Timeline: The Present Location: The Court of Xanadu

  Over the years, Khubilai had acquired a Xinicized look. His skin was coated in olive oil to make it supple; he was manicured, made up, and dressed in the finest silk. He ruled by day according to the monks' calendar, but by night, he returned to his old ways—drinking with his Kheshig and avoiding the stifling rituals of the Harem.

  The Court of XanadDu became a strange nursery. Vassal heirs grew up here, regarded as family, yet they would never inherit their Khannic lands. Often, they were married to Khan nobles to bind their loyalty to the Emperor and to expand the Empire.

  As children, they resided at the palace of the Crown Prince, Khazan Zhenjin—a section of Xanadu by the Summer Palace called Weilan. Zhenjin was Khubilai’s eldest son by his wife from the Steppes, Chabi. Though Khubilai slept with many women and fathered children by others, he never married again.

  Zhenjin was the ideal Crown Prince. Unlike his Mongol cousins, he grew up in the Middle Kingdom. He was a mathematician, a historian, a musician, and a poet—highly educated, yet skilled at arms. The vassals pledged their loyalty to him not out of fear, but out of brotherhood. He remained Kharak at his core: an expert horseman, archer, warrior, and hunter.

  Among the vassal heirs residing in Weilan were the remnants of fallen dynasties and distant lands:

  Huaizong of Song The toddler whose life Khubilai spared on the Night of Shadows was now a young man. He and Zhenjin grew up as best friends. The people of the court still whispered about the old Song dynasty, but Huaizong was content. He was alive, and his grandmother, the Empress, lived comfortably in the harem. He was respected. Khan raised him like a son, treating him as his own flesh and blood. Though Khan did not make him Crown Prince, neither did he confiscate the Song lands.

  Rajiv of Chola Rajiv had escaped his Tamil cousins as a young man and sought refuge at the Song court. Now a middle-aged man, he was too much a bon vivant to seek a kingdom. He had arrived with a massive retinue of uncles, aunts, cousins, valets, and advisors that the five temple monks grumbled about constantly. Rajiv preferred the luxury of Xanadu to the wars of the Sindhu Subcontinent.

  Mahintha of Lan Mahintha was the legitimate ruler of the fractured Kingdoms of Lan Na and Lan Kla, though his lineage was a secret. His mother, Swyandi, had fled the war between her violent half-brothers, General Na and Prince Klaputri. She brought with her immense wealth and became known as the "8th Taipan." Though the world believed Mahintha was of royal blood, his true father was a poor soldier named Ayan. Swyandi died with that secret, leaving Mahintha fabulously wealthy and (falsely) titled. He managed her brewery and businesses, plying the greedy temple monks with beer to keep them on his side. He was a poet, a musician, and a brother in spirit to Zhenjin. Mahintha paid taxes, so the temple monks never complained about him.

  Tan Po An orphan of an Annamese General and a Tang Princess, Tan Po took a different path. He became a monk, taking vows of poverty, chastity, and silence. Yet, he remained part of Zhenjin's inner circle, serving as both a spiritual brother and a spy. Tan Po was an exemplary fighter who seemingly possessed the ability to vanish into thin air.

  Prince Cheongsun of Goryeo The darling of the Temple Monks. Handsome, sharp, and witty, he was devoted to martial arts. His father was the Admiral of Khan's Navy, and his mother was a Khan, giving him a dual lineage that commanded respect.

  Urduja And finally, the ten-year-old heir of Queen Udayan of Tawalesi. She was attended by handmaidens who were themselves from high-placed families. With no significant land to inherit and no army to command, the "Ocean-Born" girl became an esteemed, if unusual, member of the court. The Khan Court never had female vassal heirs and at first Khan had not wanted such tribute. But he made an exception of the Tawalesi because he wanted rope and liked pearls. Also, he simply didn’t know what to do with them. But Tawalesi had an embassy at Tianjin and Khan wanting to “fit in”, to be as Xinese as possible decided not to sweat the small stuff.

  These vassals regarded each other as siblings. Zhenjin, Huaizong, Mahintha, and Tan Po formed the core—the older brothers who mentored the younger ones. But even the most disciplined princes need an escape.

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  The Witching Hour

  The sun had long set over Xanadu. In the Great Hall, the Great Khan was deep in his cups with the Kheshig, reliving old battles. This was the Witching Hour for the Vassal Heirs—the only time the suffocating gaze of the Temple Monks wavered.

  "The way is clear," Tan Po signaled with a sharp hand gesture. The silent monk had already scouted the perimeter, his movements soundless as a falling leaf.

  Zhenjin, Huaizong, Tan Po, and Mahintha huddled in the shadow of the Western Gate. They had swapped their silk robes for rough-spun tunics, disguises that fooled absolutely no one who looked closely at their manicured hands and noble bearing. But in the dim light of the lantern district, they passed for merchant sons.

  "I still think we should have brought the horses," Mahintha grumbled, adjusting his hood. "Walking is for peasants and infantry."

  "Walking is for people who don't want to wake the Imperial Stable Master," Zhenjin whispered, checking the coast. "Come on."

  They slipped out of the Forbidden City and into the chaotic embrace of the capital. The streets of Xanadu smelled of roasting meat, coal smoke, and unwashed humanity—a perfume that Zhenjin found infinitely more intoxicating than the sterile incense of the court.

  They moved quickly through the labyrinth of alleys until they reached a nondescript door in the merchant quarter. A wooden sign hung askew above it, painted with the character for Antiquity.

  Huaizong knocked: a rhythmic tap-tap-pause-tap.

  A sliding peephole opened. A pair of rheumy eyes peered out, widening as they recognized the Crown Prince of the Empire standing in the mud.

  "Master Tsai!" the voice hissed. "The little dragons are here."

  Bolts slid back, and the heavy door groaned open. Lu, a man whose back was permanently bent from years of carrying crates, ushered them in.

  "Quickly, quickly! The night air is full of bad spirits and worse spies."

  They stepped into a world that smelled of old paper, dried tea, and history. Tsai's Curio Shop was less a store and more a museum of things the world was trying to forget. Shelves overflowed with porcelain from the Tang dynasty, bronze daggers from the Warring States, and scrolls of poetry banned by the Temple Monks.

  Tsai emerged from the back room, wiping dust from his hands. He was a Han man of indeterminate age, with a face like crumpled parchment and eyes that sparkled with a dangerous intelligence. He wore the simple robes of a scholar, but he moved with the assurance of a king in his own domain.

  "Look at you," Tsai grinned, spreading his arms, making a polite bow. "The Emperor of Song, the Lord of Lan, the Silent Fist, and the Future of the World. You look like a band of runaway beggars."

  "We missed you too, Tsai," Zhenjin smiled, dropping his hood and finally breathing easy.

  "Lu! Tea! The good leaf, not the swill we sell to the tourists," Tsai barked, clearing a pile of jade amulets off a low table. "Sit, sit. I have much to show you. I found a map of several tunnels under the Forbidden City. I bought it. It will cost us a bit. Put the moon cakes aside Lu… no crumbs on these maps.”

  Tsai spreads a map on the table.

  The young princes love maps and they subject this map to intense scrutiny and marvel at all aspects of this map. Immediately they recognized certain walls that apparently were hidden doors to underground chambers. All were amazed and dumb founded because they always thought they knew every stone in the Forbidden City.

  “And this other map is more like a star guide of the Yeshengren. Bactrian Herders. Sand dunes are constantly changing so they chart their migratory routes using this star guide.” Tsai is proud of his new found treasures.

  “Where did you find these maps.?” Asks Zhenjin

  “Spice traders. It’s a very close tight knit guild. It’s hard to be a member.”

  “But no trader turns his back on the great Tsai!” Zhenjin says

  “But Tsai is just a humble scholar at your service without the patronage of My Crown Prince , my Khazan I would have no leverage with those traders.” Says Tsai humbly.

  “Did you find the Cistanche?” Asks Zhenjin

  “Yes I asked. They were hesitant but they had obviously ingested it themselves. Turns the eyes blue. Helps you find water in the desert. Which reminds me, I have bought 4 pipes from a Bhang merchant. Carrying your standard colors.” Tsai brings out four cloisonné pipes.

  The four princes thank their host profusely.

  “Hey it’s time for those pretty leaves. And what about some wine?” Suggests Huaizong

  “I offered a high price for the cistanche but they were not interested in my money.” Relates Tsai.

  “I’d like to try the spice myself, Master Tsai”. Mahintha requests of his host.

  “Ah yes it’s in great demand. It gives you vision. Allows you to see the future and the past. It’s dangerous my prince they say once you have ingested the desert spice it will alter your consciousness forever. But I will try to purchase again.” Tsai looked at the four of them—the Mongol, the Song, the Lan, and the Annamese."You boys," Tsai sighed, sipping his tea. "You are a strange garden. If the Khan knew of our strange activities he would certainly chop off my head.

  "He would have to catch you first," Mahintha quipped, reaching for a honey cake Lu had set down. "And you have more bolt-holes than a rabbit." Lu is putting the maps away in cylindrical containers.

  "True," Tsai winked. "But tonight, no politics. But I also bought the Guzheng, Huaizong. It sounds like weeping water. Play for us, Huaizong. Let us pretend, for an hour, that we are just men."