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The Emperor had sent for her personally. That was not a matter to be taken lightly, or without strictly-hushed sighs of silence for that matter. The Emperor had sent for her, a woman of pure heart and true spirit. A women of purest heart and truest spirit, if such was possible within the bounds of mortality. And such was, for she was it. She was a woman, the woman; a woman who would not, could not, subdue under the intense pressure that the Emperor would and undoubtedly did place upon her, not to mention a woman who would retain strong character in the face of some (The Emperor) would say, grave matters. In truth, though The Emperor would agree, this was a matter of earnest importance; and had the words have passed through his train of though at some point or other, The Emperor would surely have repeated them, no doubt in a tone of deadly seriousness and serenity, to a close circle of his most trusted friends and advisors.
Friends and advisors, our Dear Emperor, with a Capital E, would, rather graciously, trust with his rather gracious life. Friends and advisors that, let's be frank for a moment and lay aside the silver of our tongues, were neither his friends, nor offered much in the way of advise, and would quite happily slit our Dear Emperor's Throat, with a Capital T, in the still of the silent yet, remarkably deadly night; if, of course, it was to their gain. Killing for any other reason, jealously or plain old insanity for instance, just wouldn't sit right with people such as these, no, not at all. Intense psychological motives, though interesting as they are, are wasted in this context, greed is much simpler and easier reason to swallow for people such as we find here. But, rest assured, if the incentive to kill ever did rise, or if the haze of red-mist should ever descend, make no mistake, only the most valuable and diamond-encrusted of blades would have been used, nothing less for one such as The Emperor; these are his friends and advisors, of course. The funny side to this situation, if there is a funny side to it, and there is, so we shall continue without any undue guilt or trepidation, is that from time to time, each of The Emperor with a Capital E's friends and advisors without capital f's and a's, because they were not The Emperor; had shared similar murderous thoughts, yet all were equally and rather poetically ignorant of their collective homicidal plot of would-be collaboration. What a fine old time they could have had, had they had the good sense to share. What a difference a simple conversation would have made! Yet privacy and an ever-so-slight bloodthirstiness was why The Emperor with a Capital E had chosen them to be his close circle of friends and advisors. Emperors, after all, have the same luxury of choosing friends that we as mere mortals do. 'Tis a pity he chose so poorly.
However, his choice in Chun Rong was a wise one. Rong was renound, famous, admired even, for her talents, her forte, if you like or if that does you better. Rong was a name known across all of China at one time or another, all of Asia, of all the entire known world, for all the people of The Emperor with a Capital E were concerned. Notice that the people are not with a capital p, for they too, are not The Emperor. Chun Rong and her name were spoken of in quiet voices, barely more than feeble whispers from one end of The Great Wall (with a Capital G and, what the hell, let them have a Capital W to boot; this was The Emperor's Wall, after all) to the other; thus creating the first identifiable game of Chinese whispers, if you like. The intensely silent way in which Chun Rong's name was spoken was as though the syllables which created her very existence and defined her as a person were precious and ancient secrets, religious artefacts, handed down through many generations and would break, should they be spoken with the force of too many decibels. Such is the legend of Chun Rong. Notice again, that unlike the friends and advisors and people we have met along the way, Chun Rong is with a Capital C and, Christ on a cracker, could that possibly be a Capital R as well? I think so. Such is the legend of our heroine Chun Rong. The woman, as previously stated and later repeated through the halls of time as the present withered away and became history, the woman of purest heart and truest spirit. The woman who had travelled hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles because The Emperor with a Capital E had sent for her; had summoned her. Who knew how far she had travelled? Somebody. Who cared how far she had travelled? Nobody. Nobody cared, because she had been sent for by The Emperor with a Capital E. Nobody was sent for by The Emperor with a Capital E. Then, as if from nowhere, somebody was. Chun Rong was. The Emperor with a Capital E had sent for her and she came to him. Climbing the steps of the Forbidden City as it lay open and very much bidden for her, she climbed one step at a time; as so very many had done before her. The Emperor with a Capital E stood at the top of his Stairs and looked out with his Eyes over his Kingdom, no, his Empire (for he was not a mere King); and that too had a Capital E. One day, everything you see would belong to someone else, but for now, it all belonged to The Emperor, with a Goddamn, f*****g E.
The Emperor stood waiting for her, sensing, feeling, knowing that she was the One he needed, the One he craved, the One who could save him. Chun Rong had reached the top. Chun Rong stood before The Emperor with a Capital E, and, as so very many had done before her and would continue to to do after, Chun Rong knelt. Chung Rong was there, kneeling before of The Emperor with a Capital E, and she knew very well what she had to do, what she had been called for, what she had been summoned for. Chun Rong knelt before The Emperor with a Capital E. And sucked.
Chun Rong, 'til the Emperor came. |
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