As if nothing had transpired, as if he had not shown himself capable of driving a knife into such a hard wood with a single swift movement, Zhisen said, “Naturally, the Taaga mountains are involved in my plan. In fact, my plan revolves around them. In our fake war, I will hand over all of our battle plans so that you can minimize your losses while winning battles, and I will supply the vaguest possible information to the court about each battle. Leave it to me to design everything in your favour. Rather, let us collaborate to make things easiest— since I am not all that familiar, myself, with your war tactics.” 

Zhisen paused and set his sheath down on the edge of the table. “It is abundantly clear to me that if you for some reason feel inclined to humble yourself to the Emperor to avoid war, someone’s head will roll at the meeting— and war will begin in any case. It has been a long time coming. Liguo was the prelude. I am only surprised that it has not escalated to this point any sooner. As such, if a war is inevitable, we can still turn the tide to our advantage. I will help you to win every battle. My court will give up on conquering the steppe. You can live peacefully as soon as we demonstrate together that it is a losing battle for the Jirandai. Since Junsai shall yet again be leading this effort, his loss will be humiliating. In return for your cooperation— as I am certain you have the abilities to win even without me, but at a far greater loss of men— I will sign a formal treaty with your Confederation when I am inaugurated. Not only this, but I will continue to exchange tribute with you while enabling long-term trade with the Western Kingdoms.”

“These are all very generous propositions," Tolon said, "but how will you deliver?”

“Two of the other elements in my plan to oust Junsai include bolstering the Imperial fleet to accommodate more merchant vessels, and building a road across the steppe through the southern pass of Taaga.” Zhisen pulled a string out of his robe and tied it around the handle of his dagger before pulling it toward the place where the Imperial City was located. “It will be complete by the time I am inaugurated, ideally. This road will allow everyone to trade well with the Western Kingdoms. I am sure you have encountered the hesitation of their merchants on many occasions, purely because you lack the security to establish a permanent trading settlement near the pass? Well, together we can build a city. Multiple towns along the road, even. It’s not my aim to conquer your steppe by building things on it— but simply to allow a greater influx of wealth for all of us. You can have half of the towns, and I will have the other half. Either way, initiating these projects will put me in the court’s favour even more for heirship.” 

Before Olai could protest, which he seemed on the verge of doing, Togene said, “That is all very reasonable, but from where will you gather the funds for these projects? And, especially, how will you be constructing this road in our territory while your people are at war with us?”

Zhisen chuckled, then turned over one of the red tiles, on Woqin province’s main city. “This is my province. I have had the court agree to reducing the presence of Imperial soldiers there to redirect them into battle. Also, I have persuaded them such that all men within Woqin are exempt from conscription, since our output of rice and freshwater supply is the best among the northern provinces. I have done this for four reasons. The first: I will not send people who are my direct responsibility into a battle I have planned against them. The second: I can supply you with rice and some other resources throughout the battles this way, if the Imperial soldiers are gone and only my men are present. The third: I can have the people of Woqin who do not farm rice or other food products come to the steppe and work on the road, although I hope that you might spare some personnel as well— I will recompense anyone who helps. The fourth: through my province, your men can freely enter and exit imperial territory.”

Khojin frowned. “Why should we wish to freely enter Jirandai land?”

“Well, I have not exactly asked anything of you all, yet. I have merely told you what it is you stand to gain.” Everyone waited for him to go on, since he was right. He said, “I know that Junsai is responsible for Ziying’s death, but I need stronger evidence to present to the court. I also know vaguely who the other conspirators are, but I need help. I cannot move my personal guard away from Woqin province without arousing suspicion, and although I enlist the help of my concubines to spy for me within the palace, I cannot send them running around through the Empire searching for evidence of a crime that took place four years ago.” He paused, then sighed, looking down at the table. “It may sound impossible. But I believe that if we work together, and you lend me some men— no more than twenty— I might gather the evidence.” 

Tolon stroked his beard. He was obviously thinking it over very deeply. Khojin was on the verge of expressing an opinion, but Zhisen looked up from the table with a more sincere expression. “Please. It is not in your favour to let Junsai become Emperor and let me kill him later. If I do that, I will not have the trust of the people or the court, and someone will assassinate me. I must prove to Emperor Xian and everyone that Junsai has betrayed his family and his people before I seize power. I will fulfill all of my promises to you. After all, there is nothing to stop you from ruining my reign by attacking again.” He paused again, wetting his lips. Then, he said again, “Please. I cannot live with myself if I do not discover the whole truth of Ziying’s death, and I do not deserve to live if I cannot avenge him. More importantly, I cannot let Junsai be emperor. He wants total control over all lands east of Taaga. His ambition will bring us to ruin.” 

Finally, Tolon spoke, folding his hands together, rings shining. “It is a fair proposal. Rather, I would say that we stand to gain far more from it that you do. But, if Prince Ziying meant that much to you, maybe I am underestimating the value of vengeance to you.” Khojin noticed how tightly Zhisen was gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled, as if he was silently praying for an agreement. “I am inclined to proceed in alliance with you. You are right— if you are not a liar, and if you are a man of honour and dignity, then it is better for the future of our people to end these battles. But how can I trust you?”

Zhisen hesitated, as if he was trying to think of something. It seemed that he was at a loss of how to prove his sincerity any further. Khojin felt a bit sorry for him. Some of the other chiefs were whispering amongst themselves now. 

But then, Zhisen looked up again with firm eyes. “I do not know how, at this moment, I can prove my loyalty to this agreement. If it is your wish, I will prostrate myself. If it is your wish, I will kneel and kiss your seal ring. If it is your wish, I will carve a scar on my chest to remind me that if I break this promise, you may carve out what is beneath.”

Khojin almost wanted to tell him to get on the ground— it would be rather satisfying to watch a Jirandai prince press his face to the grass. But Zhisen was not finished. 

He pointed at the map, at the two green tiles representing the outdated encampment locations on the steppe. “But once the first battle of the war is done, I can prove myself. We will attack there, in the region where there are no camps. I have planned everything such that you only have one route to victory.” He extracted a small piece of paper from the cuff binding his sleeves to his forearms, and set it down on top of the map without looking away from Tolon’s face at all. “If you ignore the instructions on this paper, expect the total demise of the troops you send.”

Before everyone should burst out with rage again, Tolon said, “Now you sound Jirandai.”

“Chief Tolon, I will still kneel if you wish it. But I fail to see how that proves my loyalty. When you face this battle, you shall see— if not for me, you will lose. It is simple: trust me, or suffer defeat.” It seemed that the fires within Zhisen’s eyes had surged, blazing powerfully. While many looked at the piece of paper with hesitation, mistrust, and displeasure, Zhisen added, “I promise you all this: I am the best tactician in all this land. Why do you think that, since I began involving myself in the court, the Empire has doubled its former size, which took nearly two hundred years to achieve?” He stepped away from the table. “I will expect a messenger after the battle. If you wish to ally with me, send someone and I will come within a fortnight.”

With that, he turned toward the exit. Pushing aside the tent flap, he added over his shoulder, “The dagger is a gift for Khojin, as thanks for not lopping my head off despite having many opportunities, though I now must thank all of you for the same. It is worth six bags of gold. The edges are diamond.”

A profound silence settled between them all. 

Togene was the first to speak, with a huff of disbelieving laughter. “He’s craftier than a fox. I knew he didn’t have the muscle to break teak.” She went over and roughly pulled the dagger out of the table. Looking at the edge, she said, “A clever trick.”

Inalchi asked, “Is it really diamond?” 

Togene flipped it in her hand and offered the hilt to him. “It is. See for yourself.”

Olai asked them all, “Are we with him, or not?”

Tolon suggested, “Let us proceed with this battle as he said, then vote on it. Agreed?”

All ten chiefs agreed, so Khojin said, “Thank you all for coming. I hope he can be trusted.”

“As do we all,” Batu, Olai’s brother, said. “You should see him off, if you’re to be the allied kings of these lands.” While Khojin inclined his head and started to leave, Batu added, “Why did you bring him?”

He paused at the flaps, then said, “Prince Zhisen seems to me our only hope for peace, regardless of whether it is contradictory or not that he wishes for us to go to war first.” 

Khojin left before anybody could ask him further questions, but he was too late to say anything to Zhisen, even if just to ask him why he would buy such an expensive knife. Zhisen was already riding out, dark robes fluttering behind him while the sun began to set. Bold, not to fear the steppe at night, Khojin thought, and was about to go toward his tent when he noticed the pale blue robes and wolf furs. 

Standing in the settled dust that had been kicked up by Zhisen’s chestnut stallion, Bijia was watching the prince recede in the distance. Khojin was about to try avoiding her, but she turned her head at the moment that he took his first step. The dark lines of paint on her face made her look half-spirit, the feathers in her wild hair half-eagle.

She said his name, but her voice was as strange as always— she always sounded as if she was speaking simultaneously into the air and whispering against the shell of his ear, no matter the distance between them. 

“Khojin.” He met her eyes at the distance. She added, “Join me.”

He walked over, feeling uneasy. When they were closer, he asked, “What is it?”

Bijia looked at his face searchingly for a moment, then pointed toward the dark speck against the horizon. “That man has a spirit like a wildfire and a fate as murky as Igtze River.”

“So be it.”

She was silent for a moment. “Do not betray him,” she said. “He is a danger to you.”

Like usual, Khojin had no idea what she was talking about and very little interest in taking any of it to heart. Therefore, he did not react beyond nodding to show that he had heard her. Bijia glanced at him once more with her strange, many-coloured eyes, like the film of a soap bubble in the sunlight. “You’re thinking deeply about something. What is it?"

He told her, “I have the feeling that Zhisen is an honest man.”

“Is that a problem?”

“An honest man only in the sense that he does not lie often. As for hiding the truth… I feel that I am missing something from what he wants us all to believe. There is something else underlying his plan.”

Bijia seemed to think it over, but in the end she only said, “Not everyone is as forthright as you.”

“Is that somehow my problem?”

“Truth is a brutal thing.” 

After she said that, Khojin watched her walking away, until he remembered that he had to unpack his saddlebags. He headed for the horses and looked at the clear horizon, a final streak of blue before the sun capsized— Zhisen was long gone, not even a shade in the distance. His gaze lingered on the horizon for a moment. He wondered if Zhisen would return alone, when he returned.