The Grand Patriarch: Desert Dragon: Names & Titles: Black Face and Cat: Rivals: First Mission: Journey:
Wolf in Dragon's Den: Best laid plans: Raven's Peak: Politics: Family: The limits of Khanship: Gifts: Those left behind: Spellcasters: Uneasy company: Dragon Slayers: Deal with the Devil: Devil Fist & Tiger WhiskersThe New Grand Patriarch
The Grand Patriarch
The Moon and stars hung in the night sky like lanterns, illuminating the courtyard below. The open space was large enough to accommodate hundreds of guests and was tastefully decorated with rocks skilfully sculptured to resemble great peaks and bushes carefully trimmed in imitation of majestic forests. Normally this was a place of tranquillity where one could enjoy a moment of quiet contemplation, but tonight it was filled with dozens of circular tables and surrounded by hundreds of seated guests feasting on dishes fit for the grandest of imperial banquets. Dancers, musicians, jugglers and other entertainers travelled between the tables adding to the festive mood.
The assembled guests varied greatly from each other, ranging from richly dressed aristocrats to vagabond beggars and every other class in-between. Yet despite the contrasting classes everyone seemed to being enjoying themselves and treating each other with civility if not equality. On the north side of the courtyard was erected a double level platform of wood and yellow silk. The top level was the size of a small table and held a single object, a white jade plaque. Rectangular in shape it covered roughly half the platform's service and was propped upright looking down on everyone in the courtyard. On its surface was engraved the words:
“By the will of Heaven
and the order of the Emperor.
The one who possesses this plaque
is recognized as the Grand Patriarch.
With this title comes the right to rule
all righteous Martial Artists within
one's realm.
So it is ordered.”
It had been more than a millennia since this plaque was created, yet despite the countless deaths of Emperors and the changing of dynasties, every sovereign along with their court upheld this pledge of the First Emperor, Qin Shi Huang, and respected the Grand Patriarch's right to administer justice within the Martial World. It was an arrangement that allowed the Imperial Court a measure of control over the unruly Martial Artists without restricting their independence.
The lower level of the platform was much larger than the top one and held four desk sized tables with matching chairs. Each table held a selection of the finest food along with eating utensils. One of these dining sets was set directly under the imperial plaque, facing outwards to the courtyard, another was set to the right and the remaining two were placed to the left. The one furthest to the left was conspicuously empty.
At the dining set directly under the plaque sat the host Yip Manyou with a fixed smile on his lips as he stared down at his guests. An odd mixture of emotions ran through his mind as he contemplated those who had gathered to celebrate his appointment as Grand Patriarch. Most he dismissed as sheep, easily lead and unimportant. Amongst the flocks were a few predators who stirred much stronger emotions within Manyou. Looking to his right he saw Bai Feng, whose plump frame barely squeezed into his chair. His chubby right hand held the leg of a roast peacock, which he tore into between gulps of the bottle of grape wine held in his left hand.
Despite being well into his fifties Bai Feng had a boyish look of innocence to his clean shaven fleshy face and could easily be mistaken for being a decade younger than he really was. His greying black hair was tied into to a rough plait and the sea green silk robe that Manyou had given him that morning, hung awkwardly off his shoulders. It was not that the robe did not fit, for Manyou had had it tailored made for his friend, it was just that Bai Feng was wearing it carelessly, with many ribbons and straps hanging loose when they should have been tightened. All together the image of Bai Feng was that of a jolly fat man, well into middle age and with his fighting days far behind him. This however was a false image and very few men had survived making such an assumption about Bai Feng.
Catching his host's gaze Bai Feng smiled good naturedly and waved the peacock holding hand in greeting. Manyou's smile took on genuine warmth and he raised his goblet in a toast. No matter how dark his mood, Bai Feng could always lift his spirits. It was one of the reasons they were best friends. Manyou's smiled wavered as he the silver in his goblet caught the flickering light of the flames coming from one of the fire basins lit around the courtyard. Seeing his reflection on the metal put him in a melancholy mood.
Staring back were the tired eyes of a man who had seen almost sixty years. Those had been harsh years shown in the winkled skin, greying hair and rugged beard that had once been lush black. His purple robe hung on a still strong body, but despite its strength there was no hiding the sag from the weight of time. Bitter-sweet memories flooded back to him, in his mind's eye he saw another reflection, that of a man in his prime smiling broadly as a wonderful woman presented this goblet to him. Now although the goblet had remained untarnished the same, sadly could not be said about its owner.
Wishing to distract himself from such thoughts Manyou once again returned his gaze to his guests. His eyes were drawn to the left where he spotted the priest Mu Kong. Dressed in muted grey and black, his white hair held in a bun at the top of his head and his short beard well trimmed the holy man was the very picture of dignified austerity. Thin as Bai Feng was plump Mu Kong seemed almost frail in comparison, but like the former this was also a false image that was dangerous for any who fell for it. As if sensing his gaze Mu Kong turned to face Manyou and lifted his teacup in a toast, the vows of his order forbidding him from taking wine.
Manyou returned the gesture with a courteous nod. The priest was too aloof for them to ever be friends, but they had a healthy respect for each other and together with Bai Feng the three of them worked well in maintaining peace amongst their fellow Martial Artists. Letting go of Mu Kong's eyes, Manyou looked further down at the empty seat beside the holy man and let out a sigh at the slight from the absent occupant. Scanning the courtyard he found the man the seat had been reserved for amongst a group of richly dressed men at the end of the courtyard, as far from the hosts as it was possible to be without actually leaving the courtyard.
Yee-man Zhan was the same age as Manyou, and could best be described as a perfectly groomed thoroughbred. Everything about the man was perfect, from his expertly lacquered hair to his tailored shoes, not so much as a thread was out of place. The slight greying at his temple and his immaculately trimmed beard gave him the air of a distinguished statesman whose very presence demanded instant respect. Like Manyou he was also dressed in a purple robe and was another subtle insult to the host.
Raising his head Yee-man Zhan locked eyes with Manyou. The air seemed to crackle with energy as they stared at each other, reminiscent of two tigers running into each in the jungle. Memories months old invaded Manyou's mind and his left shoulder twitched:
Hundreds stood around the circular wooden platform that had been raised far above their heads and the noise from so many mouths was almost deafening. Many amongst the crowd had been participants in the tournament to decide the position of Grand Patriarch and now they talked in excited voices as they speculated on the outcome of the epic contest. Both finalists were of almost legendary status and no two persons could agree on who would prevail today. There was however one point where there was no argument, this was going to be a duel that no one was going to ever forget.
Two islands of calm stood out amongst the teaming sea of people. Standing level to the duelling platform was erected a square tower also made of wood, on which were placed two seats and a wooded stand. The stand held the plaque proclaiming the First Emperor's pledge, while the seats were occupied by Mu Kong and Bai Feng. Neither men had participated in the tournament, but instead acted as its judges and now they sat as still in tranquillity as they waited for the climax of the contest that had lasted weeks.
At the appointed hour they arrived. Stepping onto the platform at exactly the same time, Manyou and Yee-man Zhan first knelt in the direction of the tower paying their respects to the office of the Emperor, then bowed to the judges who nodded in return, then the duellists turned to face each other. Yet neither of them moved as they stood studying each other. Both had tracked the other as they progressed through the tournament, noting down strengths and weaknesses, knowing that a clash between them was inevitable.
Hush descended as everyone focussed on the ensuring battle, tension filled the air but not a single whisper could be heard as the anticipation built. Manyou lifted his sheathed blade and saluted his opponent, a gesture the latter did not return. The breech in etiquette caused a ripple of chatter amongst the spectators, but Manyou recognized the attempted at mental manipulation for what it was and smiled politely at Yee-man Zhan letting him know that the ploy had failed. Yee-man Zhan kept his face as impassive as granite as he reached for his own sword and slowly drew it.
The two-handed hilt and circular guard seemed to be made of polished gold, but was in fact gold leaf sheathed around tempered steel, combining aesthetic beauty with brutal functionality. The blade itself was double-edged, straight and surprisingly eight-sided. Each side was engraved with one of the Hexagrams of the I-Ching, trapping mystical as well as metallurgic strength within its folds. The entire sword tapered into a diamond point that shone the clearest blue. This was the fabled Taihui, the Great Brightness, priceless heirloom of the Yee-man family.
Manyou however had a magic weapon of his own, and drew his curved single-edged sword at the same time as Taihui left its sheath. Manyou's entire sword, from tip to hilt was made from a solid piece of black iron and appeared crude in comparison to the elegant blade of his opponent. However the ringing of temple bells accompanied the unsheathing of the sword and skilfully engraved script, in ancient Sanskrit ran along the black blade. The sword was a gift from the monks of Seven Suffering monastery, in gratitude of Manyou rescuing their Abbot, who had been held for ransom by a rogue General of the Imperial Army. The monks had melted one of their sacred bells and nine members of their order had been present during the entire forging process, continuously chanting mantras of warding and good-fortune.
Despite everyone straining all their senses, when the duel did begin it caught all but Bai Feng and Mu Kong by surprise. One moment the combatants were standing statue still more than thirty feet apart, then in the blink of an eye they became a pair of blurs that clashed in the centre of the platform to the ringing of metal on metal. Both men had summoned their Qi energy, allowing them to move at a speed far beyond what should have been possible for mere flesh and blood. With the initial contact made the duellists swiftly exchanged a flurry of blows, too fast for all but the most expert of eyes to follow, as they took the measure of each other.
A deafening thunderclap ended the first stage of combat as Manyou brought his sword down in a skull-splitting arc and Yee-man Zhan raised Taihui to parry. A ripple of semitransparent energy spread out from where the mystical weapons met and spread outwards rattling everyone it touched to the core. The release of energy swept the duellists off their feet and sent them hurtling back to their original positions where they landed lightly, then started circling each other. Yee-man Zhan forced down his mounting frustration. He had hoped to defeat Manyou quickly and thus proving his superiority over his rival.
Now it seemed he was in for the fight of his life and it was not a fight he was absolutely sure he could win. However it took only a few heartbeats for his customary confidence to return and he started to feel glad for the opportunity of a drawn out fight. It would give him the chance to slowly humble the upstart, stripping him of his dignity and missed placed pride until Yee-man Zhan felt like ending it. Although traditionally the tournament was not to the death, accidents did happen. A wolfish grin spread across his lips as he pictured Manyou struggling desperately before finally falling on his knees and begging for mercy.
Manyou caught the grin but ignored it, instead focusing on the glittering point of Taihui as he waited for the next strike to fall. He did not have long to wait, the blade darted out viper fast towards his eyes and was only barely parried. Manyou wasted no time in returning an equally swift strike to Yee-man Zhan's neck, but the latter contemptuously danced away from it. Back and forth they fought, black blade meeting glittering sword with sparks flying from the enchanted weapons. Faster and faster the tempo of the battle went with the duellists reaching almost divine heights in skill and speed. Gradually Yee-man Zhan started gaining the upper hand with a series of lightning fast strikes that but Manyou on the defensive.
Try as he may Manyou could not regain the initiative and was slowly being forced to the edge of the platform. As if sensing its master's impending victory, the blue glow at the tip of Taihui started to spread along the entire blade, making the cold steel sparkle. Yee-man Zhan pressed his attack and was rewarded as Manyou took one to many steps back and found his left foot dangling of the edge of the platform. Just as Yee-man Zhan was about to finish the fight, Manyou did something inconceivable. Of is own accord his stepped off the platform and started falling to the ground.
So taken aback was Yee-man Zhan by the unexpected move that he completely missed Manyou grabbing the edge of the platform with his free hand and nearly lost his feet as the wooden planks he was standing on exploded in a fountain of splinters. Manyou's blade sprouted from the platform and would have crippled Yee-man Zhan but for his well homed reflexes. A lifetime of training and battles had conditioned his body to respond without conscious thought and Yee-man Zhan leapt away from the deadly blade. Regaining his wits in mid-air Yee-man Zhan summoned his Qi enabling him to rise twenty feet into the air and float down with no more weight than a leaf.
Pulling himself back onto the platform, Manyou sent his blade crashing down causing a three feet fissure in the wooden planks that shot in a ragged path towards Yee-man Zhan. Quick as thought Yee-man Zhan switched the Qi flow running through his body and dropped from the sky with the weight of an anvil. Power rippled from where he impacted and spread out to meet the advancing the fissure. An ear-shattering explosion erupted where they met and cloud of dust and splinters blossomed between the duellists. Lunging through the screen of flying debris Yee-man Zhan sent the tip of Taihui towards Manyou's throat, the blade now glowing like a falling star.
Manyou raised his black blade and caught the deadly sword tip with the flat of his sword. The ringing of bells echoed out and the script along the black sword glowed cherry red. For several desperate moments the strained against each other until a crack, the width of a hair appeared on the dark iron. The crack spread across the entire blade before shattering it and leaving Manyou armless. Elation flooded Yee-man Zhan's mind as he saw his sword continue in its now unobstructed path. But again Manyou did what was inconceivable.
Instead of leaping aside Manyou plunged forwards as if intending to impale himself on Taihui. At the last possible moment he leaned to the right, the sword tip piercing his shoulder instead of throat. The shock of Manyou's action made Yee-man Zhan slow to respond and the side of his face exploded in pain as Manyou connected with his fist. Reeling from the blow he did not see Manyou follow with a palm strike to the chest that sent him hurtling backwards through the air and straight of the platform dragging Taihui out of Manyou's body along the way. Sinking to his knees Manyou summoned his Qi and activated a few acupoints that stemmed the flow of blood from his wound.
Pandemonium broke out, with everyone talking at the same time trying to decide the victor. Some argued that Yee-man Zhan was the winner for shedding first blood, but others claimed Manyou as victor for making his opponent leave the platform. Just as events seemed to be turning to violence a voice like thunder rolled over the masses quieting them all. Everyone turned to the wooden tower to see Mu Kong standing with arms stretched out for silence. In the same rumbling voice he spoke:
“The rules of the tournament are clear. The last to leave the platform entirely or surrenders is to be the victor. Everyone, I ask you all to pay your respects to our new Grand Patriarch, Lord Yip Manyou.”
With these words Mu Kong saluted the new Grand Patriarch a gesture swiftly copied by everyone else, although grudgingly in some quarters. Manyou forced himself to his feet and accepted the honour, then swiftly left to tend to his wound.
Memories of that desperate struggle caused Manyou's hand to drift to the bundle at his side. The moment his hand touched the gift from the hermit Weapon-Lord, Dao Gintou, his tension dissipated. Gintou's creations were sought after by kings and princes, treasured above any precious gems or metals. But the Weapon-Lord was notoriously elusive and a popular saying was that one was as likely to capture lightning in a bottle as to find him. Manyou had met the man in his twenties and was one of the few people Gintou could stand being in the presence of.
On that very morning Gintou had arrived at Manyou's home unannounced and without a word had laid the bundle at his feet before turning to leave. Manyou had called after him, but the Weapon-Lord's only response was to whisper the words “The path leads here”, before departing without so much as a backwards glance. Even as Manyou pounded about the strange encounter the voice of a herald brought him back to the present:
“Imperial Weapon-Master Gao Yi request an audience with the Grand Patriarch.”
Manyou nodded to one of his servants who announced the granting of the audience. Gao Yi soon appeared and walked across the courtyard accompanied by nine attendances. The man was well into old age, but his frame was still strong as was expected of someone who had spent his life in a foundry. Dressed in his Official robes he carried an elaborately carved wooden box reverently in front of him. Stopping at the foot of the platform he spoke in a clear voice:
“On behalf of all the officials of the Imperial Court a present this small token in celebration of the appointment of the new Grand Patriarch.”
As Gao Yi opened the box the bundle beneath Manyou's hand started to tremble and as Gao Yi presented his gift Manyou understood why.