Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Jo widened her eyes.
“Next, my father politely asked the man if he could hold the sword for him and. . .of course the man obliged.”
“I bet he did.”
I handed Duck the box and raised the sword to get a better look at the blade. “My father would like me to kill him with this sword.”
Jo blinked. “Uh. . .o-kay. . .why not a gun?”
“No guns will be permitted at the feast or battle tonight. All will be checked for weapons.”
“But. . .he wants to die by that sword?”
“Apparently, he’s always dreamed of this sword being what took him out.” I turned the blade. “Honestly. . .he probably figured it would be me using the sword to kill him. Probably hoped it would be.”
“Wow.” Jo shook her head. “The East is. . .different.”
The memory of my father and my past conversation came back to me.
This deranged joy had coated my father’s words. “Do you know the legend, Lei? It is believed that this splendid sword possesses an ethereal awareness, discerning the honor of those it is wielded against.”
Tension had gathered in my shoulders.
“If Soaring Precious finds the target to be a person of significant honor and virtue, the sword will sing a mournful whistle as the blade cuts through the flesh. I often wonder. . .I wonder what Soaring Precious’s final judgement of me will be when you slice my throat open.”
I held the sword to my side. It felt alive in my grip, as though it could sense the enormity of what was to come.
Will the sword sing? Or will it remain silent?
I lowered the sword. “My father wants this moment. A big duel under the moonlight. A legendary death to be written in the East’s history books. Something school kids would have to take a test on in the years to come.”
I considered all of that.
My father wanted this to be a story told long after we were both dust.
But this wasn’t just his moment.
It was mine.
And I would carve my own purpose into the historical archives of the East—not as his son, but as the man who fucking shattered his empire and rebuilt it on my terms.
Jo’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And you’re going to give it to him?”
I stared at the gleaming blade, its sharp edges reflecting not just light but the inescapable truth of the night ahead. “Death will surely come.”
Chapter twenty
Kissed by the Gods
Moni
The women led me into a private bathing chamber hidden within the mountains.
Steam rose from the sunken pool in the ground, swirling like a living thing and curling upwards. The thick, white mist blurred the edges of the space.
At the far end of the chamber a nine-tailed fox was carved into the wall. Each tail fanned out and twisted upward.
This is amazing.
The women bowed in front of me, and one spoke, “Please undress, Mountain Mistress.”
Was this my life now?
Constantly surrounded by people whose main job was to take care of me?
Once I took off my clothes and stepped into the heated water, my body immediately relaxed, and they lowered on their knees around the sunken pool. Soon, their hands worked with care brushing every inch of my skin with soft, fragrant soap that left my body tingling and refreshed.
Others poured water in a slow cascade over me, and it felt like liquid satin.
When I asked for my head to be shaved, their hands didn’t falter. They treated the act like a sacred ritual, gently gliding the blade over my scalp as they removed each strand of hair.
It felt like a rebirth, like I was shedding parts of my old self and only keeping what was necessary for the woman I had transformed into.
Who will I be now?
Once they finished shaving my head, they smoothed fragrant oils over my bare scalp and I closed my eyes.
Jasmine perfume rose in the air.
My skin tingled.
Two other attendants gently lifted my legs and took them out the water.
I widened my eyes and leaned back in shock.
Alright. . .this is really going to be weird to get used to.
They wrapped warm towels wrapped around my calves, softening my skin. Next, they shaved every inch with the same grace they had shown my head. Their touch was neither clinical nor hesitant—it was loving and respectful, as though they were sculpting a goddess, and not simply tending to me.
So. . .I won’t even be shaving my legs myself?
Minutes later, they finished, and my skin shifted to impossibly smooth. With that, they dried me with thick, velvety towels and massaged more fragrant oils onto my skin.
I couldn’t help but feel spoiled.
Treasured.
We left after that and returned to the main tent.
The space hummed with electric energy as the women worked around me, getting makeup out, shoes, undergarments, jewelry.
All I could do was stand around and take this all in.
“Excuse me, Mountain Mistress.” A woman carried in a laptop. “The Grand Master wants you to see this.”