"Zigan cannot defend itself," he said flatly. "Its people are masterful artisans, but soldiers they are not. Their governance, designed to cultivate refinement and prosperity, has never been suited to the forging of martial strength. Until now, neutrality has been their sole shield against invasion, a precarious balance maintained only because any aggressor would invite retaliation from the other two. It is a pitiful mode of survival. But what if Zigan could escape this deadlock? What if it could secure an ally powerful enough to tip that balance? An ally whose protection would render invasion unthinkable."
Ba Sing Se, widely regarded as one of the most formidable states remaining in the fractured Earth Kingdom, looms over a continent steeped in turbulence and fracture. At present, only the venerable city of Omashu or the ascendant power of Quanqiu can credibly contest its military might. Sheltered in the northern reaches of this war-torn continent, this city has thus far remained insulated from the ceaseless wars that have torn the realm apart. Yet one cannot dismiss the possibility, however remote it may be, that its leaders might choose to intrude upon these petty conflicts and extend their patronage to Zigan? Such an intervention could decisively tilt the balance in favor of the Te clan, perhaps even prolonging its survival through the mere arrangement of a political marriage involving the heiress. The involvement of a major state of overwhelming power would inevitably weaken the strength of three warlords that enveloped the land of Zigan, preventing them from concentrating their full military force upon the Te family's domain alone.
History offers ample precedent for such calculated gambits, the bold designs of a single individual have on occasion reshaped entire regions. Should the game be played with sufficient subtlety and restraint, it is not inconceivable that Zigan might even emerge as the sole victor of its local struggle, an outcome improbable yet undeniably within the bounds of possibility.
"So, this is why she aspires to become Zhuangyuan," Mayumi said. "If she attains a high-ranking post in Ba Sing Se's administration, her current arrangements might become entirely superfluous."
"Indeed, Te Gaogui has little choice but to pursue the alternative, namely the formation of a marriage alliance with a Zhuangyuan." Shan proceeded to elaborate on the delicate mechanics of such arrangements. A marriage alliance, at its core, is a calculated covenant between two vested interests, each seeking to secure its own objectives through a bond rendered unbreakable by traditional custom and obligation. The same principle, he noted, applied seamlessly to the looming conflict threatening the commandery of Zigan. "The warlords are not naive either. It would hardly be surprising if attempts had already been made to arrange a political marriage between one of their sons and Zigan's sole heiress, an expedient maneuver that would consolidate control over that strategically vital land while discouraging the other two warlords from military intervention, constrained as they are by long-established cultural norms." He paused briefly, allowing the implication to settle, before resuming. "There are sound reasons for Te Gaogui's temporary relocation to Ba Sing Se. My prospective position within the city's administration likewise affords a degree of influence over its most consequential decisions. A union between myself and Te Gaogui would therefore accomplish two objectives. First, it would permanently foreclose the warlords' ability to coerce the Te clan elder into accepting a marriage of convenience, thus preventing Zigan from being absorbed through political subterfuge. Second, it would establish a visible link between the Zigan and Ba Sing Se, signaling the potential dawn of a broader alliance. Should Zigan face invasion by force of arms, the mere specter of this city's involvement may be enough to temper the warlords' aggression."
It all felt as though she were a spectator in a theater of meticulous intrigue. In truth, Zigan's smaller military are insufficient against a determined invasion, the lives of its inhabitants would hang by a thread under an unopposed army. Lady Te's earlier assertion that no cost was too great to protect her people suddenly resonated with grim clarity.
"But why did your mentor consent to this?" Mayumi asked cautiously. "What benefit accrues to him from such an arrangement?"
Shan's expression softened, though he admitted with some humility that he could not fully grasp the wisdom of his mentor's design.
"It would be unwise to pursue the matter further, but my mentor is invariably five steps ahead of everyone else, even when it requires him to feign participation in the same pedantic games played by the regional noble clans." With that, Shan concluded his remarks concerning the departing Han Fei. To some extent, even Mayumi could sense that the museum director's affable demeanor bordered on the theatrical, almost too carefully constructed to be wholly sincere. It was evident that he would never divulge the full scope of whatever design lay concealed behind the proposed marriage alliance, not even to his own pupil.
And yet, despite professing ideals akin to Shan's, one could not ignore the pattern that surrounded Han Fei, as influential figures of considerable wealth are conspicuously eager to ingratiate themselves with the man, while even the Earth Sages spoke of him only in measured silences.
Shan deftly steered the conversation back to its central concern, clarifying that he harbored no intention of belittling the noblewoman herself, nor the choices she had been compelled to make. "In many respects, yours truly does sympathize. For she too seeks deliverance from the predestined burdens of clan patrimonialism." He spoke at length on his position, explaining that marriage alliances, while politically expedient, often demanded the quiet sacrifice of personal ambition in exchange for broader advantage. "I hold respect for those who strive to achieve their aims through merit alone, unassisted by familial leverage. To enter the morass of petty politics among the great households is to invite its own encumbrances, particularly when forged kinship becomes a fetter rather than a foundation. I do not look down upon such individuals. You may rest assured of that."
Lowering her gaze, Mayumi inclined her head in a restrained bow, offering an apology for failing to disclose her meeting with Lady Te sooner. The cynic sitting before her had likely anticipated that she would, from time to time, act beyond the strict bounds of her station. Still, Shan did not extend toward her the same disdain he reserved for the Earth Sages and other custodians of archaic rites that in his view have shackled the realm. Or perhaps, she considered it would simply have been inconvenient for him to dismiss the newly appointed armed retainer, an act that might place him in real peril.
"I know you do not require my apology," Mayumi said quietly. "My actions have nonetheless exceeded the limits of my role."
Shan's deepening silence served as tacit acknowledgment, toleration at the very least. Any convoluted justification or hollow courtesy would only invite even more suspicion.
Carefully, Mayumi continued. "To be fully candid, I met Lady Te only recently. She offered assistance, and I returned it with courtesy."
"Hopefully not by serving as a mole," Shan replied blandly, replenishing his silver cup with more tea.
"No," Mayumi almost stuttered.
Unfortunately, the scholar's casual reply struck much closer than reality. However useful a new inkstone might be to a scholar, deception once uncovered is contemptible all the same. Many aristocrats might have praised a retainer for bold initiative that benefited their household, but Legalists permitted no such indulgence and leeway. To overstep one's office, after all, is often the first misstep on the long road to the collapse of states and empires alike. Even the least educated would remember how some great dynasties have fallen due to the corruption of a single individual.
Shan flicked his fan open. "Takeko, yours truly has no desire to cultivate relations with Te Gaogui or the Te clan. Yet my mentor's will cannot be challenged." He glanced at the armed retainer. "What I find objectionable," he continued. "Is your decision to endorse this union out of sympathy for Te Gaogui. In matters such as these, neutrality would have been the more appropriate stance."
Mayumi found no ready counter. She had long despised arranged marriages, seeing them as hollow instruments fashioned to serve ends far removed from the happiness of those bound by them. In aiding Lady Te, she had acted without Shan's consent, even though true authority rested not with him, but with Han Fei and Te Laoye. Still, her interference amounted to an endorsement of an artificial bond between two living individuals, no different she realized bitterly from those who had once sought to impose the same fate upon her. In hindsight, this harmless little advice on preparing a good gift for Shan has backfired, but worse, it is indeed a rather hypocritical act, and she acknowledges this.
"Your points are valid," Mayumi admitted at last.
Shan closed his fan and took another unhurried sip of tea from the silver cup.
"Very well, then. See that such a contravening act does not occur again." He stated in a neutral voice as expected of a Ba Sing Se gentleman, albeit his convictions stemmed from a school of thought long reviled by the moralistic Earth Sages. With that, Shan withdrew to the main residence, retreating once more into the confines of his study. The retainer remained upon the grass, momentarily dumbfounded. There was a certain effectiveness in taking away ornamented language when addressing those weary of ritualized social performances, yet even so, she had not anticipated the complete absence of open anger.
Not even a small reprisal? The last time she had poured the wrong variety of tea, the consequences had at the very least possessed the decency to manifest.
Her palm drifted to the hilt of her new weapon, the blade Shan himself had procured. Despite being its benefactor, the White Scholar had offered not a single word of instruction. Perhaps he assumed that someone like Mayumi required no guidance from a man who wielded a brush rather than steel.
"You are a strange man, Shan," she uttered quietly. "A strange man indeed."
This wasn't exactly forgiveness. The absence of retribution for her clandestine exchange with Te Gaogui felt profoundly unnatural. In a lenient household, such restraint might have gone unremarked, but this is no ordinary residence. The man who dwelled within this unassuming courtyard openly espoused strict laws and the consolidation of state power, a philosophy frequently condemned as tyrannical for its bleak appraisal of human nature and its reliance upon reward and punishment to enforce order.
And yet, despite her proven competence as a warrior, the lack of reprisal somehow felt even more concerning.
As Mayumi turned back toward her quarters, her gaze briefly caught upon the distant walls encircling the Upper Ring. Tiny, inconsequential specks crept upward along the stone, like insects scaling a sheer barrier.
She looked away. In Ba Sing Se, indulging one's curiosity too freely is often an invitation to consequences far greater than those first imagined.