To Embers We Return — Chapter 38
***
It was not a good idea to stay in physical contact with such an accursed object for long. Bian Jin placed the brain in the container Shen Ni had prepared, her eyes darkening thoughtfully.
‘So the Black Box has managed to evolve intelligence after all,’ she said. ‘In the past, all we had to do was destroy the head of its host, and that would be enough. Now, it seems, as long as the brain remains intact, the host will be able to survive on the energy field it generates, until the virus finds a fresh body to possess. But because its intelligence has taken the form of such a fragile physical organ, the Black Box has had to develop a tough metallic shell to protect it. At the end of the day, it has still created a fatal weak spot for itself.’
Shen Ni took the container from Bian Jin and tossed it back into the basin of mercury. ‘It’s a kind of mimicry,’ she said. ‘The Black Box has possessed so many living creatures, and been temporarily eradicated by us. Since it’s capable of evolving some form of intelligence, it must also be capable of reflecting on why we were able to defeat it. It must have concluded that this was due to its limited intelligence, not because it was short of raw strength. We’ve dissected many of the Black Box’s hosts before. Unbeknownst to us, the Black Box might also have been curious enough to do the same to its victims, and discovered that unique organ — the brain.’
Shen Ni’s words sketched a picture in Bian Jin’s mind of the Black Box cutting open corpse after corpse.
‘Just as with us humans,’ said Bian Jin, ‘it’s probably impossible for the Black Box to imagine something it has never seen. Since it’s the brain that produces intelligence in humans, it stands to reason that the Black Box would create one for itself as well, using the specimens it has studied before as a blueprint.’
Shen Ni nodded. ‘That’s how it was able to develop human attributes. The fact that it has a brain explains how it could go from saying only a few simple phrases to being able to give a clear, articulate speech in such a short time. I’m hardly narcissistic enough to believe that the Black Box wants to become human, but it must want some of the advantages that come along with it. If it can think like us, act like us, that means it can infiltrate human society much more easily. This will let it disguise itself even more successfully, and hunt down its victims undetected. Perhaps soon there will be no way of telling a human apart from a mutant beast by appearance alone.’
‘The Black Box infiltrates human society’. That was a short enough sentence, but its implications for human civilisation were weighty indeed.
There was something else Shen Ni couldn’t understand. ‘Shijie,’ she said. ‘do you remember Liu Ji from the florist’s shop? The one I told you about before?’
The mutant beast Liu Ji had transformed into had been quite different from the one they’d defeated today. Yet when she compared the dates, not many days had elapsed between that incident and their discovery that the Black Box had managed to evolve intelligence.
Shen Ni had been able to defeat Liu Ji quite easily, despite not being a Talented warrior. Liu Ji had already been dead at the time, but his body had still been that of a full grown adult, and heavily augmented as well. No matter how one looked at it, there was much more scope for Liu Ji to be an effective weapon for the Black Box. Yet at the end of the day, the damage he’d caused had been many times less than the destruction wrought by the child from the tavern. Had Bian Jin not been there, Shen Ni was unsure whether she could have despatched the child’s mutated form on her own, especially without her toolkit to hand.
Shen Ni looked Bian Jin straight in the eye. ‘Based on our years of experience in dealing with the Black Box, the infected version of Liu Ji should have been a much more destructive opponent than that rather delicate child. So why did it turn out to be the other way round?’
Bian Jin pondered this question for a few moments. ‘The version of the Black Box in Liu Ji’s body must have been an older one — one that hadn’t evolved intelligence yet. Or perhaps we’re dealing with two different strains of the Black Box entirely.’
Shen Ni knew very well what Bian Jin looked like when she was deep in thought. At present, every single detail of her expression showed that she was absorbed in working out the problem Shen Ni had just raised.
That only served to intensify Shen Ni’s doubts. Was it possible, after all, that there really was no connection between Bian Jin and Liu Ji? But if that was the case, then who was the mysterious warrior who had whisked Liu Ji’s family out from under the noses of the Jinwu Guards? Who else in the whole of Chang’an could have single-handedly rescued some fifty prisoners from the two hundred soldiers of the Ruifeng Battalion without leaving any trace of their identity behind?
Shen Ni had hacked into the database of the morgue where the Ruifeng Battalion’s corpses were being held, and tracked down the details of their injuries. The killer’s technique had been mercilessly, ruthlessly efficient — well beyond the abilities of the average martial artist. Shen Ni could not imagine who else it could have been other than Bian Jin.
Even more ironic, of course, was the fact that she’d recognised her shijie immediately just from the blurry image that had accompanied Li Ruoyuan’s bounty notice. Not for any specific reason — it was simply because that dark, shadowy figure had moved and held itself in a way that reminded her very much of Bian Jin.
If there really was a connection between Liu Ji and Bian Jin, what could that possibly be? And how could Bian Jin ever bring herself to let the Black Box inside the walls of Chang’an?
Shen Ni was sure that her suspicions were taking her in the right direction, but now she’d run up against a sign that said: No thoroughfare. As always, Shen Ni did not believe in ‘coincidences’.
Wrapped up in her thoughts as she was, her response to Bian Jin was a little absent-minded. ‘It’s possible that Liu Ji was infected by an older version of the virus. As for separate strains… these things don’t come in different factions, do they?’
Bian Jin leaned against the table where the basin of mercury stood. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her eyes as deep as bottomless pools. ‘Evolution often leads to bifurcation,’ she said. ‘Just look at our early ancestors. Some of them chose to remain in the ocean; others decided to come on land. The strain of the Black Box that’s chosen to evolve a brain is clearly the one that’s harder to contend with. The reason we were able to defeat it before is that it was all brawn and no brains. Once it learns how to think…’
What Shen Ni wanted to say, in perfect honesty, was, ‘Once it learns how to think, that will spell the final end of our civilisation, which is already in its death throes.’ But then she saw the worry beneath the calm surface of Bian Jin’s expression. Bian Jin wouldn’t like to hear anything of the kind, she was sure.
So instead she said, ‘Once it learns how to think, it seems highly unlikely that we’ll be able to eliminate it within the emperor’s seven-day deadline.’
Bian Jin gazed into the basin, where the brain was slowly being engulfed by the mercury. ‘It was the right choice for you to stay away from court this morning,’ she said. ‘It’s bound to be a roiling pot of tensions by now, with everyone seeking to twist the situation to their own ends. We destroyed Prince Wei’s residence yesterday; he must be itching to settle that score with you. Li Chu himself is a rank incompetent, but his supporters are led by Cao Su, the Minister of Rites. Cao Su is a difficult opponent, and a wily old schemer. The only thing is, if you’re not present at court, Li Chu and his faction will have no compunctions about slandering you to the emperor’s face.’
It was at this point that Shen Ni finally remembered her watch. She reached for it, glancing down at the screen. She had already received a considerable number of messages this morning, including one from the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation. Before she could reply to it, another message — this one from the Ministry of Rites — came popping up.
Shen Ni finished reading both messages, then spun her watch round and round with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a learned scholar to advocate on my behalf.’
***
Shen Ni had used every trick in her arsenal to stay at home in her shijie’s company instead of attending court. So when Bian JIn said she needed to go to Lantai today, it came as a huge disappointment to Shen Ni. She wanted Bian Jin to stay, but now that she was grown up, it would hardly be appropriate for her fly into the kind of tantrums she’d been prone to as a child, clinging to her shijie and begging her not to go.
‘Is something the matter, shimei?’ asked Bian Jin, prompted by Shen Ni’s silence and the pained expression on her face.
‘Nothing,’ said Shen Ni. She’d forgotten that her shijie was about as adept at grasping the subtleties of the human heart as a horse hitching-pole.
Bian Jin left soon after breakfast, though she hesitated on the threshold for a little while. There was something she wanted to say, but she found it difficult to put into words. After discarding a few half-formed sentences, all she managed was, ‘The boy’s head…’
Shen Ni remembered how Bian Jin had told the tavern-keeper she would do her best to bring her son’s head back to her, and how the other woman had fainted dead away from the shock. It seemed the promise was still very much on Bian Jin’s mind. The difficulty was that the child’s head had melded together with the old man’s. Technically speaking, they could still bring it back to the tavern-keeper — it was just that she was liable to pass out all over again once she laid eyes on it.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Shen Ni. ‘I remember what that boy looked like. I’ll print out a 3D model of his whole body, head and all.’ It was at times like these that Shen Ni’s hyperthymesia came in handy: she could recall every detail of the child’s appearance.
‘Thank you, shimei.’
‘Don’t mention it, shijie.’
You did allow me to spend all night with my arms around you, after all, Shen Ni added silently. So even though you’re now cruelly abandoning me for your official duties, I’m still willing to do everything to make you happy.
Shen Ni was rather impressed by Bian Jin’s composure. After the havoc which the Black Box had caused in the Eastern Market the day before, she was sure that at least half the officials at Lantai would have taken a leave of absence to spend the day cowering at home in fear. Yet Bian Jin still insisted on going.
Shen Ni tapped a knuckle thoughtfully against her lower lip.
Bian Jin still insisted on going.
***
Li Shan strode down Mutian Corridor, making her way towards the throne room. Li Chu scurried in her wake, calling out to her, but Li Shan did not even deign to turn her head.
She’d just heard from the Palace Domestic Service that Shen Ni had taken a leave of absence from court due to the injuries she’d suffered in the battle yesterday, and would not even be attending the assembly of ministers that the emperor had called so urgently today. Li Shan, who had put together a long list of things she needed to tell Shen Ni, found herself suddenly at a loss.
The night before, Han Fu had brought the black orb from the mutant beast to the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation. Li Shan had immediately sent all the researchers on the night shift out of the room. As she looked at the orb, a thousand possibilities had flashed through her mind as to what might be inside. It had not occurred to her that it would contain a brain.
Li Shan was sure that, for as long as she lived, she would never forget the shock and fear that had jolted through her when she finally managed to force open the orb after two hours of trying and laid eyes on the black brain inside. Evil was practically emanating from it in waves. It was an ill-omened object, a foul stain that had no place in this world. What right did the Black Box have to engage in this grotesque parody of humanity? What right did it have to grow a brain?
What Li Shan found even more disturbing was the possibility that, if the Black Box could grow itself a human brain, that meant it had the capacity to learn, to become even more intelligent. From what the Lijing officials had said, the capital’s city-wide tracking system was no longer capable of pinning down the Black Box’s location accurately, now that it had evolved into its present form. Indeed, that crude surveillance method might soon stop working completely. It needed to be upgraded, but how?
Her sister was already dissatisfied with what she saw as Li Shan’s neglectful attitude towards the ongoing construction of the city fortifications — though, even if those had progressed exactly in line with Shen Ni’s initial plans, they would still not have been enough to hold back the Black Box. If even the tracking system were to fail completely, what dire straits would Chang’an be in?
If that were to happen, her sister was sure to think of her as a worthless failure. How disappointed she would be! As she imagined the dismay on Li Ruoyuan’s face — tinged with regret at all the years she’d wasted on encouraging Li Shan’s talents — Li Shan felt as if thousands of arrows had struck her through the heart.
As she gazed unseeingly at the rising sun, Li Shan had felt as if her thoughts were as muddled as that blurry horizon; she’d lost all sense of direction. She did not want to admit it, but Shen Ni might be the only person in the world capable of stopping the Black Box now.
Li Shan did not sleep at all that night, and when morning finally came, the first thing she did was to send Shen Ni a Messenger Pigeon text. Worried that Shen Ni might ignore any message that came from her because of their past disagreements, she sent it from the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation’s account instead. The message was an invitation for Shen Ni to come to the Bureau to discuss possible improvements to the capital’s city-wide tracking system.
Li Shan had thought that Shen Ni might not reply, simply to rub Li Shan’s face in how much she needed Shen Ni’s expertise. She was ready to call on Shen Ni to make her case in person. Unexpectedly, she received a reply later that morning, once she’d returned to the palace.
Your Highness flatters me, Shen Ni had said. Your humble servant is hardly equal to the honour of a ‘discussion’. All I seek is to be of assistance to Your Highness in any way possible.
Li Shan was surprised that Shen Ni would agree to her request so easily. Although Shen Ni had — in her characteristically exasperating fashion — made it clear that she knew it was Li Shan behind the Bureau’s account, Li Shan still felt as if a huge weight had been lifted slightly from her heart.
She was just pondering how best to reply to Shen Ni when she realised that her unlucky fool of a brother was calling out to her from behind. She took a few more steps forward, but had to stop when she realised Li Chu was catching up with her.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Li Chu was annoyed that she’d pretended not to hear him. But since Li Shan controlled the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation, and her standing was by far the highest of the emperor’s seven siblings, he did not confront her directly. Instead, he plastered a smile on his face and drew her aside.
‘You must be so busy, meimei, that you didn’t reply to the last message I sent you. The sheer effrontery of that Marquess Jing’an — not only did she demand access to the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation, but she’s also come up with excuse after excuse to fleece you of all that galactic chromium you went to such trouble to extract. If we don’t rid ourselves of that scourge, how is the empire to hold up its head? She’s nothing but an orphan from a lowly clan — and yet here she is, trampling on all our heads!’
Li Shan knew that Li Chu was wary of Shen Ni. All of Li Ruoyuan’s siblings were, especially given how much glory Shen Ni had won in the empire’s service. The emperor relied heavily on Shen Ni to make sure the construction of the city fortifications went smoothly. At the same time, she was using Shen Ni as a whetstone to hone the blade of her power, the better to undercut her siblings’ influence at court. None of the princes dared to voice a single word of criticism against the emperor, but when it came to Marquess Jing’an, well — who did she think she was?
Shen Ni might be young, but she was wise to the ways of the world. She had no wish to be someone else’s whetstone, dulling herself in the service of another. Since accepting the post as Director-General of Operations for the construction of the city fortifications, she’d done her best to keep her head down and immerse herself in her day-to-day responsibilities, avoiding the political machinations at court as much as she could. By taking a suspected traitor to wife, she was declaring to the world that she had no interest in acquiring even more power.
But no matter how deftly Shen Ni tried to avoid trouble, a single flick of Li Ruoyuan’s finger could bring it straight to her door, and Li Ruoyuan continued to play her off against Li Chu. The emperor had wielded Shen Ni as a handy punishment rod on Li Chu so many times that the luckless prince was practically seeing stars. Now his lavish mansion had been reduced to ruins by that deranged Marquess Jing’an and her even more deranged wife — and the two of them had simply placed all the blame on the Black Box, dusted off their hands and left without so much as a backward glance! Li Chu had sworn he would exact every last bit of this debt from Shen Ni.
Li Shan said nothing, and Li Chu went on pressing his case. ‘Last time we accused them of insulting the emperor’s honour by failing to consummate their marriage. Thinking back on it, that was far too trifling an offence. Meimei, you must lead the charge at this morning’s assembly. You must accuse Marquess Jing’an of making too little progress with the fortifications, and claim that it was these repeated delays which gave the Black Box an opening to attack. You’ve always been huangjie’s favourite. If you were to make the indictment, she’s sure to listen! And then—’
Li Chu broke off his ramblings when Li Shan let out an impatient tsk.
‘Someone has been pointing you like a gun at opponents’ heads for years,’ she said. ‘And not only do you seem completely unawares, but now you’re trying to drag me into your schemes as well? Let me ask you, was it Cao Su who told you to say these things to me?’
Li Chu stared at her, flabbergasted.
Cao Su was the Minister of Rites, and had once been Li Chu’s teacher when the latter was studying at Chongwen Academy.[1] He was the one who had been guiding Li Chu as to what to say and do during previous court assemblies behind the scenes.
Li Chu was about to snap out, ‘Of course it was my own idea. Unless we siblings join forces, we’ll all find ourselves picked clean by that Shen woman.’
Those words never left his lips, however, because it had suddenly occurred to him that it was indeed his old teacher who had been fanning the flames of his enmity with Shen Ni. Whatever Shen Ni accomplished, whatever imperial reward she was granted — Cao Su had made sure news of it reached Li Chu’s ears as soon as possible. When she’d posted that picture of herself and Bian Jin looking like a blissfully wedded couple and received well-wishes from all over the extranet for itt, Cao Su and his confidants had mentioned it ‘in passing’ to Li Chu at a banquet before the day was out, making him choke on his food. All this while, Cao Su had been goading him into taking the fight to Shen Ni.
The pupil of Li Chu’s prosthetic eye went from silver to red. Rage at both Cao Su’s manipulations and Li Shan’s merciless exposure of them exploded in his chest. He hissed from between clenched teeth, ‘Where there is profit to be made, there the world gathers.[2] Do you think I need you to teach me that?’
Li Chu was clearly trying to save face. Li Shan had lost all interest in matching wits with him, so she only replied, ‘Those who join together for power’s sake become estranged once power fades.’[3]
With a flourish of her sleeve, she turned to leave, but Li Chu’s cold sneer stopped her in her tracks. ‘It’s very unlike you, Prince Yong, to be lecturing me on propriety and righteousness rather than defending the pride of the imperial family and upholding our bonds of siblinghood. Are you afraid of bringing trouble down on your own head? Or are you trying to protect the woman you cherish so dearly?’
Li Shan whirled around and gave Li Chu a vicious slap across the face. Several officials, who happened to be passing by, were so shocked by the sight that they barely dared to breathe.
Li Chu clutched a hand to his cheek, completely dumbfounded. After a while, he managed to force out, ‘You— I— I am your older brother! How dare you hit me!’
‘If you don’t watch what you say, I’ll slap you on the other cheek as well,’ said Li Shan scornfully. ‘Now why don’t you run along and make an indictment against me to Her Majesty? Isn’t that what you do best?’
‘Li Shan!’
Li Shan turned and strode off, not even dignifying him with a glance. Dou Bin, who was waiting for her further down the corridor, fell into step alongside her.
‘What a fool.’ Li Shan flicked her hand back and forth, trying to shake off the feeling of numbness. She slightly regretted having hit Li Chu quite that hard. ‘Disaster is on his doorstep, yet he still has no idea.’
Dou Bin lowered his voice. ‘Cao Su and his faction have already made overtures to Prince An.’
Li Shan scoffed. ‘If I were him, I would never have chosen my brother to begin with. Whatever he touches turns to dust.’[4]
She’d insulted Li Chu quite a few times by now, but that had done nothing to soothe her anger. She couldn’t tell whether it was Li Chu she was furious at, or herself.
***
Having made excuses to stay home from court, Shen Ni now had to go on feigning illness. As she lounged about in her bedchamber, somewhat at a loose end, she suddenly remembered her first, ill-fated snow globe — the one which Bian Jin had been unable to give her. What had become of the two men, she wondered, who were directly responsible for that?
It was the work of a few moments for Shen Ni to hack into the official empire-wide surveillance system and track down the footage recorded on the day of the Shangyuan Festival. Based on Bian Jin’s account of the incident, she quickly found and loaded up the surveillance video from the alley that night.
She watched as Bian Jin sent the two men flying through the air with a single kick. The sight set her pulse racing. Her shijie always looked so entrancing when she was beating someone up.
Shen Ni couldn’t help feeling a little hard done by as well. Now that she thought about it, it had been quite a long time since her shijie had last ‘disciplined’ her…
Now that she had the two men’s identifying characteristics, it was easy enough to get her hands on the rest of their data, including their digital identity markers. Swiftly she reconstructed a map of their recent movements. The two men, she learned, had spent all their money getting themselves repaired after that confrontation with Bian Jin.
They managed to get the repairs done that quickly?
Shen Ni tapped lightly at her keyboard. Perhaps it was time she paid them a visit on her shijie’s behalf.
***
Author’s Note:
Having to work: sadface
Spoiling her wife: full of energy 0w0
***
Footnotes:
- In Chinese, 崇文馆 (pinyin: chongwen guan). In our world, this was a school established during the Tang Dynasty for the education of princes, noblemen and the sons of senior officials. [return to text]
- In the original text, 利之所在, 天下趋之 (pinyin: li zhi suo zai, tianxia qu zhi). The expression originates from ‘A Letter to the Emperor’ (上皇帝书, pinyin: shang huangdi shu) by the Song Dynasty scholar, essayist and philosopher Su Xun (苏洵). [return to text]
- In the original text, 以权利合者, 权利尽而交疏 (pinyin: yi quanli he zhe, quanli jin er jiao shu). The expression originates from the Records of the Grand Historian (史记, pinyin: shiji), a foundational historical text begun by the Western Han historian-astrologer Sima Tan (司马谈) and completed by his son, the historian Sima Qian (司马迁). [return to text]
- In the original text, 成事不足败事有余 (pinyin: chengshi buzu baishi youyu), an idiom which translates more or less literally as: ‘insufficient ability to succeed at anything; liable to fail at everything’. The expression is said to have been popularised by the novel Morning in Shanghai (上海的早晨, pinyin: shanghai de zaochen) by Zhou Erfu (周而复), which began serialising in 1958. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 