Everything was prepared. His advisor, Gobin, had seen to that. Over the years, the Taorin Jinnto had infiltrated every Order within the capital. Laborers. Courtesans. Servants. The city watch. Officials. The imperial guard. Bribed, blackmailed, or killed and replaced, it made no difference to Jhong. They all knelt in the end. What did matter was that they were all commonborn. United in one goal: to serve the Taorin, and in turn, Jhong.

He’d learned people tended to think power was in one’s eyes, the brews or elixirs that revealed their brightly colored prowess; the strength that came with such things. Jhong knew true power was in a look, a word, an expectation that he was just a mortal man. There was nothing greater than being overlooked. It meant he could see everything in turn.

Sitting in his tea parlor, an open window granting him a spanning view of the city, Jhong felt at ease. The door slid open, Gobin stepping inside. Jhong knew the man was too smart to blindly follow him, not unlike his enforcer, Tuoshi. There was always a reason behind Gobin’s every move, a calculation between risk and reward. Jhong appreciated a thinking man, but he was just that. The bookkeeper always tried to keep his hands immaculate – despite the blood trapped underneath his fingernails.

Jhong motioned to a chair. “Sit down.” He sipped from his gilded teacup. “You should rest more often, Gobin. When was the last time you fucked a woman? Or is it men you prefer?” Jhong honestly didn’t know.

“All I need is sleep,” Gobin said. “Everything is done.”

“If you prefer to soil your bed clothes in your sleep, it’s your choice. A celebration is needed. The Emperor is dead, and though we played a small part, we still played a part nonetheless. I want to thank you for what you’ve done. What would you wish for as a reward?”

Gobin began to polish his spectacles.

“You could have a brew to fix your eyes,” Jhong said. “Would you like that?”

“I am just an instrument, Headsman. It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Hmm. Do you remember when we were Border guards, Gobin?”

“Yes.”

Jhong exhaled. “The Emperor sent our legion outside the great gates. Everyone wondered why he gave such a decree. But you told me, because it was better to send out the men to block the gates. Better to have the men break than the gates themselves, you said. Gate guards, the standing dead. If we weren’t officers, we would’ve been down there with them. But we weren’t. All because the Emperor decreed it. An immortal playing with our mortal lives. Instead of being mulched to bloody meat by those vashen beasts below, we deserted with the remainder of our section. Do you remember, Gobin?”

The bookkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not something I would forget, Headsman.”

“Yes, well, there’s something else I do remember. I remember you being a scribe. You liked fresh fruits and fine wine. But when we arrived in the capital with nothing to eat but rotten bread and the rats that gnawed on us, you changed. We all had to—to survive. Now look where we are.” Jhong nodded to the open window, the city radiant across the clear sky. “We’re kings. But there can only be one Emperor. There can be only one that protects his subjects. Don’t forget that.”

Gobin gave a wooden smile. Jhong knew he was seething inside. The man needed to be reminded of what Jhong had done for him, all those years ago, when he’d ended Gobin’s suffering after killing their old master. All he’d asked in return was to kneel.

Jhong took a hand-held bell and rang it, a serving woman opening the door in answer.

“Beyond those soured memories, here’s to sweetwine and honeypeaches, picked today from the imperial garden. To the man you are now, Keeper Gobin. And to the man I will need in the future.”

The bookkeeper held up his glass goblet of wine. “To what we are, and what we’ll be.”

Jhong stared hard at Gobin while he took a fruit, offered by the serving woman. “Fuck this woman when you’re done reminiscing. So you don’t forget.”

Gobin took a bite from the honeypeach, wet tearing under his teeth. Without a word, he unbuttoned his tunic.

Looking out the window, Jhong smiled. Such things needed to be done. Gobin had been fucked, and needed to fuck to get the fucking out of his mind. Weakness from anyone in his circle couldn’t be accepted, not at such a crucial time. The viceroys were coming with their armies – immortals playing with mortal lives. They didn’t know Jhong would play with them.