalists anyway. Their voices bothered him, sounding like the buzzing of so many flies. Their leader -and their always had to be a leader, didn't there? - was self-grandly proclaiming how they had "Made the Qing... And indeed, were deserving of Imperial Title themselves, most of them. Wasn't self-achievement a great virtue indeed..?"
People want better standards, more goods, more life choices open to them. We could guarantee their happiness.
The Emperor had had enough of it. Rising to his feet, he clapped his hands together , the sleeves of his robes still slightly too large. Instantly the men fell to their feet; their eyes dared not meet his own now. "The Tongzhi Emperor has listened to your decree, businessmen of the Qing. And though I agree with your stated goal, your intent is clearly to profit at the expense of China. Among your numbers I see no Manchu- I see no Korean, no Zhang, no Mongol. If your goals were truly to better China, it would be possible through determination and work to rise into your ranks."
Face falling into a look of rage and instant enmity, the leader was prepared to rise to his feet, dramatically leaving and vowing dangerous threats in his head - but Tongzhi wasn't done with him. Smiling an innocent smile that would've not looked out of place in an Italian statuary, the Emperor slowly fell back into his throne. "... Nevertheless, we grant you exclusive right to serve the Qing as Royal Industrial Contractors. Please use this power responsibly, for the good of all."
Their faces lit up. It was hard to notice the Emperor intoning the few rules they would need to obey...
As the businessmen left, voicing their thanks many times, Tongzhi reclined in the throne, feeling exhausted. He turned to ask his wife for advice, only to see her gone. An instant feeling of unease and panic sank into his chest, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared; she and the Imperial Mother were returning, the Empresses' soft voice laughing like tinkling chimes. Tongzhi caught his mother's eye - and her look froze him in place for a brief second. They were just having harmless conversation - it looked as if Xiao Zhe had even brought him something warm to drink.
"My dear Xiao Zhe; you don't need to go do something that any servant can handle, ahaha." His voice cracked briefly - and his wife smiled at him. So did the Imperial Mother; and Cixi's smile was a mechanical thing full of sharp edges.
"Oh, but Emperor! It's fine for me to walk around the palace on my own. Guards are everywhere, and your mother is so pleasant to talk to. She and I were just enjoying discussing poetry - she quite enjoyed my most recent writings." The Empress had a look free of the worries -irrational ones, Tongzhi told himself - that plagued his mind, so he did his best to free himself of them. Reaching out to take her hand, the two sat down next to each other. Cixi stared out into the wide hallway, sneering at the mud one of the capitalists had tracked in.
"Pigs, each one fouler and more disgusting than the one before him. My Emperor - you were wise to grant such powerful men privilege in matters of economics - but never let a single one deem himself your better - or they will try to eat you alive for a few more scraps from our table." Her voice took on a serene tone.
"A thousand years shall pass before us
Each one a pale reflection lingering only in memory
Such soft fire dancing in their eyes the only sign;
that once, and once only, they dreamt themselves crownless kings."
Xiao Zhe laughed in celebration, beaming at the Imperial Mother's poetry. Tongzhi laughed as well, his worries drifting out of mind like time on the river-like words of his mother's poetry. They were all friends in this room; there was no danger here. There was no need to feel ill at ease. And laughing away his worries, he sent a servant to fetch the next group of petitioners.
-
A war to take back land from the Central Americans?
Clark laughed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was very impressed with the house's form - it had taken shape as hodge-podge of architectural styles. The roof reminded him very much of a house he had once called his own- in another time, another place. Mei Ling didn't like to talk too much about some parts of the cottage, those she had put a lot of personal involvement into making - in some ways, it almost seemed like she had no family at all. It seemed like it must be doubly painful, and so Clark didn't bring it up - and as the sun set, their residence had neared completion.
She smiled, walking over from where she had been resting to join him in staring at it. "It's nice, isn't it?" He made a sour face, as if to suggest it was the war. "Ah, not that. We built this with our own hands - not too bad for a couple of paranoid refuges!"
"Well, time has been at our side, recently. Perhaps those things aren't following us- I know it's a stupid hypothesis, but it's quite possible that we just, on a tension, experience a mutual hallucination-" Mei Ling shot him a skeptical expression - he stammered into another topic entirely.
"A-anyway! I'm just amazed the United States didn't intervene to save their little brother some embarrassment. William Walker's little experiment seems to have meant more people speak English than Spanish there, anyhow." Mei Ling gave a dismissive shrug.
It was a short war because of that, at least. Without the U.S. supporting it, Central America just couldn't handle Qing forces.
"Do you think there's going to be another battle? The Vietnamese have been agitating for a Qing intervention for some time now. And with all those Chinese engineers arriving in Colombia, I can only guess there's something planned that'd make a de-fanged Central America beneficial to Qing interests..." Her lips slid into a relaxed grin.
"Eh, who cares. Aigun is nice - and we don't have to stay in Yelu's place anymore." There was a brief awkward pause; at first it had been wonderful to stay in the little cabin that had been Yelu's during a brief build-up against possible Russian interventionism. But it almost felt wrong to stay at the old home, with it's unpainted walls, barrack-style build, and sketches of a young woman Clark could not identify. At least it had caused him to begin drawing once again - and inspired this, their own homestead in Aigun proper. Just across the Amur was another small village, Russian in origin - also once highly militarized, but a flurry of treaties and trade had turned into a cessation of hostilities and eventually increased local trade.
"Sorry, that came out wrong. It's just - it's nice to have a place that's really our own. And with the village so close by, it feels like - like we aren't on the run." Mei Ling sighed, kicking her shoes off and sitting back down. Each came to rest near the beginnings of their small garden - and Clark dutifully walked over to scoop them, much to her amusement.
"You don't have to do that, you know. I'll just get them myself, later." She chuckled as he held them out in front of him like an unexpected present. He grinned and set them down near the door.
"Well - if you don't, luck dictates we'll get a generous rain, soaking them and rendering them useless, and when market comes along tomorrow, it'll be me alone that wanders into town, paralyzingly confused as I stumble through dialects, find myself unable of saying a snippet of Russian, and losing whatever few goods I manage to barter - as well as my dignity." They kept laughing - and a few minutes later, a small rain did began to fall, although hardly the storm his dire warning had forecast.
"You sure are superstitious, Osskisson. Not that I can blame you; I suppose it's another thing we share in common. And although you were right about the rain - well, imagine that it's just me being grateful I can walk around as I can, and don't have those damn monstrosities that the Manchu have been trying so hard to eradicate." Her toes flexed as if in response; Clark thought for a minute at the woman he had seen so many years ago, moving in a slower tempo from the rest of the world.
Interrupted only by the raindrops, he phrased a question that had been on his mind for some time. "So then... You grew up in the South? I am only assuming, since I met you there and all. Hehe, and what a meeting it was-" She motioned towards his beard, smiling mischievously.
"Sorry, Clark - you didn't have that yet; it's gruff magnificence is a thing to behold." Ignoring the mixture of embarrassment and pride playing across his face as he scrabbled to catch sight of his own beard in the fleeting reflection of the rain, she continued to speak, staring off into the gray clouds drifting above them.
"... Yes, I was born to Hakka parents. My family wasn't too large. They had the son they wanted, and I was a bit of an afterthought. As long as I helped with the harvest, it didn't really matter what I did. At first, I tried just disguising myself as a boy - and it didn't hold too well. I couldn't make a convincing queue. It was Yelu's idea to pretend to be a Manchu - I spoke the language well enough, and my customs often seemed more Manchurian than Han." She paused reflectively, still watching the tiny droplets soaking the loamy soil around them.
"I wasn't that old when I tagged along with Minsheng to meet his supervisor. If it hadn't be such a lucky coincidence for me - and a less lucky one for him - I'm not sure what would have happened to me. Yes, I've broken many laws - but to think that by virtue of hair alone, I could've been classified as some sort of rebel. Funny to think how things turn out for all of us... Anyway. I drifted from job to job, looking for ones where I could do something practical, and meet people. People who'd understand my goals- didn't find too many though. But given how I act, how I look, that's pretty understandable."
Her derisive laughter jolted several crows, and their tiny black wings littered the grey skies. Clark was silent until she'd stopped, just staring at her. Hong Mei Ling blinked, her face a light shade of red. "What are you staring at me like that for? I'd understand if you'd said something stupid, or tried to support me, but why are you just staring?" Her voice rose slightly, but her laughing had stopped.
"Granted, I could've just said something. But I have a bad track record with words - I say something I think will make you feel better, and it only digs deeper. You needed to say those things - and although you may not be a shining example of the Xiao Jing, I think you live up to filial piety in your own way. And for what it's worth - I think you look beautiful with long hair, and am sure you would look equally wonderful if you chose to cut it. We're already living rather dangerously as it is!" His smile was confident, far different to the person he felt he had been long ago - she continued to blush even as a very tiny smile crept onto her lips.
The rain continued to fall for some time.
-
Thank you, Lady Cixi. We will redouble the training program immediately.
Preening himself as he stepped out of the Outer Courtyard, Zeng Guofan could feel success beckoning him. Although Yixin had been a competent Emperor in regards to modernization, the man had no spirit, no soul dedicated to victory or conquest burning inside of him. Cixi understood the need for military order and discipline. Not that she was the Emperor in any sense of the word - rather, she was a prince's widow, and therefore to be afforded the utmost respect - and so he had. Her new plans of military development were something to be seen, indeed.
Of course, he was unsure about the new Royal Charter Companies - even if they were better than foreigners.
Cixi watched him go, sharp eyes hawk-like in capturing every detail of the General's stride as he left. He was prideful, and that was a weakness that could be of future use. Not that he had been particularly problematic; she had been amazed at how enthusiastic Zeng Guofan had been about her ideas for military reform.
Although she had no desire to see the West gorge upon China's riches, she credited Yixin for his hard work - he had put an infrastructure into place that would serve the Qing well. Most of the foreign instructors had been fired immediately, but she had told Tongzhi he could keep any tutors he wanted - predictably, the young Emperor had removed almost all of them after this announcement. His aversion to education was another reason she was sorrowful the child was her own.
He hadn't had to struggle, like she had. Then again, very few had. Sighing, Cixi fanned herself off and walked back towards the small throne she had seated in the far corner of the palace chamber. One could be forgiven for even thinking it royal in making. She did not need the trappings of wealth or royalty - although of course she deserved them. No, what she wanted was what anyone wanted; security, stability, order. And very few had the strength to act on their ambitions.
She, however, knew that when the British - or the French, or the Russians - came again, that Yixin's resolve would falter, his head touching the tips of the foreigners blood-stained boots as he hurried to avail himself of their wrath. She knew what powers were at play in this world - and she knew how to fight them.
Make a viper admit that it is weaker than you, and it will slink back into the shadows.
She had instructed the Empress Xiao Zhe to plant the idea of a grand exposition, a world fair, into the mind of her son. His juvenile imagination would leap at such an opportunity - when it wasn't leaping at other things. She bit her lip. It pained her to allow the two of them such freedom, but it was a necessary sacrifice to make sure that power remained firmly in her hands. If it slipped just for a minute, one of the arrogant nobles with their high-strung sneers and their belief that all foreigners were either stupid devils, or magical allies, would slip a knife into her back.
Sighing, she idly wondered why there were not more who understood they were smart devils, or perhaps working for them? But they were weak; growing up in luxury does that. And eventually, the strong displace the weak - such is the way of things. Still, to have her every move stifled by incompetent courtiers doing lip-service to the notion of her as their commander, their proper Empress... No, it was far better to work from a distance. And perhaps this way, that idiot son of hers could find some happiness of his own, instead of feeling obligated to risk everything for a country that could care less about him.
One discrete look at the news had mentioned that the area known as Jumla had become recognized as a federated Qing district, to be henceforth known as Baishan, or formally as Baishan diqu. She had planted the idea of increased migration in the minds of many policy workers, so long as they respected the cultural integrity of the region - such a presentation appealed to the Western sense of progress.
The way she had seen it, Kathmandu especially had always been a cultural crossroads. One more only added to it's appeal.
Ah - and after the Central American government had attempted another war to repair their damaged claims in East Asia, she had
ensured that the Qing would intervene - there was a chance that the United States would come to the aid of it's tiny puppet, and the people had protested another war, even after the previous one was quick - it did not matter. She would not see another enemy on her doorstep when the British looked so greedily at her, eager eyes searching for one moment of weakness.
The first experimental tracks had began to reach from Yunnan to Beijing, perfect for troop movements.
Some guests had also apparently arrived to speak about Chinese exploration in the Nile, but she had let Tongzhi take care of that. He could talk excitedly about endless rivers and foreign lands - she knew the strategic value of such work, but the sheer ignorance as Westerner and Chinese alike acted as if the Qing had no wondrous rivers of their own caused her to grit her teeth and resist the urge to have both beaten for their indolent stupidity.
She would not, however. She was a weak, gentle, woman.
Such a woman whose hidden brilliance would protect the undeserving from rapacious greed hidden in plain sight.
-
Trade days were always interesting. A medley of villagers from many ethnic groups would appear out of farmsteads and forest shelters, congregating on the middle-sized fortified city that was Aigun to trade stories, coins, and goods. Across the river, Russian soldiers, missionaries, and civilians alike came to peddle their ways, crying out in broken Manchurian the cost of goods or services. It was on such a day that Clark and Mei Ling, baskets filled with fresh vegetables, woven clothes, and translations of various articles made their way into town, animatedly talking amongst themselves.
He was watching them with nervous, downcast eyes that constantly darted around, as if worried some invisible force was watching everyone, preying on their every move. Perhaps in the man's fevered mind, it was. He had a shock of hair that might have been blond at some point, but was now so coated with dirt and grime it was impossible to tell it's true color, and wore a mottled green uniform.
Mei Ling stopped dead in her tracks, feeling the intense gaze of the stranger for whom the crowd melted around like a wave upon the shore. Nudging Clark gently with her shoulder, she gestured towards the man. Clark raised an eyebrow and gingerly set his basket on the ground, walking over to the man.
"What the devil are you doing standing in the middle of the road, sir? It's a good day about - perhaps a man like yourself is simply out to enjoy the weather and local atmosphere?" Clark smiled, but the stranger did not return it, or reply in any manner, still managing to stare without ever directly looking at either of them.
That's incredibly disturbing. I shall have to remember not to stare at Mei Ling so, if it looks remotely like that. Clark felt the urge to laugh at the mental image - but was shaken sharply back to reality by a raspy, high-pitched voice.
"You must come with me. She cannot. You need to know; the things I know. I can help you - and you must help me. Please. Come with me." The desperation in every thickly-accented, short sentence the man spoke was painful to listen to. His Russian-tinted English hinted to his occupation as a diplomat of some sort - but Clark hesitated to think of a diplomat who would be so terrible with people. Walking back towards Mei Ling, who was staring at him in concern, he pursed his lips.
"Well, you heard the man- it appears he very much wants me to go with him. I'd rather like to, but the idea of following this odd fellow around seems potentially dangerous. Should we go home?" He smiled, but she shook her head.
"I'm interested as you are. If he doesn't want me there, I won't come with you. I'll follow from a distance. Given our relation before - well, I feel safe in saying that I have some experience stalking you, Clark." She grinned toothily, and he suppressed a laugh before resuming seriousness.
"Very well. If things get bad - Well, even if I tell you to run, you wouldn't, would you?" They exchanged smiles, and a short kiss - and with one fleeting glance back towards her, he walked towards the stranger, who was now staring straight at him - for once, meeting his eyes.
"Good. We don't have time. Much time, at all. You have more than me. Let us go."
-
Mei Ling wandered through the woods, breathing shallowly to try to hide the strain of carrying both baskets and following Clark's trail. He occasionally did something completely unsubtle - turning around trying to catch a glimpse of her, 'cleverly' dropping stones onto the path; even whistling like no type of bird she had ever heard before - but luckily their mysterious host was oblivious. Or worse - acted like he was. Cursing herself for feeling winded already, they soon arrived at a Russian-style house on the bank of Sahaliyan Ula. It was not too uncommon to live on a different side of the river - but the house was strange.
Orthodox crosses were hung from every wall of the house; and although she was far from an expert, the location of the building upon the waterfront seemed correlated to feng shui. She saw Clark and the man step inside, catching sight of a painting - a dusky woman with arms raised beatifically was staring upwards, an enigmatic expression on her face. It almost seemed as if she was defying something.
Setting the baskets down, Mei Ling wandered around the house; and realized it had no windows. Teeth gritting, she picked the baskets up and walked up towards the door, eyes and ears intently focused; yet inside, she heard nothing, and her heart began to race.
-
The inside of the house was cluttered from head to toe with maps, books in many languages, and the rotting remain of many types of food. The sickly sweet scent of decay was strong inside - but not strong enough to unnerve Clark, who had noticed no firearm on the man or in his place of residence and was now determined to find out why he had been called here. His host motioned for him to sit on a simple wooden chair obviously carved by hand as he prepared tea; it was served in tiny, damaged porcelain cups, each one stained with the many remains of dregs previously drained.
Catching sight of a skull hanging from the wall, Clark was hit by a flash of memory - and began to sketch it as the man spoke.
"I am sorry. Not enough time. I know what you will ask, so we'll talk quickly. Was a diplomat for the Czar. Did not agree with his methods, assigned to Khabarovsk Krai. Demilitarized, and no one remembered me. Saw strangers sailing away in unmarked boats - intervened, noticed they were carrying away Nivkh possessions, people. Stupid. Attempted to interfere again. They weren't people."
He paused, and took a long breath. Then, his eyes shot towards the door, as if expecting someone to burst in. There was a tense pause, and he continued. "Colonel. Anatolii Georgivich Boklov. You are fighting them. Therefore, we are friends." He held out his hand, seemed to think better of it, and retracted it.
"Their queen, their childlike Empress - she still rules in Britain, one who would be queen: an unknowing pawn. Their leader, the Jealous One: He commands them to search for the things that could undo Him. Belief is His currency. Wait! Please, don't go!" Clark had got up to return the tea cup to an overcrowded basin; he sat down with an attempt to look placating. Anatolii was obviously panicking, however.
"I know. The voices you hear. You have not heard them recently. So long as you are doing what one or both of them believes right and good for you, you cannot. They guide you. Both mean well. Mean. Aha." He laughed, and shot another threatened - or was it threatening? - stare at the door.
"No one can defeat Him. There is no way. Therefore..." He began to pant, and Clark realized he was sweating heavily. Clark began to tense, trying to remember the various forms Mei Ling had been trying to teach him. He was caught off guard, however, as the colonel fell to his knees. "Please. Kill me. I cannot bear this horrid waiting, no chance of victory. We are puppets. Kill me." Head shaking for some time in fear and trepidation, he finally stopped his spasming as Clark answered, apologetically.
"No. I'm... I'm sorry. Whatever demons haunt you, I cannot."
A sigh, whispering as an autumn wind, and the colonel rose to his feet. "I was afraid that would be the case. Good though. You're a good person. The Qing - they have no feud with you. But the men - they will continue to hunt you down, until they have taken all you love. Be warned." Their eyes met, and Clark realized the colonel was waiting for him to speak - and asked the only questions he could come up with.
"Who are they? Why do they do this? Is there any way we can protect ourselves? And thank you for your advice - I wish there was something I could offer you in return." The colonel's sad, resigned smile spoke volumes.
"There is nothing I need or want, anymore. It was taken away, not long ago. Conversation is nice though - reminds me. That we are human." His smile began to fade.
"As for them, they are not. More like spirits. Can pretend, however - very convincing fakes. Little details give them away. Belief makes them stronger - but is also their weakness. You fear them, thus they exist. Funny, is it not?" He did not laugh.
"Perhaps they do it out of desire to serve Him. I think they do it out of fear. Such hatred and jealousy, uncompromising vision is a powerful motivator. Sealed off such emotions, however. The ones that did not... They are not here, now. They could have been friends. You can protect yourself - through help, through belief, through raw power. But mostly, by trusting yourself and your loved ones. Kindness is the one thing such hate cannot stand." The sorrowful look had returned to the colonel's gaze. Out of questions, Clark nodded awkwardly, muttering words of thanks as he edged towards the door.
No. This isn't how you should leave. He sighed, distracted by his thoughts and turned - coming face to face with the painting visible from the entrance. "Ah, Anatolii. Who is the woman within this painting?" The colonel smiled with no visible sadness, as if drawing sustenance from the words.
"She is Sophia. She is the only protection there is left for me. She is one who would guide us, if we are lost. But she cannot help me, anymore. Just offer me some kindness, as water crashes ashore the river bank." The awkward air remained, and the colonel sat down in his chair, attention now lost to everything but his thoughts, not reacting to the sound of the door being slowly shut.
-
Mei Ling embraced Clark as he stepped outside, expression changing almost instantly to hide her worry. "I was just about to bust the door down and get y-" Clark's somber, confused expression brought the worry back, full force. She looped her arm around his, and they each took a basket as they began the long walk back to their new home, grey clouds giving way to an evening sky.
"He seemed to be just a sad, hermit-like man, possibly insane. But he spoke words of such truth I cannot discount his sanity as such, so quickly. And thank you. For being worried, I mean. I cannot deny - I was terrified the entire time." A soft, embarrassed smile materialized onto his lips. She kissed them softly.
"You don't have anything to be worried about, Clark. I will not let any harm come to you. But I do want to know what he said to you - if it could shock such a driven man as yourself, I feel that it'd be best if I heard about it." Her smile faded slightly as they walk; Clark seemed locked in an inner struggle, unsure whether to tell her or keep his thoughts to himself. Then, with relief drifting into his eyes, he returned her smile - and the doubt fled from her face.
"It might make me as insane as him - but for some time, since when I was wounded at Hui'an, I swore I have heard two voices..." As they talked, the night drew around them like a blanket, moonlight dancing upon the worn road home.
-
He slowly took the barrel of the service revolver out of his jacket. He had not wanted to alarm the American or his friend. But his warnings had come, and likely far too late.
The steel against his head was both terrifying, and oddly calming. He knew this was a sin - but he had nothing left, and no one left to warn. This would be comforting - and it would be over quick. "Sweet Sophia-"
As the tears flowed freely from his eyes, he turned to the painting, unable to finish his words. He could hear the faint sound of chimes, see the censor and smell the incense inside of it...
Colonel Anatolii Boklov let the gun rest against his temple-
and pulled the trigger.
-
"Mother." Emperor Tongzhi was excited - recently, the Imperial Mother had been letting him take control of ever more Imperial Duties. Indeed, she had hardly been present at all in any affairs of state, much to his pleasant surprise. His wife had lovingly told him that it was due to his skills as a diplomat; idle praise, but not so much he couldn't believe her. Victory after victory had flown into China and it's coffers, and he felt as if the world itself was yielding to all under heaven.
Cixi was quiet as he approached, face unreadable even though she wore a smile. "Yes, Emperor Tongzhi? What would you ask of me on such a frightfully cold December, when even the weather itself seems dry and disagreeable?" Tongzhi looked proud, holding forth several Imperial missives.
Punjab has taken a Qing surveyer hostage! They refuse to release him to our jurisdiction!
"A perfect reason to cease Srinagar - which is rightfully part of Tibet, and therefore Qing patrimony." He looked hopefully at his mother, expecting one shred of pride to appear on her face; but none was there, just the same far-off expression he was used to. She raised an elegant eyebrow.
"So then, Emperor. Why do you come to me? If you wish to add it to your holdings, I am sure that none will complain. Or is there something else on your mind?" She knew he hated being treated like a child, and indeed was slowly showing the signs of turning into a capable young man. Or at least just a young man, she thought with some amusement. Nevertheless, her words still seemed to leave him confused, struggling. As expected.
"I do not know... Mother, should I? It seems unnecessary. And there are already tensions from our wars of liberation- I- I don't want to end up like Yixin." His words cracked for a moment, and she felt a thin veneer of respect for her son. Perhaps he could one day learn, after all.
"Very wise, Emperor Tongzhi. Although this is the perfect opportunity, our administration is already burdened as it is, and the West needs only one reason to find fault with the Qing; even if we are completely justified in our actions. And besides - "
Her last words that evening left Tongzhi completely puzzled.
" - She would see it as a subtle act of war."
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Thoughts so far -
Hey guys - I love you all, but this Thanksgiving has turned into one incredibly massive funfest. I promise I'll be back on in a few hours (no sleep tonight, bwahaha!) to comment on everyone's wonderful work- but I wanted to post something before heading back to the fray, so here's yesterday's post, giftwrapped and smelling of fried bean, cranberries, and too much iced tea, turkey and pumpkin cheese cake. Me and my kin have reunited for one hell of a time! But it'll be over soon, and updates will continue until morale improves.
Until then - some brief questions: I've been playing up to 1890 out of contradictoryness due to the game becoming terribly slow, more than any other round I've played. Any thoughts on why that could be/fixed? Don't worry, it won't stop me, even if every day takes ten minutes. Two - again, I'll be back on later. Sorry guys, but Thanksgiving becomes quite serious when a family like mine is involved. So, even if you don't celebrate it where you live (or because the idea of celebrating a holiday that basically is 'well done land-grabbing, guys) - feel free to find a day that's important to you as a day of Thanksgiving. I'm thankful to my family, my friends, Eris, and everyone wonderful here in AARland. And a bajillion other things! My friends, stay groovy!