The Yu tower library was a quiet bastion of learning on the second floor, where keen students from across District Yu mingled with Kingmakers in their academic pursuits. Inside a private study room, Yutai and Tao sat in a pair of opposing seats watching the goings-on. Half a dozen students walked by with their arms stacked with books, others sat behind computer screens, while small groups gathered around tables, engaged in group study.

  Tao cocked his head to the side. ‘Let me wrap my head around this, brother. You’ve got a buddy in the Tien Tao who can sneak us into Fort Ho Man Ting? And under the pretense of this “friendly tour,” you’re gonna install wiretaps?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Yutai broke out into a grin. ‘We’ll be out doing something productive while Keung and Cheng raid their Yang base with the Tai Li. We Kingmakers don’t belong on a bench, waiting to be tagged in. You and me? We’re both mighty Kings, but it’s easy for us to get overshadowed by our partners. Shing’s one of the best sharpshooters in the praefect cohort, and Ushi could probably outlift everyone in the tower. It’s no coincidence they’re both on the field and we aren’t.’

  ‘It’s not all bad being benched, brother. You get to stretch your legs. Watch the game with a clearer head than those playing.’

  ‘You also watch your teammates get pummelled while you’re powerless to do anything. I hate being powerless,’ Yutai shot back, his voice sharpening. ‘Keung isn’t entirely convinced the Tien Tao have turned against us; that was clear from the meeting. Surely you can also see why we have to do this? We can bring him the proof he needs to move against Warlord Xianjian immediately! Then; royal regicide the motherfucker.’

  Tao let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. ‘But we’d be going against orders. If we fail, we could mess up more than just Keung’s plan.’ He paused for a moment, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. ‘Who’s this Tien Tao friend of yours, anyway? Never thought I’d see a Rioter be friends with a King…’

  ‘Name’s Hung. We go way back to when we were kids in District Sung Wong. We both dreamed of being Kingmakers, but his family fell on hard times when we were about 12. His family left Central Kowloon to migrate south, where life is cheaper. But he never gave up his dream of becoming an elite gangster. He might’ve missed his chance to become a Kingmaker, but he didn’t settle for joining some local, no-name gang, oh no. He got into The Tien fucking Tao!’ Yutai pointed to himself, nodding with pride. ‘Only one of my boys would be capable of that.’

  ‘Remember, brother. We’re still not sure which side the Rioters are on. This Hung sounds like some child you once knew. Down there will be a man who’s lived most of his life in the south.’

  ‘You’re not wrong, but I’ve kept in contact with him over the years. We’re not completely estranged. Trust me, Tao. As far as Hung goes, we’re good.’

  ‘My gut tells me otherwise, but I’ll trust you. Don’t make me regret not dissuading you from this.’

  ‘Thank you, you won’t. Let me give him a call.’

  Yutai took a deep breath and swiped the surface of his holocommunicator. After three tones, someone answered.

  ‘Light Illumine.’

  ‘Brother! Light Illumine! It’s Yutai. How’ve you been?’

  ‘Yutai?’ Hung replied with hesitation. ‘I’m all right, you? It’s been… a while since you called.’

  He spoke with the characteristic lilt of a southern Kowlooni, his words spilling out in a quick, rhythmic pattern. But the regional dialect, known to be almost unintelligible in its purest form in the deep south, was devoid of any enthusiasm or warmth.

  ‘Sorry about that, brother. You know how it is. Danger’s our currency, and we’re all busy entrepreneurs. I’m calling about that tour we talked about a while back. I’ve got a friend here who’s a total history buff. Knows every detail about the background of Fort Ho Man Ting. I mentioned your name, and now he’s jumping over groundscrapers with excitement. What do you think? Can we make it happen?’ Yutai glanced at Tao, who was shaking his head at the cover story.

  ‘I mentioned that tour like, what… four annui-cycles ago? It’s a bit short notice, don’t you think? And is your friend a Kingmaker too?’

  Tao quirked an eyebrow at Yutai, a silent question in his gaze.

  ‘Uh, yes, he is. Praefect, like me. So, is today a no-go? Just thought it’d be nice for us to drop by the South on our free day,’ Yutai replied, his gaze steady on the device.

  ‘I don’t think so. Another time?’

  ‘Hung, come on buddy. Aren’t you a hot shot amongst the Rioters? Surely you can make time for us? We might not get another chance. Who knows when we’ll even talk again as we are now… things are so dire nowadays, Light knows neither of us might not have another tomorrow.’

  Tao rolled his eyes at Yutai’s dramatic monologue.

  ‘I can’t make any promises… but I’ll check. Things are heating up here, you know… with the Yang and all. Can’t disclose much over the line. But I’ll get back to you in an hour. Sound good?’

  ‘Perfect. Don’t want to pass the opportunity up, you know? Not everyone can get a sneak peek into the headquarters of the Tien Tao Rioters!’

  ‘Okay. I’ll call you back. Light Illumine.’

  ‘Light Illumine, brother,’ Yutai replied as the holographic device flickered and went quiet.

  ‘Well,’ Yutai murmured thoughtfully. ‘I hope he can manage something for us. We have less than 100-cycles to finish the Yang. It would be a shame to lose this chance.’

  ‘He didn’t sound too keen,’ Tao pointed out. ‘How close were you two again?’

  ‘Cut him some slack, brother. He’s a Tien Tao dealing with the Yang tension in his homeland, which also happens to be the southern capital. Its a Yang hotbed. I’d say he’s just under pressure.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Tao conceded, stretching his arms. ‘What’s the plan now? Not much to do around the tower; all the centurion classes are on right now. And the central districts are dead after the dimming.’

  ‘For someone as laid back as you, maybe,’ Yutai teased. ‘If you know where to look, the core districts actually have some of the most thriving clubs in Kowloon. But I think the post-dimming life isn’t quite your scene. Have you ever visited Gweimin restaurant? In District Tsim Tsui.’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of it; I haven’t been to Tsim Tsui in ages. I could eat, though.’

  ‘It’s in the lavish Hong Yuen courts, under martial law for the pleasure of southern nobles, high-ranking Tsui gangsters, and celebrated rebel veterans.’

  ‘Could we at least take off our gear before going? They hate us down there, and no one tries to hide it. Makes me feel beyond uncomfortable. Like they’re getting ready to pounce.’

  ‘Brother, are you for real?’ Yutai said with a frown. ‘We get stared at everywhere else, too. What’s a few more eyes down south? We’re not meant to fear anyone in Kowloon. I’m not taking off my trench coat for anyone, and you better not either!’

  Tao shrugged, looking away. ‘What makes Gweimin any good? I was never a huge fan of southern cuisine, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, you’re gonna love this place,’ Yutai explained. ‘The whole joint is a living homage to the southern rebels during the District Rebellions. Everything from the benches and tables, to the servers, and the food you eat, relates to the war. Think of it like a history museum that spent way too much of its budget on the cafeteria. A wax museum with a pulse. Clever marketing, right?’

  ‘That does sound intriguing. Lead the way then,’ Tao said.

  Yutai and Tao, adjusting their holsters and coats, exited the library and headed towards the lifts, intent on reaching the docking ports. On the 15th floor, Yutai and Tao waited in a short queue of Kingmakers to get on their carriage.

  As the rail arrived, Tao, Yutai, and six other Kingmakers boarded. Soft, serene white lights bathed the carriage, creating a warm cocoon against the darkened world rushing past outside. They skimmed between immense groundscrapers, traversing the gulf of space some 50 or 60 levels above the ground. Dim orbs of light periodically dashed past the windows, the guiding lamps of the rail system.

  The other Kingmakers, some standing and other seated, were headed to different areas of Kowloon. By the third stop, the duo were alone in the carriage as they sped towards District Tsim Tsui.

  Yutai looked up at Tao, who was silently scrolling through the Kowlooni Network on his holocommunicator. ‘I can’t imagine how we Kings got around before the rails.’

  ‘We had AT-bikes,’ Tao said, continuing his absent-minded scrolling.

  Yutai rolled his eyes. ‘I know, Tao; I was being rhetorical. But seriously, when you think about it, it must’ve been a real hassle. If we were Kingmakers back then, this journey would’ve taken us seven work-cycles. Some people say it’s why we struggled so much against the south during the rebellions.’

  ‘Are you still being rhetorical or are you asking for my opinion?’

  ‘I’m just asking, Tao. Lighten up a bit, will you?’ Yutai frowned. He wasn’t close to Tao, unlike Ushi, and knew it would take time to adjust to his character.

  ‘Hmm,’ Tao murmured, finally pulling his gaze from his holocommunicator. He paused before speaking. ‘Yeah, I’d agree with that. We couldn’t mobilise effectively with the front lines so far away. The southern rebels knew their territory inside out – they were everywhere, hitting us hard with guerilla tactics. By the time we sent in gangsters, new orders were already coming in to redeploy. The bikes we used to move around were unfit for southern streets. It was a losing battle from the start.’

  ‘Do you think we could’ve turned the tide if we’d had the King rails sooner?’ Yutai asked.

  Tao gave a thoughtful hum, his gaze distant. ‘Winning and losing isn’t simple in war. We didn’t exactly lose, as we succeeded in putting a stop to the conflict, and the Yaozhi dynasty still stands. However, we can’t claim victory either. We lost many southern districts to the Wildlands, suffered heavy casualties, and the peace terms favoured the rebels. But to answer your question,’ he paused before continuing. ‘No. A single, well-placed explosive could demolish the rail, severing our transportation lifeline to almost half of Kowloon.’

  ‘Why haven’t the Yangs already attempted this, then?’ Yutai queried, curious.

  ‘They would if they could,’ Tao replied frankly. ‘However, the map of the King rail tracks criss-crossing Kowloon is a carefully guarded secret. Consider where these tracks have been built. Most of them are situated inside the inaccessible crevices between groundscrapers. The sections exposed to the public have been purposely positioned in some of the most populated areas of Kowloon. Any attempt to destroy the rail would require a powerful explosive, which would result in countless civilian casualties. Fortunately for us, most of today’s Yangs still value human life, particularly since they operate within their home districts. But during a full-blown war? It’s a different story when you’re in a district that isn’t home. Perhaps these rails will be blown the moment the next war starts.’

  ‘Wait a minute, hold on,’ Yutai interjected, a frown creasing his face. ‘Did you say the rail sections cutting through heavy civilian traffic were designed that way? The unfortunate few who can’t dodge an oncoming carriage in time, their fates were factored into calculation of its construction?’

  Tao gave a grim nod. ‘It’s a harsh reality, but the other options were far worse. By using civilians as collateral, it assured us security for the most efficient transportation network we’ve ever constructed.’

  ‘So they’re just… our human shields, then? I’d always thought it was an unavoidable consequence, but to now learn it’s intentional…’ His voice trailed off, a guilty expression creeping into his gaze. ‘It makes me feel like I’m partially to blame for the deaths.’

  He recalled the ever-present specs of blood at the front of every King rail carriage. The Kingmakers washed the exterior of the carriages regularly, but some marks never came off.

  Yutai studied Tao, who looked his usual serene self, while his own enthusiasm had been killed by the unsettling revelation. He couldn’t say his teammate’s acceptance of the rail system’s grim reality surprised him. Nothing ever phased Tao. Not because he was cruel or unfeeling, but because he didn’t invest himself in emotional concerns he had no control over.

  In fact, Yutai thought Tao was a unique Kingmaker; he was born to a noble family of Dongist sages from District Tsin Wai. Despite breaking from tradition and becoming a Kingmaker, Tao remained loyal to his faith, which explained his fascination with southern culture, where his religion was born. Dongism had originated in the south, and the prophet Dong was a pure-blooded southerner. Many of Dongism’s traditions, adhered to by Kowloon’s majority, had their roots in South Kowlooni culture. This connection made Tao particularly sensitive to the brutal reputation the Kingmakers had earned after their violence in the south during the rebellions. Tao was one of the few non-Southern Kingmaker in the tower who acknowledged how the Yaozhi Dynasty has treated South Kowloon throughout history, and it was one of the reasons why he and Ushi got along so well. That’s why Yutai knew this trip to Gweimin Restaurant would interest him.

  A sudden jolt rocked the carriage, sending a bolt of alarm through Yutai. His eyes darted left and right, tensing his shoulders. Sensing the distress, Tao blinked open his eyes. ‘Relax, Yutai. That wasn’t a person. We’re still navigating through the spaces between the buildings. The congested pedestrian zones start only once we exit the core districts.’

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Silence claimed Yutai’s tongue. He laid his wrist on his lap, activated his holocommunicator and dived into the bustling world of the Kowlooni Network. Keying in the address for the Central Times News, article after article competed for his attention.

  “Coronation Catastrophe in Pik: Thousands Dead as Lord Mingchi Takes the Throne, Public Doubts His Leadership Over Late Lord Gaochi.”

  “Rapper DaoTaoFengi Charged With Murder: Music Career In Limbo.”

  Suddenly, a dazzling rush of light flooded the carriage’s interior, tearing Yutai away from the digital tangle of news articles. They had exited the shadowy confines of the core districts and were now threading through the heart of the outer southern cities. A knot of dread coiled his stomach as he acknowledged the chilling reality: in the minutes that followed, lives might be snuffed out in their heedless pursuit of a meal.

  ‘There’s something about these carriages that seems to always kill conversations,’ Yutai said, breaking the stretch of silence.

  ‘Huh?’ Tao queried.

  ‘Well, it’s almost like an unspoken rule that these carriage rides are the perfect time for silence,’ he elaborated.

  ‘Whatever conversation-killing magic these carriages possess, it hasn’t worked on you yet,’ Tao muttered. His eyes shut as his head stayed reclined.

  ‘Hah. Funny. What I’m saying is that I don’t know all that much about you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first. But maybe if you spent less time with Shing and more with the rest of the detachment, that might change,’ Tao suggested, his words carrying mild reproach.

  ‘Well, that’s a bit rich coming from you,’ Yutai said, bristling at the unexpected criticism. ‘I’m easily the most sociable among us all. You’re the one who never talks, too shy to even contribute to team meetings!’ Yutai’s voice took on a harsh edge, but he immediately felt a pang of guilt for his sharp words. Before he could voice an apology, Tao sat up and met Yutai’s gaze.

  ‘No, you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘I could do better too. Forgive me. We’re brothers; I shouldn’t have said that to you.’

  A flush of shame swept over Yutai as Tao beat him to the apology he was only starting to consider making.

  The rest of the ride was quiet.

  ‘“Rebel’s Spleen?”’ Tao burst out, his eyebrows shooting up into the hairline of his long, curly, tied-back hair. ‘I can’t tell if this place is mocking the victims of the district wars or trying to honour them,’ he added as they sat in the cosy, dimly lit restaurant.

  Across the small table, Yutai said, ‘The Rebel’s Spleen dish is all right but overrated. I recommend the Wildland’s Mystery instead.’

  ‘What’s the mystery?’ Tao squinted at the fine print of the menu under the dim but steady lamplight.

  ‘Creamed rump with a side of northern-farmed mushrooms,’ Yutai replied. ‘It’s an altered version of a real delicacy from the Huang Wildlands. Here, read the history behind the dish.’ His finger tapped a few lines below, drawing Tao’s gaze to a chunk of text.

  Tao dutifully lifted the menu and scanned the small characters as he read aloud,

  ‘The Wildland’s Mystery is a humble peasant dish, once prepared in the deep trenches of the Huang Wildlands by rebels fighting on the front lines. The dish, which was previously unheard of in Kowloon, started popping up as lunch and dinner for the Kowlooni gangsters fighting against the rebels. To this day, no one knows how the recipe made its way into the hands of the enemy combatants of the southern rebels, but it serves as a reminder that delicious food knows nothing of borders or conflict.’

  ‘Huh. Interesting. I’ll get that with a can of Shyou-Shuya. You?’ Tao asked Yutai, pushing the menu aside.

  ‘Me? I’m getting the gourmet MRE. Meal-Ready-to-Eat. Pure wartime grub. I’ve been meaning to try it out for a while now.’

  The restaurant was a memorial to the region’s brutal, bloody past and to the rebels who had fought against the tyrant emperor, Yaozhi Guangxu.

  The two Kingmakers were sitting in a cosy booth on the right side of the restaurant. Its crimson upholstery had an intricate pattern that made it look like dripping blood. Along the walls were physical reminders of the rebellions: battle-worn rifles, laser spitters, mines, each a puzzle piece of the recent civil war.

  In the middle of the dining area, taking pride of place, was a mothballed, twin-barrelled anti-ATB cannon. It was an anachronism, a relic from a time of lawlessness and brutality. Its once fearsome, imposing presence was muted now, which added to the eerie charm of the restaurant.

  Yutai felt the eyes of the other patrons boring into his back and heard their resentful whispers, but he didn’t react. Even the staff, weaving their way between tables and patrons, seemed to speed past their booth.

  The Kingmaker gang had led the war against the rebels this place memorialised, and the memory hadn’t yet faded. Ghosts of the past lingered, stirring up old grudges and trauma.

  Tao signalled to a passing server dressed as a southern rebel. She briefly narrowed her eyes before heading their way. Her outfit, complete with a sweatband, dark leather armour, and a short cape, was striking.

  ‘Good evening, Kingmakers. What’ll you have?’ There was a cold edge to her politeness, a tangible resentment. With a holopad in hand, she prepared to take their orders, seemingly unfazed by their Kingmaker uniform.

  ‘The gourmet MRE for me,’ Yutai said. ‘With a can of Shyou and some sliced fuju mushrooms, if you please.’

  Next to him, Tao chimed in, ‘I’ll try the Wildland’s Mystery dish. With a can of shyou as well.’

  The server punched in their orders with brisk efficiency.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘For now,’ Yutai handed her their menus. She strode away, grumbling in an unfamiliar southern dialect, her movements stiff and jerky.

  ‘Yikes, I don’t remember customer service being this bad,’ Yutai exclaimed.

  ‘When was the last time you came here?’ Tao asked.

  ‘When I became an aux-Centurion.’

  ‘Ah. So you had no trench coat.’

  Yutai pursed his lips and looked away.

  The hushed atmosphere of the restaurant felt heavy, each murmur and clink of utensils amplified in the quiet expanse. Yutai wondered what topics he could discuss here. Anything to do with the Yang or the surface was off the table. In the Hong Yuen courts, nestled deep in Tsim Tsui’s city of Sarisberi, the influence of the Yangs ran deep like a subterranean river. Discussing their work would be like playing with fire. And here they were, seated in a restaurant that stood as a monument to the rebellions, the birthplace of the very Yangs they were pursuing. The irony wasn’t lost on Yutai.

  ‘Did you notice the mural on the opposite wall, Yutai? It’s a tribute to the 1236 A.T. 633 eastern demonstration. Ever heard of it?’

  Yutai turned in his seat. A vivid panorama of history painted in brilliant, hand-oiled dyes covered the wall – young students, their innocence lost in the red stains of blood on their uniforms, defiantly raising their rifles to the sky. From the barrels of their guns waved the flag of the East, its green fabric stamped with a solitary red star. The flag of Chin Xiao De.

  Yutai turned back to Tao, knowing he was well-versed on the rebellion’s history. ‘What’s the history behind it?’

  ‘Well,’ began Tao in a sombre whisper. ‘Many don’t know the real reason why East Kowloon suddenly joined the District Rebellions and backed the south. That mural is there to make sure southerners don’t forget what their Eastern siblings suffered in the name of brotherhood. It’s about the Po Lam Pak University massacre of 1236, the single event that propelled the East into war against the dynasty.’

  ‘Can you tell me more about the massacre? I’ve never heard of it.’ Yutai said.

  Tao let out a deep breath. ‘Twenty-eight annui-cycles ago, not long after the Emperor executed District Borek Ata’s Lady, the Attan’s rose in open revolt. No one recognised the new lord we installed. At first, Emperor Guangxu tried to break them with crushing sanctions. He severed their trade routes and froze the accounts of several wealthy southern corporations, expecting the nobles of Borek Ata to kneel. They never did. So the sanctions widened, including the rest of South Kowloon. It was collective punishment for Borek Ata’s defiance, but The Emperor hoped the neighbouring districts would turn on Borek under the pressure, but none lifted a finger. The south struggled at first, choked nearly to ruin – yet, in time, it looked as though they were beginning to stand again.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘The Kingmakers suspected East Kowloon was secretly delivering them aid, circumventing the dynasty’s southern blockade. These suspicions sparked Emperor Guangxu’s fury—’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Yutai interjected. ‘Guangxu and his infamous short fuse. Stories of his volatile temper are still making the rounds.’

  Tao nodded. ‘That same short fuse led to a horrifying reaction. In an effort to assert dominance, Guangxu sponsored West Kowlooni gangsters to infiltrate the east and deliver a harsh message. They targeted Po Lam Pak University, the largest and most esteemed institution in East Kowloon. Decimated almost every faculty. Brilliant minds, the intellectual crème de la crème from all corners of the east converged at Pa Long University, only to have their light cruelly extinguished. It was a brutal demonstration and a reminder that the Kingmakers reigned supreme. Easterners often rue the fact that their current post-war stagnation stems back to that single day when their intellectual future ended in cold blood.’

  Yutai’s frown softened. ‘Tragic.’

  ‘The mural shows how students all over East Kowloon marched in solidarity with the massacre victims. There’s a good reason why no one teaches it outside eastern and southern schools. This shit is officially denied by the dynasty.’

  Turning back in his seat once more, Yutai felt the anger of the blood-soaked students take on new context. ‘How has the truth not come out since?’

  Tao shrugged. ‘The truth often makes for uncomfortable history. Officially, we claim the east orchestrated the entire massacre as a pretext to enter the conflict, in a gamble for severance from the Unification Pact. That story worked a bit too well.’

  ‘Well, that’s not too far-fetched, right?’ Yutai pondered aloud. ‘I mean, this level of villainy from the Kingmakers borders on caricature, conspiracy. Is there any proof the massacre happened as it’s told? Even if it did, who’s to say the Emperor had a hand in it? It could’ve been a plot cooked up by the western districts themselves.’

  Tao’s tone took a sharper edge, his normally quiet voice picking up tempo in a rare show of emotion. ‘Just think about it logically, Yutai. Why would disciplined militants from West Kowloon venture hundreds of kilometres beyond their home and into the east, simply to shoot up a bunch of defenceless scholars and then wash their hands of the situation? The western districts don’t stick their necks out unless the Kings give the order, especially when it risks sparking off a war. The Western Reaches have always begged for direction from the dynasty.’

  Yutai conceded that Tao had a point, even as he saw the uncharacteristic intensity in his teammate’s eyes. It was clear this was a topic close to his heart. ‘I won’t question the legitimacy of the events any further. We’ve left deep scars there. I don’t need to be a historian to feel the hate that follows me whenever I’m in the east…’ He glanced at the other patrons in the restaurant. ‘Or even here in the south.’

  Yutai’s gaze moved back to the mural again. He felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes off them. The students in bloodied school uniforms waving their makeshift weapons now appeared to be the embodiment of rebellion.

  A southern restaurant honouring an eastern tragedy. Two regions bound by struggle.

  ‘And the blood on their uniforms isn’t a metaphor, either,’ Tao added. ‘As soon as the news about the university’s massacre spread within the east, countless students abandoned their classes and took to the streets in solidarity, armed with anything they could find. Their mission: to hunt down any central or western gangster they thought responsible. But they were just kids, angry and untrained in combat. No match for the Kingmakers at their border. It was a total bloodbath. I’ve spoken to some Legates who were there. The east lost even more of its future that day. That’s when they officially declared war against the Yaozhis and allied with the south.’

  With each new detail about the mural, Yutai felt it come alive more. These weren’t just students on strike; they were martyrs and casualties of a conflict that few Kingmakers ever mentioned, painstakingly painted by the people who had never forgotten their help.

  A knot formed in Yutai’s stomach, a mix of shame and guilt for the legacy of his Kingmaker profession.

  Tao gestured to a phrase etched in elegant, curling southern Kowlooni script at the top of the mural. ‘Read that.’

  ‘I… uh, can’t really read southern script,’ Yutai said, flushing.

  ‘Oh, right. It says: On my body, blood is painted, on the day Dong looked away. How could we ever be the same?’

  ‘Light…’ Yutai murmured, the words settling like a weight in his chest. ‘I’m surprised you ever agreed to become a Kingmaker. You seem to have a low opinion of us. I mean, makes sense, if you knew about this shit.’

  ‘I didn’t want to. This trench coat is heavy on my shoulders. I hate how it’s transformed me into the enemy of a people I do not hate,’ Tao said, glancing over his shoulder and noticing cold eyes meeting his own.

  Yutai frowned. ‘But you could’ve still refused. It wasn’t like the Kingmakers conscripted you.’

  ‘You’re right; it was my choice. Being a King is just a means to an end for me. It isn’t lost on me just how powerful we are.’ Tao’s voice held a certain resignation, revealing the conflict that had etched itself deep in his heart.

  ‘So, what? You joined for the power? That doesn’t sound like you; it can’t be the only reason,’ Yutai said.

  ‘Well, why do you think I joined?’ Tao asked.

  Yutai scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Honestly, after your tirade against the Kingmakers, I would’ve pegged you for a reformist type. Maybe you hoped to change the system from the inside, or something. Do as much good as you can.’

  ‘That’s a fanciful dream, brother.’ Tao chuckled. ‘I wish to encourage change from within, but that’s not why I joined. I’m on a quest for truth, and only the Kingmakers have the necessary resources for me to take on this quest.’

  ‘And what’s this quest, then?’

  ‘It may sound grander than it is, but essentially, I want to uncover the deepest secrets of Dongism. Think of it as my lifelong research project. I believe the religious scriptures we have today differ from the original manuscripts Dong wrote during his pilgrimage to the surface. If I am to live my life as a Dongist, I want to practice the faith Dong preached, not the evolutions and innovations of it since his time.’

  ‘Sounds like a controversial ambition. Is that why your family…’

  ‘Cast me out from the clergy?’ Tao finished Yutai’s sentence. ‘Yes, partly. Don’t get me wrong! I consider myself a child of the Light. Nothing else is more important to me. Before joining the Kingmakers, my plan was to succeed my father as Tsin Wai’s district sage. But I always wanted to learn more about Dongism. The more I studied, the more fabrications I found in our practices, and my understanding of the religion evolved.’

  ‘What do you mean by fabrications?’ Yutai asked.

  ‘Well, did you know there’s no writing that says we have to sit on a prayer plush during prayer?’

  Yutai arched a brow. ‘That can’t be right. There are teachings on its spiritual symbolism; the plush is supposed to symbolise our backbone’s connection to the ground that birthed us, Kowloon. My old Dongist tutor used to hit me and my brother if we ever forgot to bring ours to our scripture lessons. I’ve never seen anyone not use it.’

  ‘It was a practice created by a group of southern Dongists competing with the Christian church 500 annui-cycles ago. You see, Dong and his disciples stood while praying. Everyone did back then. They viewed sitting as lazy, sinful. Fast forward to when parts of Kowloon were still converting from Christianity to Dongism, sometime after Dong passed to the Light. Something both Christian and Dongist practice had in common was weekly congregational prayers. A couple of hours, at least, but it was a familiar practice for new Dongist converts. However, while Christians sat down on their benches to pray to their God, Dongists still had to stand. It sounds silly, but it was a major deterrent. Fresh converts would come back with sore knees and feet, and that would be enough for them to disregard Dongism. So, a group of southern Dongists reinterpreted some Dongist expressions in a wildly different way, and some nonsense was created to maximise comfort during congregational prayer: The prayer plush.’

  Yutai’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Kinda changes how you look at it all, huh?’ Tao said.

  ‘It does. Always thought Dong mentioned the plush somewhere, perhaps a footnote in the scripture. But I’m starting to see what you mean now. You being the son of District Tsin Wai’s sage, that all makes so much sense. Truth be told, my own reasons for joining the Kings were much less lofty. I wanted to be cool. Cooler than anyone else,’ Yutai confessed with a grin. ‘Not that I saw myself as uncool before, but the Kings… they’re on a whole different level. The cred, the respect, the chance to learn from the best… I always excelled at school, and the Sung Wong Kingmaker Opportunity Programme offered a rare chance to lift my family to the top of the social ladder. When the offer to join came, it felt like the best thing that could happen to me.’

  Their discussion was interrupted by the server hurriedly placing their food in front of them. As they reached for their chopsticks, Yutai’s wrist holocommunicator flashed. Hung was calling. Yutai glanced at Tao, who gestured at him to answer.

  ‘Hey, Hung, what’s happening? Any news?’ Yutai asked.

  ‘Yes, my officer gave the green light for the tour. But has to be after dimming hours.’

  ‘Of course! We’re just having dinner in Tsim Tsui right now, so how about we meet at Ho Man Ting station in just over an hour? It’ll be way past the dimming then.’

  ‘That works. I’m looking forward to it, dear friend,’ Hung’s voice sounded strangely detached, almost making Yutai have second thoughts about his plan.

  ‘Same here, my friend. See you soon.’ Yutai tapped his wrist to disconnect.

  ‘Your buddy pulled through, I see. Southern hospitality is truly legendary. Unfortunately for them,’ Tao murmured, his mouth full of food.

  ‘What did I tell you? Hung and I are tight. I won’t lie. Your earlier scepticism about our childhood bond had me worried. But him calling me his “dear friend” was just the reassurance I needed.’

  ‘I have no idea how you plan to carry this out, but good luck to us, I suppose… Hey, the food is good, thank you. I’ve got this one, by the way, so you better not touch your wallet.’