"The Chongguo are coming," Chaksu rushed.
Sirijinga jostled his tea cup in surprise, grunting angrily as the steaming liquid splashed on his hand. He had just been about to sit down too, and now his pillow was wet. "Thank you for that urgent update, spymaster," he said with a sigh. "Can you be a bit more specific, for once? What Chongguo?"
"The Chongguo, you brick," he snapped. "A caravan bearing the emperor's seal is almost here!"
"What!?" Sirijunga exclaimed. A block of ice sank in his stomach in an instant. The imperial seal meant imperial questions about who was and wasn’t growing silkworms, which everyone knew was the exclusive domain of the Son of Heaven. “Which one of them?” he asked suspiciously. Everyone also knew the Son of Heaven, or more like half a dozen of them, had been preoccupied with killing each other since the great old Galijunga was in diapers.
“There’s only the Song emperor, now, you…” Chaksu trailed off, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes.
A patter of footsteps sounded outside, and Mikki burst in, winded and red-faced. “The Chongguo,” she panted, tugging her saree straight as she caught her breath.
“Yes, I already told him,” Chaksu said with a sigh.
"I thought we had a deal with the wagoners," Sirijunga sputtered. Everyone also knew all silk bolts were stamped with the official imperial seal, or at least a wagoner’s stamp that fit the bill. The little shits sure charged an arm and a leg for getting Suyem and Ichap’s “Chongguo” silk into the markets.
"They're as surprised as we are," Mikki said tightly. A light sheen covered her as she took a deep breath. "Well, they're running for the hills now."
"As should we," Chaksu said with alarm.
Sirijunga sighed wearily as still more footsteps approached. Indha ducked into the chamber, even the steely poise she wore while undressing her matron mid-fuck jostled with uncertainty.
“Let me guess,” Sirijunga said as Indha cleared her throat. “Chongguo.”
“My Hang,” Indha said, glancing between everyone in the chamber. “A…delegation has arrived that requests your presence.”
Dozens of wild tales about the gunpowder and crossbow-wielding imperials from the other side of the Arakan whirled through Sirijunga’s head as he tried to take stock. Mikki bit her lip nervously, and Chaksu looked even grayer and more sickly than usual. “My…presence,” Sirijunga repeated slowly to Indha.
Indha nodded. “They…await your greatness outside, on the pavilion.”
Sirijunga scratched the back of his neck. His robe was far from his best, and splashed with tea. Mikki nervously brushed back a stray hair on his forehead and straightened his clothes as he took a deep breath. He puffed his cheeks as he looked around at what currently passed for his court, and possibly co-conspirators in the eyes of the Chongguo.
“Well…I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting,” Sirijunga said. The others filed through the curtains and out of the palace glumly, a strange herald for the end of his short, horny reign.
A commotion rose as he stepped outside. Sirijunga blinked in surprise as he witnessed a small village in its own right birthing right before his eyes on the ancient hilltop. Elephants in terrifying spiked armor ambled alongside ones with mountains of baggage. Overseers barked orders at laborers frantically offloading bits and pieces of a massive white awning already raised into the sky, a web of stakes being hammered into the hill with a clatter of mallets.
“What in the fuck is happening?” Sirijunga murmured.
“There are Limbu setting that up,” Mikki added, her eyes narrow with concern. She was right: about half of the laborers wore peasant’s dhakka, and as he watched a dozen came around the hillside bearing a palanquin the size of a hut. Two figures lounged on flowing silk pillows, a man and a woman both in sheer white gowns with gold and violet florals. Soldiers in massive armor pads of bronze and azure guarded them, crossbows slung on their backs and glinting halberds in their hands.
“They hired everyone they came across,” Chaksu whispered. “I saw with my own eyes. They just…flung coins at passersby and started directing them.”
The couple on the palanquin noticed them at the palace as they were lowered carefully to the ground. The woman got a peasant’s attention, gesturing incoherently while she shouted slowly in Chongguo.
“She’s…asking where the concubine king is,” Mikki said. Curiosity warred with confusion and concern on her face as she peered at the commotion. The peasant finally pointed back, gesturing towards Sirijunga. Both the man and woman craned their necks eagerly at the conveyance, their curious gazes raking him as they fanned themselves lazily.
The commotion under the awning slowed as a lacquered podium and chair were brought to its front. A man in a simple green robe with a practical cinch strode before them, clasping his hands in front of him. His beard was severely trimmed, and a knotted black scarf covered his head. He waited a few paces in front of the podium silently, a vaguely bored look in his narrow eyes.
Mikki cleared her throat. “I’ll translate, my love,” she murmured. “Be strong.”
Sirijunga swallowed as they walked forward together. He forced his hands to stay still at his sides as he ached to grab Mikki’s hand, to hold her, to flee from this mad throne that had been thrust on him along with eager, thrusting mouths. The hills awaited his answers to these imposing foreigners, regardless of how poorly suited for the job he was.
Mikki slowed to a halt before the official. She bowed deeply, then spoke in rapid, fluting Chongguo. The man watched her delivery impassively, while the guards around him stared straight forward as if they faced an empty plain. Sirijunga kept his eyes on the imperial clerk in front of him. He was Hang, after all, even if he did feel a half hand tall. Had these hills ever witnessed such a stupefying show of wealth? Of power? If they were trying to intimidate him, they could’ve gotten away with a tenth of the splendor before him easily.
With a gesture to Sirijunga, Mikki stepped aside to present him. “...Sirijunga Hang,” she finished her speech with a final, regal flourish.
Sirijunga forced himself to exhale slowly as the official looked him up and down. His thin, sharp eyebrow raised, perhaps in skepticism, perhaps in threat. Sirijunga bit the inside of his lip and tried not to think about the tea splashed on his robe. The couple on the palanquin murmured excitedly to each other behind their fans as the moments dragged on awkwardly.
Finally, the man let out a long, dramatically weary sigh. He turned wordlessly, and strode around the podium to sit at the exquisitely lacquered chair. Servants hurried up with parchment, several ink bottles, and a rack of elegant brushes for the podium as the man cracked his knuckles, one after another. Finally, he cleared his throat, and picked up a brush with the precision of Tangsep wielding her kukri.
“Thirty-seven days ago,” Mikki began as the official launched into rapid Chongguo. “The most beloved concubine of the magnificent and all-ruling Song Taizhong, anointed Son of Heaven, beloved of all gods and ancestors….the Song emperor,” Mikki amended, pausing as the official apparently kept rattling off titles of his emperor with workmanlike, fluting determination. Sirijunga stole a glance at the palanquin, where the duo watched with rapt attention.
“...asked,” Mikki suddenly picked back up. “The concubine that is, asked for an intimate evening gown in, he emphasizes these are her words not his, authentic Limbu silk.” The man took a long breath after the winding introduction, and jotted several characters in a neat column on the parchment. A monal squeaked excitedly overhead as Sirijunga turned the translation over in his mind.
“As the most beloved concubine of the Son of Heaven does not ask for things in error,” Mikki said as the clerk picked up again. “An effort was made to locate this…uniquely charming place,” she said after a pause.
Sirijunga cleared his throat as the clerk paused again to jot down more exquisitely sharp characters. “Is that, uh…” Sirijunga trailed off in a whisper to Mikki.
“Yes, it’s an insult,” Mikki murmured. “They call us ‘the western mountain goat herding barbarians’.”
“...I mean, that’s kind of fair,” Sirijunga whispered back.
“It appears,” Mikki added in a louder tone as the clerk picked up again. “That in the great discord of the countless rebels brought to heel by the departed Song Taizu, records of the tributary contract with this uniquely charming place were…misplaced,” she said at a sarcastically spat phrase and an eye roll from the bureaucrat. “Thus, I, the humble servant of the great Son of Heaven Song Taizhong, am deploying all of my skills as a….senior clerk,” Mikki said after pondering another eyeroll. “To renew and record this tributary relationship.”
The clerk appeared to be at the end of his delivery, gesturing impatiently towards Sirijunga. A swelling crowd gathered around the edges of the pavilion, craning to see the bizarre pageantry. Sirijunga glanced at Mikki for a long moment before clearing his throat. “Ancestors grant the Son of Heaven long life and good health,” he said, hoping Mikki’s rapid Chongguo would relay an at least inoffensive version of his words to the irate official in front of him. “On behalf of the sacred hills and Limbu people, you are welcome to our hospitality, and of course as much silk as the Son of Heaven pleases.” And if Suyem and Ichap didn’t like that, it was decidedly not Sirijunga’s problem. Whatever oaths he had sworn at that blasted sacred column, staring down imperial Chongguo surely was not among them.
Sirijunga waited while the clerk glared at both him and Mikki with distaste. “The matter of acquiring silk has already been addressed,” Mikki relayed as he shook his head and made another jot. Sirijunga stifled a snort despite the grandiosity, imagining imperial servants scrambling to procure “Limbu silk” at the nearest market, not that he wouldn’t do exactly that in their shoes.
Of course, that left what exactly this massive baggage train was doing here, not to mention what “tribute” the annoyed scholar before them had in mind. Answers continued to elude Sirijunga as he surveyed the pavilion. The soldiers and elephants could very easily overrun all of Ilam; but if they didn’t even want the Hill Lords’ silk, why bother at all?
“You will forgive the question from…a simple mountain king such as myself,” Sirijunga said, buoyed by Mikki’s approving nod at his phrasing. “But what tribute do you require from us, if not our silk?”
The clerk let out a long, dramatic sigh. Sirijunga resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck as the man brushed out more characters. If he was so bothered, he didn’t have to bring this terrifying caravan to Sirijunga’s doorstep either. Finally he set his brush on the rack with an especially severe glower.
“According to the law of the Son of Heaven,” Mikki began. “Tributaries shall submit to His divine wisdom and benevolence in the manner they themselves receive tribute from their lessers.”
Sirijunga blinked in surprise as the implications of the words tumbled through his head. He looked over at the palanquin again, where the man and woman now stared at him from behind their fans. The woman caressed the man’s thigh over his sheer gown, her narrow eyes bright with interest.
The clerk shook his head again as Sirijunga turned back to face him. “Is…he saying what I think he’s saying?”
“Either that, or I’ve completely fucked my Chongguo up,” Mikki murmured.
Monals fluttered on the edge of the awning as the clerk rubbed his eyes wearily. He glanced up at the heavens, as if beseeching his emperor for a last minute reprieve. Finally, he sullenly picked up his brush again. “Thus, I am using my considerable skills as a…senior clerk,” Mikki relayed. “To oversee the submission of tribute to two relations of the Son of Heaven’s glorious dynasty, of…suitable station for the present purpose.” He snorted angrily as he went back to brushing.
“Suitable station,” Sirijunga repeated.
Mikki shrugged helplessly, and said something to the clerk. He rolled his eyes, but gestured curtly at a lackey, who hurried forward to thrust a scroll into Mikki’s hands. “The tributary contract,” she explained to Sirijunga as she unrolled it rapidly. Her sharp eyes slowly widened as she read up and down the tiny, angular symbols.
“Do it,” she said, looking up at him suddenly and re-rolling the scroll.
Sirijunga squinted at her. “Are you sure?”
Mikki swooped up to him, her soft lips brushing his ear. “Trust me, my love,” she whispered, and her words sent a shiver down his back despite the lunatic show before him. “Fuck their brains out.”
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