Contrary to his expectations, Zhisen did not say very much at all on the journey toward the encampment where the Adkirag clan was staying for the season. He asked no questions, made no complaints about having ridden his horse for so long, and only spoke when Merkus realized the next thing about the Jirandai nobility that he was curious about. It was also somewhat confusing that Zhisen did not talk to Merkus as if he was a lowly barbarian, but answered him casually and completely. He guessed that Zhisen had told him before that he was a ‘crude barbarian’ because of the circumstance rather than some kind of general dislike of the Erdeni. It did seem to be the case; otherwise, why would he be polite?

It could be because he thought it would bring him advantage in negotiations, but Khojin seriously doubted it. If Zhisen had a masterful plan, it would not matter very much to his father and the other chiefs whether or not Zhisen was a prick. It only mattered if he was smart and willing to betray his father.

Unquestionably, he was both of those things. Khojin had no doubts about his intentions, for now he understood the rage simmering behind Zhisen’s eyes, and where it was directed.

The longer they rode, the more he was sure that Zhisen did not care about the war between their people and only cared about getting revenge. It also became apparent that Merkus liked him already. It was not unusual for Merkus to quickly warm up to people, but it was strange this time, considering Zhisen was a Jirandai prince. Khojin did not exactly think that Zhisen was funny or charming. He had a sense of humour, but he was less amusing than he was sharp-tongued. The kind of laughter that Khojin might have loosed when listening to him was more out of surprise that he had the gall to talk like he did than entertainment.

Possibly the only positive thing about him was his calmness. His face was not a positive feature in spite of his handsomeness. While he did not make false expressions, he still seemed indecipherable, like Emperor Xian. His skill with a sword was dangerous. His way with words, equally so. Khojin was curious about how he had become so fluent in Erdeni as to be rhetorically persuasive, although it was a bit strange that he rarely ever slipped out of the formal tones. All in all, many things about him did not align.

“So,” Merkus was saying, “how many times have you crossed the border?”

Zhisen answered him; his clear voice carried over the sounds of the horses and carts. It was likely that all of their men were listening to the conversation, which would explain why nobody had been talking aside from the two of them. “I have sailed to the western kingdoms before, but I have never stepped over our border before. Every time I have crossed blades with an Erdeni man, it has been during a raid.”

Merkus raised an eyebrow in confusion, but after a moment he remembered. “You weren’t at Liguo.”

Inalchi’s face darkened, but Zhisen either did not see or mind. “Yes, I was not.”

“Well, then,” Merkus said, a bit less seriously, “how do you like the steppe?”

A couple of the men laughed, like they knew Zhisen was going to say that it was extremely empty and flat. Khojin was expecting that, too. Zhisen lifted his gaze, looking out across the sprawling land, the snowy mountains embracing its boundaries like the hands of a god. The breeze tossed his long hair, and the sunlight filled his eyes, turning them coppery. With a faint smile, he said, “It’s beautiful. Serene.”

Merkus looked at him in silence for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re a strange one.”

Zhisen seemed a bit puzzled. “What, do you disagree? That strikes me as stranger.”

“Who compliments the home of his foe?” Inalchi asked, with a scoff.

“We have a philosopher of war. He wrote that one should know his enemy well to defeat him,” he said, turning to Inalchi, his xiao guan reflecting the sun sharply. “If we were foes, that is what I would tell you. But it is my intention to make allies out of you all. So, a different wisdom is to blame: one cannot make friends by telling lies.” He spoke thus, and another peaceful quietude resumed. Merkus did not seem to have another question yet, and Inalchi seemed to have no interest in answering.

But Khojin did wonder… “Prince Zhisen.”

He glanced over, but Khojin did not miss the transition in his manner. It was especially clear this time, how Zhisen seemed to look at others more respectfully, but at him as if to say, You and I are on equal footing. If Zhisen was going to defer to anyone, Khojin thought, it should have been him. “How have you gained Junsai’s trust? Only a fool would fail to notice your resentment. Although I have disliked him since we first met, I am certain that he is no fool.”

Zhisen chuckled. “To know the value of the truth, one must learn to lie.”

“Are you saying that you are adept at lying, enough to fool him?”

“And if I were, would you distrust me any more than you already do?” he asked, and Khojin could not answer him. He only thought, as Zhisen turned his attention back to the road ahead, that he had never before met someone about whose true nature he was more uncertain.

Was he a silver-tongued and vengeful young prince, or was he, indeed, far more dangerous?

Hours later, Merkus pointed in the distance, where smoke curled upward from the hearths within the central yurts occupied now by the Adkirag and Tohkta clans. A few minutes later, Zhisen reached into his saddlebags and extracted something that shone, a very bright blue. Khojin watched sidelong as he released his stallion’s reins and reached up to unfasten his hair. First, he slid the golden xiao guan off, and then gave a sharp tug on the ribbon holding his hair in place.

It flowed down like a cascade of ink. Merkus freely stared at him, but Khojin knew that he was not the only one who thought that Zhisen looked like a woman with his hair unbound. Inalchi also had a faint look of surprise. It was not that he was not handsome with his hair tied— but the adjective seemed to become ‘beautiful’ as he untied it. He must resemble his mother, Khojin thought. Is that why the Emperor likes him? Wasn’t Lady Yanlin famous for being showered in gifts all year, every year?

Zhisen paid none of them any heed, nor was he disbalanced by the sway of the horse. He made a topknot with a few swift movements, tied his hair again, and lifted the shining objects up. The silver xiao guan was far more elegant than Ziying’s, and its pin was fitted to a dragon decorated with kingfisher feathers. He winced, thinking about the plight of the poor bird, but such jewellery was priceless, worth far more than any gold ornament. It did not take much thinking to understand that Zhisen wished to impress his father at least through that, if he could not change his clothes. It was true that the black robe he was wearing was unexpectedly plain. While the fabric was obviously fine, it was also obviously not silk.

Since he was practical enough to bring less expensive clothes on a long journey, Khojin could not laugh at him for bringing jewellery. But Merkus did have words. “Is that a kingfisher pin?”

Zhisen seemed surprised that he was familiar with the craft, but said, “Yes, it is.”

“A… dragon, if my eyes don’t deceive me?” Zhisen nodded, and Merkus asked, “How might one obtain such a treasure? You see, my wife is very fond of the colour blue…”

At that, Zhisen’s smile seemed stuck on his face in confusion, but after a moment he burst out laughing. Merkus blinked at him, until he said, “Forgive me, I know nothing about jewellery. You might find it at a market, but the price would likely be exorbitant. If you wish, I believe that my mother had nearly ten kingfisher ornaments. I’ll give one of them to you if I’m able to persuade you all with my plan, and you may then owe me a favour.” He paused, then smiled a bit, apologetically. “I would hand this one over, but it is a gift from a precious friend, and it was an heirloom in her family.”

“Oh, no— no, I wasn’t trying to take it from you,” Merkus said, laughing. “But I’ll take you up on the offer for a different piece, should your plan seem reasonable.”

Himself, Khojin wondered what woman aside from Zhisen’s wife would hand over a family heirloom. He also wondered more intensely what his father would make of Zhisen. His fluency in their tongue would probably make a better impression than the xiao guan, but Khojin guessed that Zhisen already knew that. Khojin might have liked Zhisen more if he had not chosen to kill six of his warriors on the battlement before putting an end to the fight in the marketplace. Khojin remembered the sight of the arrowhead shining in the sun, the glistening blood on the shoulder of perfectly-polished armour, the powerful bend of the longbow, the sole of his boot at the top of the battlement as he looked down.

Truly, Khojin thought, his face does not suit him.

He only realized that he had been looking with too much focus when Zhisen’s head turned and their eyes met. Zhisen did not say anything, but in his copper-like eyes, Khojin could see it clearly: at the centre of that wrathful fire, there was an empty space. Just as Ziying’s death must have carved that void, Khojin knew that Zhisen was the hole in the banner of the Jirandai Empire— the first loose stitch that would either tighten the hem or tear it all to shreds. There was a single question Khojin wanted to ask him, though.

Do you think that taking revenge will heal your wounds, or do you not care if you bleed forever?

When they arrived at the encampment, the first person to rush over was Togene. She had been brushing her stallion’s mane, and when she caught sight of them, she put everything down. As soon as Khojin dismounted, she collided with him, embracing him tightly. He laughed and tried not to stumble, but she hugged him and pressed a hand against his nape, pulling him down to her height. After embracing her briefly in return, he said, “Good to see you’re strong enough to choke me, as always.”

She pulled back and examined him, turning his face with both her hands. He let her do it and tried to keep a straight face. When she was satisfied, she patted his cheek and said, “In one piece against all odds, it seems. You were supposed to come back yesterday. I worried about you until I paced a rut in the grass.”

“Not worried about me, even a little, my love?” Inalchi asked, joining them.

Togene ignored him and asked Khojin, “Did you deliver the message to the Emperor?”

“I did,” Khojin said, then glanced over his shoulder to where Zhisen had been. He paused, but when Zhisen emerged from the throng of men and steeds, gestured. “And brought back a… souvenir.”

Zhisen’s mouth twitched into a brief smile, as if he might have laughed, but instead he inclined his head to Togene and said, “A pleasure.” Inalchi did not look pleased that Zhisen was talking to her.

She looked at him for a long, silent moment. Then, she seemed to work it out from the imperial dragon on his xiao guan’s pin and spoke with hand casually atop the hilt of her hunting knife. “Who is he?”

Before Inalchi could open his mouth, Zhisen said, “Prince Zhisen Haoda, son of Lady Yanlin Ni, and second in line for the throne of the Jirandai. May I have the honour of your acquaintance?”

Togene frowned and looked between Khojin and Inalchi. “Is he mocking me?”

They waited for Zhisen to answer, but since he did not, Khojin said, “No, that’s just how he talks.”

She turned back to Zhisen and said, “I am Togene, firstborn of Chief Tolon.”

“The rumours that you are beautiful like the tiger iris do not precede you in the least.”

Togene stared at him, his perfectly unabashed look, and then told Inalchi, “You should take lessons from him. He knows how to talk to women.” Inalchi looked at her like she had stabbed him. Togene addressed Zhisen again. “The rumours that you are an evil politician don’t suit your powder-white face.”

Zhisen chuckled. “Indeed, the iris is a flower, but the tiger bites harshly.”

“Why did you bring a Jirandai prince here?” Togene asked Khojin, folding her arms across her chest. She gestured at Zhisen with a jerk of her chin as she spoke, and the stones hanging from her earrings clicked together as if with emphasis. She said, “When I asked you to bring back souvenirs, I didn’t mean to bring me back a man— even Inalchi is better than a peacock from the Imperial City.”

Inalchi looked deeply offended to be compared to Zhisen, but the prince, on the other hand, had a face like jade. There was a slight, noticeable difference between him and the Emperor in that regard— while the Emperor was often with total calm in his expression, such that every twitch of his facial muscles expressed things ten times as powerfully, Zhisen seemed faintly amused and mostly disinterested. It was without doubt a face replicated from the Emperor, though. Khojin finally said, “He’s here to do politics.”

“What politics, poisoning Father’s food?”

“There is no need for suspicion,” Zhisen said mildly. “You may even tie and blindfold me.”

Togene glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but a smile quickly curved her mouth, and she said, “Well, then. Let’s have a bit of fun. After all, esteemed guests need entertainment. Inalchi?”

Khojin barely managed to say ‘wait’ before Inalchi knocked Zhisen out, again, all too happily.