Ling followed the servant down some of the large halls near the center of the palace. They walked quickly, the only outward sign of the urgency of the situation.

After they had walked in silence for several minutes, Ling voiced a question. "How did you know where to find me?" His location should have been a complete unknown after using the tunnel, after all.

The servant glanced back but did not slow. "The generals sent messengers all over the palace in search of you. As for myself, this was the third place I tried."

The Emperor nodded, chagrined for only a moment over his elusive behavior. They had found him, after all, and now what counted was focusing on the issue to hand.

If the generals had summoned him to the War Room, it meant that one of the clans had taken aggressive military action. Something extreme enough to warrant involving the Imperial Guard.

Has the Taan radical faction finally made a move? he wondered. I had hoped that the strength of their neighbors would keep them in check a little longer, even if their prince could not.

Ji-an, the twentieth prince of Xing, was the technical ruler of the Taan clan, but at 13 years of age, he struggled to control even the loyalist families. Far more influential in clan politics was Kaaz, the grizzled war veteran who headed up the clan's small but powerful radical group.

Ji-an, assisted by his advisors, had made several moves in the past to try and suppress the faction, but it had had about as much success as a light rain on a bonfire. The extremists' doctrine of Taan clan superiority was appealing, and nothing the prince could do could stop more and more clan members from listening.

Truly, the group should have earned Ling's attention long before this, but he had been counting on Taan's location, surrounded by the strong and stable clans of Guan, Qin, and Yongle, to stop things from progressing beyond talk.

The Emperor clenched his teeth. I should not have been so naïve as to expect rational thought from extremists. Kaaz and his followers could have set themselves off on a suicide mission against Qin, for all I know.

Oh well. It was no use berating himself about a scenario he didn't even know had happened yet. It was just as possible that his bluff with the Lus had failed, or the Chang-Lee hostilities had ignited even without Su there to start things.

As they approached the wide, iron doors of the War Room, Ling was forced to recognize that, in an Empire composed of 50 independent clans, there were any number of things that could go wrong. He would just have to wait and hear what his generals had to report.

The servant slowed to knock on the doors, which could only be opened from the inside, and then bowed her silent departure, leaving him alone in the hall as the doors slowly squealed open.

Most of the generals were leaning over a large map of the 50 clans, spread across a wide oak table that occupied the center of the room. The others were muttering to each other and pacing impatiently around the edge of the room, forming an almost palpable tension. When the creak of the opening doors echoed across the chamber, they all jumped and jerked their heads in his direction.

Ling didn't give them a chance to recover. "What is it?" he demanded.

The oldest, most grizzled of the soldiers spoke up. "Nothing we expected," he said seriously.

The man, Dailun, was a newer addition to the group, the product of a policy Ling had established early in his reign that allowed exceptional merit to push commoners into the higher military positions that had previously been barred to them. Under the circumstances, Ling would have expected a feeling of resentment from the other generals when a commoner dared to speak for them. Instead, however, the nobles in the room turned toward him with an air of deference.

Impressed, Ling continued to address the man as their leader. "Explain," he demanded.

"It's Lee."

"They made a move on Chang?"

He shook his head. "No. On Zhong."

Ling felt the air leave his body. Out of all the scenarios he had imagined, this had never so much as crossed his mind. "What?" He gasped. "How?! Lee and Zhong don't even share a border! How could Lee mount an attack without us knowing months in advance?"

The generals looked among themselves uncomfortably. After an awkward pause, it was again Dailun who spoke. "It was… well planned. Fang Lee, your brother, arranged for small groups of soldiers in civilian guise to move separately across Chang and Dao, taking different routes and using different cover stories for their travel. Pockets of them have been spread across the Dao-Zhong border for months without us knowing it, and the only reason we know about it now is that they've started regrouping for a combined strike." He paused and looked around the room, and when he resumed a hesitance had entered his voice, echoing the shifting gazes of the generals around him. "It was, truthfully, a failure on our part not to have seen this sooner. On the other hand, this is something that has never even been heard of before, and I curse Fang Lee's ingenuity more than I curse our blindness. My Lord," he said, meeting Ling's eyes as he wrapped up his explanation, "We have already sent word for the Imperial Guard to begin marching for the Zhong border… but are we to send the message to cross?" He unconsciously pulled himself to attention to prepare for the final question. "Emperor—what are your orders?"

They didn't make a decision without me, Ling thought with some surprise. After being subtly undercut by courtiers and "handled" by his advisors for two years, he'd grown accustomed to his subordinates having their own ideas on how things should be done. And having to fight through those ideas to make sure his own plans were carried out.

Looking at the men turned toward him in the War Chamber, though, he saw something completely different. Some of the older, more traditional generals clearly resented the idea of getting involved in what they considered an internal clan affair, while the younger men in the room seemed eager to strike, to show the Empire the might of its capital. All of them, however, were waiting for his commands with the gravity and anticipation normally reserved for funerals, fully intending to carry them out despite any personal feelings.

I suppose it's just the difference between the court and the military. A military man is straightforward and knows how to follow orders. And if they ever jointly decided that I was running this nation incorrectly, they wouldn't bother with sycophantry and clever go-arounds—they'd simply organize a coup. No pressure.

To be honest, though, the threat of direct violence was somewhat of a relief after what he'd be dealing with with Su and Pan-Shu. Spies and veiled words, tea and banquets. A wife who wasn't his wife and a bodyguard who wasn't his mistress. Hell! Just give him something he could face with two hands and a sword-

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. There was something in that thought. Something so unheard of, so dangerously unconventional, that if it actually worked, he'd go down in history as the maddest Emperor Xing had ever known. Including the one that had flooded the Imperial Theater and then demanded a full-size reenactment of the naval battle at Gai-Pyo, complete with all the deaths.

"My Lord?" one of the generals prompted as the silence stretched.

Ling focused again on the War Room, and on the men waiting anxiously for his decision. "How long would it take you to move a battalion of cooks, servants, and courtiers up to the Zhong border?"

"Um… my Lord?" the commoner general was looking at him skeptically.

"We're crossing the border, but not with an aggressive military force. We'll dilute the Imperial Guard with as many civilians as we can get up there, and then call it a personal honor guard for the Emperor."

A ripple of shock moved through the commanders, and one of the most junior forgot himself enough to cry out, "You mean you're-"

Dailun cut him off. "Our Emperor cannot really intend to march himself into the middle of a war zone. Calling it an honor guard would simply be a bluff to buy time."

Ling raised a wry eyebrow. "No, General, I fully intend to march myself into the middle of a war zone. And to challenge my dear brother Fang to a personal duel."

This brought another round of surprise, with the addition of frustrated bewilderment on most faces. One of the oldest, however—a military advisor named Bao who'd been there since before Ling's father's time—looked thoughtful.

"On what conditions?" he asked in a papery voice that hung in the space above the table.

"He wins, and I write an Imperial Decree moving Zhong's official seat of power to the Lee mansion in the capital and declaring the Lee clan head the arbiter of all internal Zhong disputes. I'd be giving him Zhong, and a much firmer grip over the clan than he could ever win through force. I win, though, and Lee withdraws all forces to within their own borders and signs a treaty of goodwill with their Emperor, promising to aid and support clan cooperation."

"Ah." The old man leaned back. "It's neat. Making it a personal duel prohibits any accusations of direct Imperial military interference—something that historically has only be implemented in extreme circumstances, and which would, in this scenario, be resented by the other clans. Offering Fang the opportunity to legitimize his otherwise nebulous claim to Zhong ensures that he'll accept your challenge. This–ah–'goodwill' treaty" he allowed himself a sardonic smile, "would make any further aggression on Lee's part a blatant and willful insult to the Emperor himself—something that would, even in the minds of the most traditional clansman, unquestionably warrant direct action by the Imperial Guard." He paused for a moment, as if doing a sum in his head, and then nodded, his shoulder-length white hair giving a slight bob. "It could work."

The room exploded as every general voiced their opinion, for or against the crack-brained plot. Cries of "It's madness!" and, "We can't put our Emperor on the line like that!" competed with the shouts of commanders glad to have any excuse for involvement, and a few already planning arrangements for the transport of the necessary bakers and imperial hangers-on.

Through the confusion, Bao kept his eyes locked on his Emperor. "There's only one question left to ask, then," he said, his papery voice reaching Ling's ears alone amid all the shouting. "Can you win this fight, lad?"

Ling looked back at the ancient general and chose not to take offense at the informal address. Instead, he allowed an impatient Greed control long enough to respond to the man's question. An overflowing mountain of confidence built from the homunculus's ego burst out from Ling's body in a cheeky grin and a few words: "Oh, don't you worry, old man. I'll win it."

Wong looked out of his narrow, deep-set eyes onto what had to be the most awful, terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life. Sweat broke out beneath his robes, and his breath quickly accelerated from simple hyperventilation to ragged, heaving gasps. He could feel a tense trembling overtake his frame, and he squeezed his eyes shut to pray that this was some horrible nightmare from which he would awaken.

"…Are you okay?" the young page boy asked, his hands still proffering the parchment, but an eyebrow now raised in quizzical amusement.

"I'll… be fine," Wong managed to gasp out between clenched teeth.

"All right, then could you take your message? I have other jobs to do this morning, y'know."

With an effort, Wong was able to unclench his tightly fisted hands just enough for the page boy to shove the paper between them. Staying just long enough to make sure that the message wouldn't fall out of Wong's stiff fingers, the young servant gave a bemused shrug and scampered off—his eager step said that it wasn't so much another task that called him off so much as it was the smell of freshly glazed buns from the kitchen.

Wong barely registered the boy's departure, though, his eyes staring sightlessly forward, too afraid to face the parchment's contents in full. The first line had already been enough to stab fear into his heart and bring on a fit of panic.

Soon, however, he knew he could deny the inevitable no longer. He was brave. He was strong. He was secretary to the Emperor of Xing! He could handle this. He pulled his gaze down to examine the page's scripted words in full:

"Imperial entourage scheduled for immediate departure. To include:

250 royal courtiers (see attached list for names)

300 lady's maids and personal manservants to accompany above

680 palace servants

230 fully qualified cooks and 25 specialized confectioners along with 400 aides, for a total kitchen staff of 655

Carriage and wagon drivers sufficient to convey all the above

Individual department heads have already been contacted. Please coordinate their efforts and arrange for departure by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

Wong groaned. 250 courtiers? 680 servants?! How was he supposed to accommodate those sort of numbers? And where on earth was he supposed to find 25 confectioners before tomorrow afternoon?

At the latest? he thought with indignant incredulity. More like at the earliest! And even that will only be possible with some very careful handling on my part.

"Boy!" he called, snapping out of his trance with efficient finality. Unfortunately, the child was long gone already. Instead, he waved over one of the passing servants, a middle-aged woman carrying a tea tray. "Whatever you are up to," he told her briskly, "it will have to wait. I need someone to go to the Courier's Wing. I need a continuous line of runners between me and the kitchens, the stable offices, the Royal Dwellings, and the High Maid, and I need it now!" When the woman hesitated, glancing down on the steaming teacups on her tray, he added a forceful, "This is urgent, woman! I need you to run!"

Her eyebrows rose a little at that and she looked uncertainly down at her tray as if not sure what to do with it.

"Hurry!" the secretary prompted.

Looking up at him and his dire expression once more, the woman finally shrugged, shoving the tray—hot tea and all—into Wong's unprepared arms and bobbing a rapid bow before turning on her heel, hiking up her dress, and taking off at a dead run.

Good, Wong thought, hardly noticing the hot, brown fluid seeping down his robes and through into his undergarments. That's a start. The capital's baking guild still owes me a favor for commissioning them for the wedding, so hopefully I can get my confectioners from there without paying exorbitant last-minute prices. The lady's maids are going to be another challenge, though—that type always expects to be treated a step above the regular servants, no matter the circumstances. Perhaps if they were housed with their ladies? I'll have to take a look at that list of courtiers to see if they're the type that would stand for that sort of thing. It'll affect the number of carriages we need too—the number and size I need to arrange for will depend on how willing the nobles are to share. And I can't forget the wagons for carrying the commoners and supplies, or the extra wheels and axels for repairs…

By the time the tea had dried from the secretary's robes, couriers with messages were flooding all the sectors of the palace. The department heads had sent him their own personal reports on preparations, and the entire palace staff had mobilized to aid in the effort according to his commands. The confectioners had been requisitioned from the Baker's Guild, and the stables were starting to line up vehicles in the massive yard out front.

Tomorrow afternoon? Wong thought smugly to himself, all traces of fear forgotten in triumphant self-satisfaction. An insult! Try midnight tonight.

The Emperor's personal bodyguard was taking the afternoon off. It was an odd experience for her, and not entirely pleasant. Really it just meant worrying twice as much about the Emperor's safety as she did when she was on-job and could actually do something about it.

Still, though, there were perks. She had gone down to the kitchens for some lunch, and had been met with the sight of fresh-baked glazed buns. She had shamelessly downed three and then slipped back out the door without being noticed.

On the way back to her rooms, she had actually stopped one of the ever-scurrying servants and asked them to bring her tea. She was, of course, perfectly capable of making her own tea, but she figured that she ought to take advantage of the perks of her position at some point. She was bodyguard to the Emperor of Xing, after all.

Even so, she hadn't really expected to be recognized—she had thought the servant would probably turn her away, seeing some family retainer trying to act above her station. Instead, the woman she had asked for tea had bowed to her in response. Bowed! As if she were some frilly, dolled-up court woman!

An odd experience indeed, but not entirely unpleasant, either.

Now she was lounging in her apartments, a picture of indolent ease. A very bad picture. To tell the truth, she could only be said to be "lounging" in the loosest sense. She was reclined on one of her apartment's couches, true, but every time her mind wandered, she discovered that she had tensed for battle once again, her body ready to jump straight from the couch to the throat of an attacker. She tried forcing her muscles to relax by an active strength of will, but soon realized that that defeated the purpose and gave up the effort, sighing as she swung her legs over and sat up on the couch.

It did not come naturally to her—either lounging or relaxing. Instead, she stood and began examining a piece of artwork on the wall. It was one her grandfather had given her on her fifteenth birthday, the year she became a full-fledged retainer of the Yao clan. It pictured a sweeping landscape of a mountain valley with a pristine mountain lake at the bottom, reflecting the sky above. On the right of the painting, Old Man Fu had written his own message in a swordsman's flawless calligraphy. It read, "The untroubled lake stays protected."

It brought a sad smile to her face as she remembered the dear old man. When she had first received the painting—a child thinking herself an adult—the inscription had bothered her. Wasn't it the other way around? The lake was untroubled because it was protected. It wasn't like mountains were moving around looking for a nice body of water to set up camp next to. As she grew older, however, she recognized the wisdom in her grandfather's words. Inner peace was its own protection from the world around you.

Maybe that inner peace was exactly what she was missing now. She crouched down by her bed and searched with her hand underneath until it lighted on a smooth wooden box. She slid it out from under the bed and abashedly noticed the thick layer of dust that had gathered on the lid. Things had been busy, and duty always came first. Still, she felt that she should have made time long before this.

She used her sleeve to wipe off the dust and gently opened the dark wooden box. She pulled out a long scroll of paper with weights for each side, a brush, and several bottles of ink. The first two that she tried were completely dry and hard, but the seal was still good on the third one, and when she dipped the wooden end of the brush in to stir, she was pleased to find it still had the right consistency.

In an almost ritual manner, she spread the scroll out along the floor and weighted each side. She placed her ink pot above the scroll and slowly dipped her brush twice, letting the excess ink drip off it each time. She took a steadying breath and lowered her brush to the paper, bringing her hand down in the long sweeping motions and short accents of the character "peace." When she was finished, she set her brush aside and leaned back to observe her work.

It was terrible. She really should not have let it go for so long without practicing. Chagrined, she pulled her thin paper knife from out of the box and cut away the piece of the scroll that she had used and set the rest aside. Reaching into the box again, she pulled out a stack of small slips, all made of low-grade paper.

She was in for the long haul.

Her hand moved over and over in its hazily remembered motions, and as time passed she felt it becoming more confident, her movements surer. As the hours passed, she felt the tension drain out of her as her mind filled with the same character she copied over and over again. "Peace." "Peace." "Peace."

She leaned further and further over her paper, and finally the brush dropped from her hand. I suppose I have been neglecting my sleep lately almost as much as my calligraphy. Maybe I should…"

Before she could finish her thought, she was fast asleep.

The Emperor's bodyguard awoke to a pounding at her door and the frantic voice of a servant. "What are you doing, mistress! It's nearly noon; the envoy is about to leave! You must get up immediately!"

The guard looked up from the floor, groggy and disoriented from her long sleep. A tray of cold tea sat beside her, which the servant had quietly placed last night, unwilling to wake her. When she realized where she was and that she had spent the whole night there she expected to feel stiff, but to be honest the wooden floor wasn't that much different from her pallet.

She levered herself up to a sitting position and brought her right hand up to her eyes to rub. "What?" she asked stupidly, "What envoy?"

The servant looked shocked now as well as rushed. "You mean you don't know? How could you have missed it? The entire palace was up all night preparing! I didn't think anyone could have slept through it."

"Preparing for what?" the guard asked again.

"For our retaliation! Lee has invaded Zhong, and the Emperor has requisitioned an honor guard of over 1,000 to march him to the border so he can challenge Prince Fang to a personal duel!"

"He WHAT?!"

A/N: HERE IT IS! THE PROMISED CHAPTER! It turned out that the second I graduated from college my health completely collapsed (must have been the adrenaline drop) and I've been struggling hardcore ever since. My latest problem is a resurgence of my old insomnia, which makes staying awake at work pretty tricky, but gives me plenty of hours at night to edit and outline my fanfiction! I hope you all like it, and I want to give a big shout out to anyone who stuck around to see. Let me know what you think and if you're even still there! I feel like you deserve a prize if you've stuck with me all this time.

In fact, let's make this a thing. Because I love you so much. If anyone who commented on the first few chapters comments again I will enter you into a drawing for a mystery prize! I will ship a thing, to your house, and I promise it will be very random. Let me know if you want to enter ;)