Rising Phoenix

But the world so rarely turned as people wish.

His hesitation faded and he gripped the spiky twig, a cow skin whip wrapped around jujube plant’s spiky branch. The spikes cut into Helian Zheng’s palm and his blood dripped down to the floor.

He paid no mind to the pain, grabbing Blue Bear Patriarch Hotega by the arm with his other hand and leading him out of the door, parting the stunned people before him.

Feng Zhiwei stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Turn back. There is no reason to suffer for a vain name, queen or not is of no importance.”

Helian Zheng swept her aside, smiling down at her. “I have never sacrificed for you, you should at least give me the chance.”

Feng Zhiwei stared in astonishment as Helian Zheng strode out through the door, his blood dripping down his hand as he walked out into the courtyard. The young king stepped up to his ceremonial high seat, idly kicking a tea pot to the ground as he handed the long whip to Hotega. He stripped down to his waist and knelt, baring his honeyed muscles to the world.

“Come!”

His shout stirred everyone from their daze.

The mighty steppe King was demanding that he be whipped before the crowd!

Helian Zheng knelt, his tall, straight back to the crowd. He called out to the inner yard room: “Any who defy the Living Buddha must suffer the twig punishment. You need not sentence me, I demand it!”

He would not be turned from his defiance.

The patriarchs could only stare dumbly, none of them understanding Helian Zheng’s determination.

In the end, the faith given to Living Buddha’s prophecies and orders was not a law. Over the centuries, the people of the steppes had grown to honor religion, and its power had grown deep roots in their mind. They could not even imagine defiance. The Hu Zhuo rites spoke nothing about a whip punishment because no one had actually needed to be whipped before.

Dama Living Buddha rolled his eyes, his breathing uneven and labored.

Feng Zhiwei eyed the man coldly as if she could slaughter him with her gaze.

“Go stop him.” She finally said to Mudan Hua. “There’s no need to suffer for this dying man’s nonsense.”

Mudan Hua’s face twisted strangely and she glanced at Feng Zhiwei before turning away and sighing. “Fate… let him go, you do not understand Dama’s prestige… there is no other way.”

“Pa!”

The spiked twig ripped at flesh, flaying and tearing.

The instant the spiked whip hit Helian Zheng’s back, his skin shredded and blood flowed. The curved whip gouged deeply into his flesh and blood ran like a river through a gully, spilling down towards Helian Zheng’s pants, staining the golden robe with spreading scarlet.

Helian Zheng shuddered, his fingers clawing the grass before him. As Feng Zhiwei rushed over, he turned and smiled at her, calling out: “Hey! I thought it’d hurt a lot, but that…”

“Pa!”

The second store fell, cutting away Helian Zheng’s toughness. Feng Zhiwei stared into his pain stricken face and whispered gently: “Don’t speak.”

“Pa!”

Helian Zheng tottered before catching himself on his elbow, grimacing before squeezing out another smile.

Flesh and blood flecked the whip, splashing outward as it was readied once more. A drop of blood splattered onto Feng Zhiwei’s face, and she stepped forward, grabbing the whip.

“Enough!”

The bloody whip stabbed into her palm, cutting deep into her hand, mingling her blood with Helian Zheng’s tattered skin.

“Zhiwei!” Helian Zheng called out, his previous stoicism vanished as he turned with shock, shooting to his feet as he worried over Feng Zhiwei’s blood. The young king stumbled forward as Feng Zhiwei threw the whip aside to hold him. “Three strikes is enough! He is your King!”

Hotega silently retrieved the whip and backed away as Feng Zhiwei glared coldly at the blood on the ground. Helian Zheng gasped in his breaths and was just about to offer a joke when she whispered quietly: “Who made religion more powerful than the

Helian Zheng shivered at the cold ruthlessness of her voice as Feng Zhiwei fell silent, helping him back into the inner yard room. Once inside she tossed a calendar onto the felt rug and addressed the local Living Buddha: “Helian has been whipped, words have been spoken, now I must trouble the great elder to choose an auspicious day for the coronation. As I see it, any of the next three days is fine, pick one.”

With those words and nothing more, she supported Helian Zheng to the back palace and had her people bring out the medicine and bandages so that she could tend to the young king.

The whip had not been normal and its heavy weight and spikes had mutilated Helian Zheng’s back.

The man in question lay silently on his belly, his head buried in his arms. Feng Zhiwei worked carefully and with gentle hands, but every time she touched him he quivered.

“You can scream if it hurts.” Feng Zhiwei suggested as she cleaned his wounds, plucking out spikes one by one. His beautiful skin would sadly scar.

“Even if you hold it in I’m not going to admit your noble heroism.”

“I am… afraid you’ll be pained for me.” Helian Zheng turned his face towards her, revealing the layer of sweat coating his face. His pupils had darkened in his pain and blood dotted the corners of his lips, but still he smiled.

Feng Zhiwei eyed the man as she finished with his back, gently patting his shoulder and forcing out a miserable howl. “Pained? Maybe a little.”

“Never mind… forget it.” Helian Zheng chuckled bitterly. “I should hope that you never feel heart ache.”

“Heartache is useless.” Feng Zhiwei turned her face into the shadows. “Rather than wasting time feeling pain, it is better to be useful.”

Helian Zheng forced his head around once more to look at her. “What will you do?”

Feng Zhiwei did not reply.

“Zhiwei…” Helian Zheng reached out and grabbed her hand. “You’ve changed. When I first saw you on that carriage, you were fierce but your character still gave. Now it feels like you’ve frozen yourself, and you leave no room for yourself or for others. This is not good.”