Book 2 Chapter 77

"…taken from the battlefield of the Broken Antler. You can see the break on the hoof – see there-" Gujug raised the piece of hoof, turning it so they could see the jagged break and the uneven surface before carefully setting it back upon its plinth. "It likely belonged to an outrider of Sembut Khan, but there's no way to be sure. At least, not without paying a shaman for divination."

Liu Rushi nodded delightedly, peering at the piece of hoof as though it were the most fascinating object she had ever seen. By now, Duan Cheng had given up trying to work out whether she was genuinely interested or merely that good at pretending. There were far simpler battles to fight – like taking on all the Khans of the Steppes by his lonesome – than trying to understand a woman's mind.

They were already on the second floor of the Museum of Bone, and their guide had not stopped being enthusiastic even once. By now, Duan Cheng had relaxed enough to listen to some of Gujug's explanations. He still kept half a – metaphorical – eye on the outside, however. This section of the camp was still hours away from the northernmost edge, and they would need to leave in time to reach their destination. But for now, the museum made for a useful, and, he had to admit, surprisingly entertaining diversion.

The second floor was much like the first, at least in appearance. The difference only became apparent the moment Duan Cheng put his full weight upon it. The floor moved. It wasn't by much, at least not enough to make the exhibits dangerous, but enough that the platform gave a faint, rolling tremor beneath his feet whenever the wind pressed hard against the walls of the enormous tent. It swayed almost imperceptibly, then settled, only to tremble again a moment later. The sensation reminded him of walking upon the deck of a ship.

He had already seen from the outside, and then from the first floor, that the Museum of Bone was no ordinary building. It was a giant tent, vast enough to contain several stories beneath its peaked roof, with each level constructed as a broad platform suspended within the greater structure. The floors hung in the air, held aloft by a web of thick ropes that stretched from the tent's enormous supporting poles and crossed beneath the platforms in tight, interlocking patterns.

Bundles of rope, some thick as a man's wrist, ran from one support to another, criss-crossing beneath the floor in a latticework that distributed the weight across the entire structure. Over that came layers of planks, fitted together into a broad wooden surface. Finally, stretched hide covered the whole arrangement, pulled taut enough to provide a reasonably solid walking surface while retaining just enough give to remind anyone standing upon it that the ground beneath was, in fact, several dozen feet of empty air.

Every so often, the wind made the ropes creak. The sound travelled through the floor beneath their feet as a low groan and occasional snap of tightening cord, and Duan Cheng found himself instinctively glancing toward the nearest support pole whenever it happened, having to remind himself that he could fly.

The exhibits, however, seemed entirely untroubled. Plinths had been arranged at even intervals throughout the floor, each one carefully secured to the wooden platform. Upon them rested the museum's curiosities: fragments of bone, weapons, teeth, horns, pieces of armor, and stranger remnants of creatures and men whose names Duan Cheng had never heard. Beside each plinth, a jade slip hovered in the air, glowing faintly whenever Gujug approached, their surfaces filling with characters that described the object before them.

Above them, the immense interior of the tent continued upward, level after level, with the third floor suspended somewhere above their heads. Openings had been cut into the hide at regular intervals along the upper walls, little flaps that could be raised to admit air and light. Through them, glimpses of the world outside occasionally appeared: a sliver of blue sky, the blurred movement of banners, the distant tops of other tents. It was through those openings that the evening sunlight filtered. The light entered weakly, softened by layers of hide and canvas, and spread through the museum in muted bands. Yet wherever it fell upon the wooden sections of the floor, it seemed to gather itself. The planks gleamed beneath it, polished until they shone like lacquer, their dark surfaces catching the shifting light as the tent breathed and moved with the wind.

For a place devoted to the remains of the dead, Duan Cheng thought, the museum was strangely alive. The ropes creaked, the floor trembled, the hides whispered overhead, while light shifted across the exhibits, and somewhere above them, footsteps moved across another suspended level. The entire building seemed to sway gently around them, as though they had stepped inside some enormous living creature and were now walking through its bones.

"And what of this?" Liu Rushi asked excitedly, pointing to what looked like a bone flute.

Gujug clapped his hands in delight. "Ah-hah! I knew your eye was profound, Khatun. That is a reconstruction of the legendary Bone Birth Flute of Babur. He was famous for playing the original during his exile. When he wove his qi into the Song of Samarkand, they say the notes would linger in the air for decades. Unfortunately, the original was placed in his grave and later destroyed when the grave was looted, so all I could do was carve this copy. I have hewed closely and faithfully to what is known. Observe the notch in the-"

Duan Cheng stopped listening and instead, looked at the flute. It was difficult to tell what he had expected. Perhaps something grander. The Bone Birth Flute was barely longer than his forearm, yellow-white with age, its surface covered in tiny carvings that might have been decorative, or might have been writing. It certainly did not look capable of making a sound that would linger for decades. Then again, Duan Cheng had seen men – and women – split mountains with a sword. The standards for what counted as impossible became rather strange once cultivators were involved.

"Whose bone is it?" he interrupted, as Gujug continued enthusiastically explaining the significance of the notch in the mouthpiece.

The man beamed. "Excellent question!"

Duan Cheng immediately regretted asking.

"This," the guide said, carefully lifting the flute from its stand, "was carved from the femur of a Mountain Thundercat. The original Bone Birth Flute was supposedly made from the thigh bone of a Thundercat as well. Babur discovered the creature's remains in the northern wastes during his exile. He carried the bone with him for seventeen years before finally carving the instrument."

"Seventeen years?" Liu Rushi asked. "And he never thought to carve it earlier?"

Gujug stared at her.

Duan Cheng coughed into his fist.

"He was… a man of patience," Gujug said weakly.

Then, with remarkable speed, he pivoted toward another plinth and beckoned them over with both hands. "Forget the flute, Khatun. Here! Here is the finest piece on this floor: a fragment from the Battle of the Nine Lives. I have a piece on every floor, all the way up to the fourth, and the whole of the Bone Wheel on the fifth. It is my grandest showing!"

Liu Rushi graciously allowed the unsubtle change of subject and leaned in to examine the fragment. To Duan Cheng, it looked no different from a splinter of bone. He left her to it, his attention caught instead by the last thing Gujug had said. The Bone Wheel. He frowned, searching his memory. The name stirred something, but only faintly, like a half-remembered story heard years ago.

"I seem to recall something about a Bone Wheel," he said at last. "But the memory escapes me. Can you remind me?"

Gujug's exuberance returned at once, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Of course, of course. It is no surprise you have heard of it before, but it is old history now. It was during the time of the Fourth Confederation, when the warring Khans still believed they could preserve and rule the Great Khan's empire, almost two thousand years ago. Nine Khans of that era came together and swore a blood pact beneath the Jowar Tree. They would first re-establish the Great Horde, then take the war south and conquer everything in their path. Whoever won the most in that war would become the next Great Khan. They swore never to fight among themselves, and to always support one another as blood brothers. And for a time, they were successful."

Gujug sighed, his expression distant, as though he could see the glorious sight unfolding before him. Liu Rushi and Duan Cheng exchanged a look. This was common history – only told from the other side. That was why neither of them had recognized it at first, beyond the vague sense that the story sounded familiar. The Nine Tyrants and Suti the Magnificent. It was a story told to children.

"The Empire of the South had a new Emperor in that age, called Suti. He was young and untested, or so the Khans thought, and they pressed against the Wall until they broke through into the Empire, plundering and pillaging and winning much renown. Instead of fighting them, Suti gave ground over and over, and the Khans grew even more emboldened. Eventually, they split up, each leading one of nine armies, and conquered vast stretches of land and resources." Gujug's smile faded. "Then, when he could retreat no farther, Suti faced the first Khan, Alwar, with a weak force. The battle should have gone the Khan's way, but…"

He sighed again. This time, all of his earlier exuberance had drained away.

Liu Rushi continued quietly, "He lost. Then Emperor Suti fought each of the remaining Khans in battle after battle. He took pains to ensure they could never regroup, and won a series of nine dazzling victories without losing a single man. The Perfect Commander, he was called by the soldiers he led into battle. I remember hearing that tale from my father, when we traced my mother's bloodline through the ages."

Duan Cheng turned toward her subtly, careful not to let his surprise show. Her ancestors had been soldiers who fought in those battles? He would have thought she and her family came from the Thousand Shattered Islands.

Gujug was even more surprised. "Ah, Khatun – your ancestors rode with the Khans? How glorious. Most cannot trace their ancestry so far back, except the Khans and their ilk. And who are we to compare?"

Liu Rushi merely nodded. Her gaze returned to the bone fragment on the plinth. "I don't recall hearing anything about a Bone Wheel, though. What role did it play in those battles?"

Gujug suddenly seemed to remember the question he had originally been asked. He hissed apologetically through his teeth, the sound made stranger by the fact that half his face was covered in scales. "My mistake, Khatun. It is an old legend, nothing more. They say Suti of the Empire wielded a wheel with nine spokes when he marched to battle. Each turning granted him one victory, and that is why he never lost and achieved nine perfect victories. Men said that by the time the wheel turned, Suti had already seen the battle unfold, and all that remained was to step where fate had already shown him the way."

He paused, lowering his voice. "When the last of the Nine Khans, Feroz, heard of this legend, he summoned his fiercest warriors, shamans, captured refiners, and alchemists. He ordered them to make a similar wheel for him. That was the Bone Wheel, which tragically shattered during his battle with Suti." Gujug's fingers brushed thoughtfully over the edge of the plinth. "It would have been lost to time long ago, but the surviving Yuan recorded that Suti went after the Wheel with great fervor and shattered it personally. The story took on a life of its own after that, and became the legend we know today."

He brightened again. "I have the shards up on the fifth floor, if you want to take a look. They have no power anymore, of course, but they are still valuable as a piece of history."

"Yes," Liu Rushi said immediately. Her tone was so serious that Duan Cheng turned to look at her. The grim expression now settled across her face was a stark contrast to the delighted curiosity she had shown only moments ago. "Take us there."

Gujug's smile faltered. "Khatun… those shards have no power anymore. It is only a legend now."

"Regardless," Liu Rushi said, undeterred.

Her expression remained solemn enough that Duan Cheng discreetly used his qi to send her a message. Why the interest?

Her reply came almost immediately. Something the Princess and I were talking about. She needs to hear this…

Duan Cheng narrowed his eyes. Muxue had spent plenty of time with Liu Rushi during the carriage ride to the Wall, but nothing from their conversations stood out to him as being related to this. Whatever they had discussed, Liu Rushi had apparently decided it was important enough to interrupt their journey for. Still, he did not protest.

Gujug turned and led them higher. They passed through the third and fourth floors without stopping. They were little different from the second, each a suspended platform of wood and stretched hide, each crowded with plinths and relics. The higher they climbed, however, the narrower the floors became, following the tapering shape of the enormous tent.

At last, they reached the fifth floor. It was considerably smaller than the levels below, a cramped platform tucked beneath the peak of the tent. The wooden floor swayed gently beneath them, supported by a dense web of ropes that disappeared into the shadows below. There was only a single plinth, atop which hovered the Bone Wheel. Duan Cheng stared at it. It had once been an imposing thing: a wheel of bone with nine spokes, each radiating from a central skull. The skull itself seemed almost to leer at them, its empty eye sockets angled downward as though in eternal contempt. At least, it would have looked that way if the wheel had not been so thoroughly ruined.

It was chipped, cracked, and broken almost beyond recognition. Great chunks of bone had been torn from the outer frame, leaving ragged gaps where the wheel's perfect circle should have been. Three of the nine spokes were broken completely, their remnants missing. One side of the central skull had suffered even worse damage. A crack ran from the temple all the way down to the jaw, splitting the bone beneath one eye socket. Several teeth along its path had fallen away, leaving the skull with a lopsided, broken grin.

All in all, it looked a sorry sight. Duan Cheng found it difficult to imagine that anyone had once believed this broken relic capable of granting its wielder victory.

Gujug opened his mouth. "Here, Khatun. As you can see, th-"

Liu Rushi brushed past him without a word. She barely spared the Bone Wheel a glance before reaching out and snatching the hovering jade slip from beside the plinth. Duan Cheng said nothing, waiting patiently as she examined it, though he kept one eye on their guide. Gujug had begun wringing his hands. The man could tell that something was wrong; he simply had no idea what.

At last, Rushi leaned back and released the jade slip. "It's word for word the account you relayed to us down on the second floor."

Gujug, still off-kilter, stammered, "Ah–that is–well, yes. The jade slip contains all the information–that is to say-"

"Do you have a copy?" she cut him off again, turning to face the guide fully.

Gujug's expression changed. He licked his lips, his eyes darting from Liu Rushi to Duan Cheng before he finally answered. "No, seniors. Jade slips are rare, and all of mine come through trade with the Empire. I don't have any besides these."

Duan Cheng nodded at that. It was true. The Steppes did not make use of jade slips the way the Empire did. The Yuan still relied on scrolls and beast hides to store information, just as many among them disdained the use of storage pouches and bags. Jade slips existed, but they all came from the Empire rather than being produced in the Steppes. Back at the Wall, when he had served as a soldier all those years ago, Duan Cheng had heard that the Yuan could not properly refine jade slips with their qi. That, supposedly, was why the Khans had never adopted them.

Liu Rushi was already digging through her storage pouch. After a moment, she produced a blank jade slip. "Not an issue. I'll use mine."

Gujug's eyes fixed on the slip. For just a moment, they widened, before he bowed and stepped aside. Duan Cheng felt a sinking sensation in his gut. The man had recognized something. That brief widening of the eyes, the sudden stillness, the way Gujug's attention had lingered on the jade slip before he obediently looked away – he knew.

Should I silence him?

Duan Cheng studied Gujug from the corner of his eye. He was a nobody in this camp. A broken Yuan, half his face covered in scales, relegated to guiding strangers through a museum of bones. If he disappeared, there would probably be little more than a brief search before the camp moved on. It could be done. And if he left the man alone… if Gujug raised the alarm instead… if he told someone that there were people from the Empire walking through the camp disguised as Yuan-

That could cause far more trouble than Gujug was worth.

Duan Cheng's fingers curled slightly, his qi rising in preparation. You will act with morality. The voice came from deep within him. He froze. Senior Mo Jian had said those words to him months ago, back when the possibility of earning back his lost fortune had been dangled before him as bait, tempting him into establishing an information network for Mo Jian and Bai Ning. Duan Cheng had not protested then. He had lost fairly. And besides-

His son's face rose in his mind, not the odious, flinching man he was now, but the happy, chubby child he had once been. Then his wife's face followed, dead now, but remembered as she had been when she laid a sword against his neck, her full lips twisting into a triumphant smile at having beaten him yet again in a spar. The memories came and went in an instant.

Duan Cheng slowly loosened his fists. For now, he would wait. The guide had not said anything. Until Gujug gave him a reason to act, there was no point creating a problem where none yet existed.

Liu Rushi, meanwhile, had finished copying the contents of the jade slip. She slipped the blank jade back into her storage pouch and turned toward Duan Cheng. "Come," she said quietly. "We should go."

Duan Cheng nodded.

Gujug looked relieved. He hurried ahead of them, leading them back toward the stairs, his earlier enthusiasm carefully restored. Liu Rushi followed in silence, and Duan Cheng fell into step beside her. They descended through the floors of the Museum of Bone, leaving the Bone Wheel behind them, suspended alone beneath the peak of the enormous tent.

By the time they stepped back onto solid ground, the wind had picked up, sending the banners of the camp snapping overhead.

Duan Cheng glanced back once at the hidden copy of the Thousand Faced Die he had left behind. He hoped it would not have to activate. He hoped Gujug was smart enough not to poke his nose into matters beyond him. He hoped he would not have to kill the man.

Then he turned away. They had spent far longer in the museum than he had intended.

It was time to leave.

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AN:There are 15 more chapters are available on Patreon, so be sure to check them out if you're interested in reading ahead!

Also, Happy Halloween! (Or should I say, scary Halloween? 🎃👻) To everyone going trick-or-treating, have fun and stay safe!