Chapter Thirty-One: Bad Examples for the Children

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

BAD EXAMPLES FOR THE CHILDREN

Shimin and I get put through our first studio photo shoot the next morning. The shots are released in time for the network traffic spike at dinner.

Out of morbid curiosity, we bend our heads together and check them out on the tablet Gao Qiu gifted to us, which carries our copy of the contract. The first chill of nightfall sweeps through the gazebo we’re in, stirring the willow branches draped over its pointed roof. A pond ripples around its base, isolating it from the other buildings of the Gao estate. The setting sun melts in an orange-gold path over the water.

While I don’t blame Shimin for what happened during the meeting, I’m not happy about it. But at least he didn’t mess anything up once we got in front of the cameras.

It’s a whole new level of weird, seeing professional renditions of ourselves. Gao Qiu really played up the controversy. The production crew wound my hair into the same fox ear hairdo I killed Yang Guang in, complete with the silver hairpins and crystal lilies. And as if regular concubine robes weren’t suggestive enough, they fitted me into a more outrageous getup: a short, low-cut robe with fur hems that framed my cleavage and flashed ample swaths of my thighs. Nine huge, fluffy tails trailed from the small of my back.

Shimin, on the other hand, they dressed in a long leather robe with tight sleeves. Ember-colored feathers fluttered over his shoulders and down a deep groove at his chest, which exposed a sliver of his scarred skin. Besides having to ditch his glasses, there was one big difference from his normal look: while he still wore a collar with the army’s Yellow Dragon insignia, he didn’t have a leash anymore.

Idid.

The first photo is of me sitting on the ground, legs curled languidly in front of an elaborate brass chair. The background is pure black. Shimin is lounging on the chair, tugging my chain, expression nonchalant, as if I’m a pet of his. Yet I’m eyeing the camera with a qi-charged sizzle in my gaze, as if this is all part of my wicked plan.

“You will look like a slave to him on the surface, but the audience won’t be able to help wondering—who’s really in charge?” is what Gao Qiu said while directing this photo.

Watching how I handled the meeting last night must’ve inspired him. I tell myself I’m over what he made me do, but rage roils all the same inside me, a constant simmer.

I can’t deny that he knows how to snag attention, though. Each picture hits with breathtaking impact. I remember what the shooting was like—the awkwardness, the blinding lights, the pain as assistants posed my body—but the finished products seem to hail from a different world, capturing two unearthly, untouchable pariahs taunting Huaxia with carnal intrigue.

“Sorry,” Shimin blurts when we get to a particularly racy shot involving him standing behind me and pulling my leash taut.

I was so disgusted during this shoot that I barely managed the sultry expression Gao Qiu demanded. However, looking at it now, it’s so dissonant from the reality between me and Shimin that I just want to laugh.

“Don’t be.” I point at his cool expression in the photo. In it, his qi-lit eyes glare even more intensely than usual thanks to the smoky powder defining them. “Look at you. You’re killing the part.”

Discomfort twitches over his face. “Are you honestly fine with doing pictures like this?”

“I get it now.” I release a heavy breath, then smirk. “This isn’t us. It’s two characters we’re playing. Isn’t it funny, knowing we’re convincing people to believe a totally fabricated version of the truth?”

“You mean, we’re lying to them.”

“I prefer to think of it as storytelling, my dearest.” I cradle his face with one hand, switching on my best vixen vibe. “A story of the Iron Widow and the Iron Demon, taming each other. Redeeming themselves in a battle over a lost province. Transforming from villains to heroes. What is this if not the first page?”

Several heartbeats pass. He stares at me, tensing back an expression I can’t read.

My facade starts to slip, and reality shivers in, like the water-cooled breeze blowing past us.

I take my hand off his face and return to scrolling. “Oh boy, now let’s see the reactions.”

However, stunned awe has welled up with equal force, and the conflicting opinions have only drawn more attention and cashed in more picture views. Everyone has to see the spectacle for themselves. On the message boards, debates heat up over whether our Hundun kills make up for our human ones, and whether we can truly liberate Zhou. The mere possibility of it, the hope, burns like a supernova shining in rival to the sun, yet it infuriates many that it’s up to us to do it.

The argumentative posts look spontaneous and casual, but some of them must be staged by Gao Qiu’s lackeys, designed to hog as much space for us in the casual reader’s mind as possible. It’s impossible to tell how many conversations are legitimate, and how many are wolves herding the sheep in secret.

Even Yizhi becomes a part of it. After Shimin and I move to a private room for dinner, I prop up the tablet to catch the live variety show Yizhi was invited to go on.

His unassuming charm is naturally endearing on camera. A rich shaoye brave enough to confront a King-class Chrysalis in a thunderstorm, yet painfully polite in real life, even a bit shy.

There’s a moment when he’s deep into answering a question about transitioning from life in Chang’an to life at the Great Wall, and a person in a Hundun costume stalks up behind him. He makes a hilarious noise when suddenly tapped on the shoulder. It gets a laugh out of everyone at the studio, including himself, and he noticeably opens up more. You’d never guess that he’s in on a scheme to make the counterattack happen, basically risking two provinces to save my life and Shimin’s.

“And what do you think about the pilots of the Vermilion Bird?” The host finally drops the bomb. Probably paid by Gao Qiu to do so. The audience “Ooooohh”s in anticipation.

“I think the thing that matters most is whether they have the power to win against the Hunduns,” Yizhi says after a moment of fake pondering. He looks straight into the camera. “And they do. If they’re willing to risk their lives for humanity, then I don’t care about who they are, what they are, or what they’ve done in the past. I’ll gladly supply my qi again, whenever they need it.”

As the audience breaks into cheers, I imagine the invisible flow of money and power slowly creeping up against everyone who’s trying to kill me and Shimin.

“Has this been enough?” I ask Gao Qiu in a voice message, via my new wristlet.

Seconds later, his response arrives with a boop of a noise. When I tap it to listen, his bellowing laughter bursts from the speakers.

“Not even close, Pilot Wu!”

Ugh. That’s not good. These racy photos may have caused a stir, but things like this won’t be so shocking a second time. We’ll drop from the headlines if we don’t do something more. Something bigger.

Think, I command myself, clawing the tablecloth. What could get much, much more attention than this in the shortest time?

A vivid memory hits me.

A memory of me, Big Sister, and every other girl in our village watching a Match Crowning on the biggest screen we were temporarily granted. It was Dugu Qieluo and Yang Jian’s Crowning, actually, seven years ago, when they were thirteen and fourteen respectively. The fact that they were the first Iron Prince and Princess to debut as an existing Match—Yang Jian has never had concubines—made it extra special. Everyone obsessed about it for weeks prior, speculating on what the White Tiger crown and armor would look like, and how that armor would be bedazzled in Qieluo’s crowning look.

When the broadcast finally came, we gasped in sync as she marched onto the stage with trains of flowing, translucent silk perfectly integrated with her lithe white armor. Crystals practically dripped from her on a whole-body net of silver string.

But what eleven-year-old me remembered most was the pure, dark satisfaction in her eyes as Yang Jian placed the pearl-smooth diadem on her head. Instead of having just stylized tiger ears, as expected, her crown was bottomed with a row of sharp teeth, as well. The long fangs slashed down near her temples.

“Hey, Shimin.” I raise my attention to him. “How would you like to outdo Dugu Qieluo and Yang Jian’s Match Crowning?”