The Art of Prophecy

Because she was here on a diplomatic mission, she decided to be gentle. She had learned from experience that murder was a terrible way to start a relationship.

A hand touched his shoulder. “You fought well, boy. Better than I gave your masters credit for.” Taishi knelt beside him. Jian tried to brush her away and cover his face. She touched his hand softly and lowered it. “There’s no shame in tears. Nor in defeat. Both can be great sources of strength.” He sniffed and sat up to face her. “It doesn’t make me weak?” A small smile, the first he had seen on her face, appeared. “There is nothing weak about being in tune with your emotions. There is great strength once you learn to harness it. I want you to care so deeply it brings tears to your eyes.

A family can be more than just a mother and a father, a husband and a wife, parent and child. My father views me only as an instrument to carry on the family name. My stepmother stopped acknowledging my existence the day she moved into our home. Love and respect is what makes a family, not blood. It can manifest in different ways and shapes, sometimes from people you least expect.

When Jian opened his mouth, no words came. Phantom pain and stark terror seized his breath. Then, Wen Jian, the Prophesied Hero of the Zhuun, Champion of the Five Under Heaven, savior of the Zhuun people, destined to lead the Enlightened States over the savage Khanate Hordes of Katuia, threw up peach juice all over Ling Taishi’s feet, and fainted.

All of our heroes will eventually disappoint us and let us down, one way or another. Best remember that.

For once, it’s nice not to have someone think something is wrong with me and want to fix me.

A person is their truest self when alone.

She had been sent here as an emissary by one of her former students, who also happened to be both her landlord and her actual lord. Saan, the Duke of Shulan, wanted her to appraise how the Prophesied Hero of the Tiandi’s education was coming along. She had wanted to refuse the assignment, but the terms were too good to pass up: tax exemption for life and not going to jail for refusing her duke. Taishi was not a big fan of taxes or imprisonment.

What shall pass, will pass. Our fates are in the hands of the heavens. Like all trials, it will pass.

Authority is earned, not given. A strong leader is forged, not born. [Ling Taishi]

In any case, Jian wasn’t supposed to be dwelling on dying right now. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking at all. Jian was supposed to be meditating. His legs were crossed, and the backs of his palms were resting on his knees while his thumb touched the middle finger on his right hand and the ring finger on his left. His concentration broke as he momentarily became confused about which finger was the ring finger. Pahm, who had been instructing him in meditation arts, wore rings on all his fingers. Jian shifted as a gust of cold breeze blew up his robes. He drew a deep breath and let it seep out slowly through his pursed lips. This was supposed to allow him to tap into his jing, to clear his mind and focus his thoughts, or was he supposed to focus his mind and clear his thoughts? Not like it made a difference. No matter which variation he tried, Jian couldn’t get into that stupid meditative state. He was completely aware and present in his surroundings and felt every painful, boring second of this feeble attempt to find peace of mind and enlightenment.

Qisami put her hand over her heart. “First of all, I’m Maza Qisami. And you are…?” “Still none of your business. Speak, or leave.” Qisami rolled with it. “All right, None-of-Your-Business. I’m going to call you Business for short, also because you’re all business. We both have a problem, which I think I can solve for both of us.” Business’s expression didn’t change. “Fine, if I have to spell it out,” said Qisami. “I watched you dazzle from afar that night. Very impressive, I might add. You had the hero in your grasp, but the old windwhisper whipped you from the Ngyn Ocean all the way to the Grass Sea. You’re pretty ‘pretty’ and pretty good, you hot spicy soup, but you can’t beat her.” “And you can?” said the Kati, coolly. “No, I’ve tried. That bitch is good. I’m after the brat too.” Qisami flashed her brightest smile. “So let’s do it together. Let’s team up, kill the windwhisper and the brat. What do you think?

The prophecy isn’t broken. People are such soft-brained idiots.” Taishi spat out in disgust. “Our fates are in the hands of heaven.” Sanu put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Put your trust in the Tiandi. Let the divine work in its own ways. The River of Fate will guide us to where we need to go.” “Don’t touch me!” The abbot was just trying to help, but his attempts to soothe Taishi only enraged her. Everyone, from the abbots to the dukes to those pathetic masters to even that blasted emperor five hundred years ago, was just looking for the easiest, most convenient excuse to do nothing. “Better to hand the problem off than make the hard choices. Let future generations deal with it instead of getting it right at the source,” she lamented through clenched teeth.

Is this man your mark?” Qisami forced her smile to stay on. She knew where this was going. For a moment, she was tempted to say yes, but she wasn’t the lying type. If an assassin couldn’t be honest to a gangster, what did that say about society? “No, but I need him.

She had been sent here an emissary by one of her former students, who also happened to be both her landlord and her actual lord. Saan, the Duke of Shulan, wanted her to appraise how the Prophesied Hero of the Tiandi’s education was coming along. She had wanted to refuse the assignment, but the terms were too good to pass up: tax exemption for life and not going to jail for refusing her duke. Taishi was not a big fan of taxes or imprisonment.

At least he is learning that food doesn’t magically appear,” Taishi chuckled as she drifted off to sleep.

Half of a leader’s job was to not be an idiot. The other half was to not act like an ignorant peasant.