Chapter 228: Chapter 226 – Real Power

Deep within the Immortal Palace, through unused halls and behind unopened doors, was hidden a special room. Only a select few knew of its location, even among the high-ranking officials of the Immortal Capital. On most days, the room would be left abandoned. Yet today, seven figures had met around the ancient stone table for a meeting as secret as the spot they had met in.

“Brother Acalan, you have arrived late.” Prime Minister Zyaton sat at the head of the table, with five others seated around him. All of them were old men, all of them draped in expensive cloths, and all of them great scholars of the Empire, as was the man who had just arrived.

“This master has many matters of his own to attend to, Zyaton. The last meeting of scholars took place less than a moon ago, so why do you call the council together once more? And do not pretend it to be a matter of importance. Nothing of note has happened in the empire, or this master would be informed before anyone here.”

While the old man left his snarky comments, he took a seat among his peers, one of them with a mischievous grin on his face.

“If Brother Acalan is upset already, then brother truly will be displeased once he learns of Brother Zyaton's reason to call for the meeting,” the grinning scholar said.

“What is it then? What could be so important to call everyone here?” Acalan asked as he reached for the tea that already sat prepared for him.

“Today, all the great scholars of the empire have been called together because one of Chutwa's eastern lords has approached this official with a peculiar request,” Zyaton began his explanation.

“Something big enough to call together the Scholar's Council?” Acalan huffed as he sipped his tea.

“The request itself is not a large matter, but its implementation breaks with current Chutwa laws and traditions. Thus, it requires approval from the entire council first.”

“Then what is there to discuss?” Acalan huffed and cracked his cup as he smashed it onto the stone table. “The traditions need to be respected, and this master has his own work to attend to!”

“However, the issue is minor, and the laws broken are such that no one would ever know. Even more, if the matter is handled the right way, it would be to great benefit to the entire empire.”

Since Acalan only glared in response, another scholar sighed and chimed in.

“Brother Zyaton, please tell everyone about the details of this request. This master is eager to know.”

With a thankful nod to his brother, the prime minister continued.

“A few days prior, a foreign nation has arrived on the empire's shores, eager to beg the Emperor so they may become one of his tributaries.”

“So let them,” the scholars replied. “The law has never prevented any lesser nations from entering beneath the glorious shadow of the empire, has it?”

“No, it has not,” Zyaton confirmed. “However, they want more than just pay tribute. They want to officially trade with the empire.”

“Ridiculous!” Acalan shouted as he jumped up. “Zyaton, you spent moons blocking my motion to introduce Medala as a new tributary to the empire, yet now this council discusses some unknown country's application, and even grants them special treatment!? Do these foreigners believe they deserve to be treated as equals!? In the history of the immortal dynasty, no foreign lands have been allowed such an exalted status!”

“Brother Acalan, please calm yourself,” the prime minister sighed. It was true that Medala's request for tributary status had been put on hold, but only because Acalan had refused to pay the bribes that would be customary for such a case. Zyaton suspected that Acalan had pocketed most of the tributes from Medala for himself instead, but for now the prime minister would pacify his brother and forget about his greed. After all, Zyaton needed support for his motion as well.

“Brother, once this issue is cleared up, the council can also discuss Medala's new status in today's meeting. Please don't consider this a slight against brother.” He watched with cold eyes as Acalan sat back down, still in a huff. Only then did Zyaton continue.

“As for the foreigners, they will not be treated as equals. How could they? They are just barbarians who wish to bask in the glow of the empire. They do not plead for any more than the status of a tributary. However, they want the right for free traders from their lands to trade with the empire in a private fashion, in one specific port of the empire. While this request breaks with tradition somewhat, it should be a minor issue. Already, private traders come and go along the empire's borders all the time, we would simply formalize such action in this one instance.”

“Even so, their actions go against established law. How could we let them?” Acalan insisted.

“Before Brother continues, he should observe the products they wish to transport into the empire, and judge their value for himself.”

“Ha, what could some barbarians possibly have to offer that Chutwa's lands or people could not provide?”

“Brother Acalan should please inspect them for himself,” Another of the scholars said as he handed Acalan several small objects.

“And what are these toys?” he asked, as he held up a mess of gears, ticking and clicking away.

“To this scholar, it was introduced as a watch the foreigners have built from metal,” Prime Minister Zyaton explained.

“What an abhorrent mess of noise and movement. There is no elegance to this primitive construction, is there? Why not simply use a water clock? The masterful devices of the empire are far more accurate and don't produce such an infernal noise,” Acalan claimed.

“If nothing else, it makes for a novel toy,” Zyaton argued, before a smirk stole itself onto his face. “Somehow, the foreigners thought they could impress the mighty Empire with these little tricks. However, the value of their submission lies in the other products they brought along.”

Again, the helpful scholar brought the rest of the objects in front of Acalan, and introduced them one by one.

“Glass as clear as water, and rare dyes in large amounts. Would the empire not benefit greatly from such treasures?”

“Impossible. How could barbarians produce something of such value, when even the crafters of the Empire have not achieved similar feats,” and incredulous Acalan asked. Zyaton was eager to explain.

“It certainly would not be due to their ingenuity. Instead, it appears as if the purple dye simply comes from a purple kind of earth found in the homeland of these foreigners. If this scholar had to guess, the glass is similarly made from a unique type of sand which creates this clear color. After all, the glass made by Chutwa's great crafters can also be brown or green, dependent on the type of earth used for its creation.”

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“Those are words of sense indeed,” another scholar helped out. “A nation with such rare earths would be a grand follower of the Empire, one to be cherished.”

“Righteously spoken, brother. Yet with only the yearly tribute, their contributions to the empire would be far less than what could be gained through trade,” Zyaton completed his argument.

“Wealth and rank are desired by men, yet unless they be obtained in the right way, they may not be possessed,” one of the scholars spoke up. It was a direct quote from the ancestors, but Zyaton knew exactly what the masters wanted.

“Of course, some proceeds from the trade should be handed to finance the education of scholars, to further the prospects of the entire Empire,” the prime minister added in response to the vague comment. “This scholar intends to make a yearly, sizable donation to the imperial academy in the name of the new foreign tributary.”

“Let the states of equilibrium and harmony exist in perfection, and a happy order will prevail throughout heaven and earth, and all things will be nourished and flourish,” the scholar quoted another passage as he leaned back with a smile.

Now that three of his brothers had been pacified, they were getting into the details of the cooperation.

“Which port should be designated to trade with these foreigners?” another scholar asked.

“Chatra Huemac's port already houses the foreigners, and this scholar believes it to be a suitable location.”

“Whose follower is he?”

“Chatra Huemac is irrelevant, just some small-time administrator with no power. Most of all, he has no backers, and is thus neutral. This scholar believes him to be the best candidate.”

Confronted with Zyaton's argument, the scholar nodded. Since Huemac was neutral and weak, the precarious balance of powers within the capital wouldn't be affected by the new influx of wealth.

“Even so, we need to guarantee that they do not drain any gold or silver from the empire,” the oldest of the scholars added. “After all, this was the very reason the ancestors implemented the tributary system. No wealth is to leave the empire, or the foreign hounds may use tricks to bleed it dry on the borders, where the eyes of the Palace cannot reach.”

“A passage could be added to the final agreement to guarantee they are to not carry away any precious metals on their ships,” the prime minister suggested. “Apart from a few rare earths, the foreigners do not have much to offer anyways. They will trade all their wealth for the great products of Chutwa's talented artisans. Whether they fill their ships with silk, Chutwa glaze or tea is immaterial. Maybe they could even buy some proper clocks to replace their toys with.”

All scholars chuckled at Zyaton's joke, all except Acalan.

“Now then, is everyone in agreement and ready to accept the foreign nation of Britain as a tributary?”

“This scholar still has concerns.”

As expected, the spoilsport spoke up once more.

“What is it, Brother Acalan?” a patient Zyaton replied.

“For months now, this master has attempted to transform the Medala kingdom into a tributary of Chutwa, under the urgent begging of their King Amautu. Yet time and again, this master's attempts have been blocked.”

“If Brother is so insistent, then this scholar agrees to add this 'Medala Kingdom' to the list of Chutwa's tributaries,” he agreed. “However, all your brothers have done you a favor in the process.”

“This master has no more concerns,” Acalan finally conceded as he leaned back in his chair with a smug grin on his face. Now that even Acalan had been won over, Prime Minister Zyaton had done the hard part. Once the ink had been put to paper, it was time to pay a visit to the Immortal Emperor. After all, the scholars still weren't quite in charge of the Empire. They still needed the Emperor's seal to finalize their decisions.

 

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The Immortal Emperor's throne room was off-limits for most people. Apart from the emperor's personal servants and a handful of selected acolytes, only the Prime Minister was allowed to enter once a day for one hour, to receive his orders on how to adjudicate the empire and its people. The rest of the Immortal Emperor's time was spent entirely on his cultivation. As an ever-lasting being, the great Emperor spent all his days in search for the eternal truths of the world, to the benefit of his subjects. At least that was the story told on the streets.

The first thing Zyaton always noticed when he entered the emperor's room was the smell. The air was heavy and stale, filled with the sickly-sweet scent of the incense sticks lined around the entirety of the giant hall. Yet at the same time, the torches which illuminated the room all throughout and had stained the wooden walls black with soot produced their own, unpleasant odor. Though worst of all were all the young mortals who sat in a semi-circle around the emperor's dais and waited on their master in the center. They had been stuck in here for days, some even for months. As a result, the air was drenched in the sour stench of their sweat and piss, something not even all the torches and incense managed to suppress.

Prime Minister Zyaton stood to the side for now, and pushed a small bell by the entrance. It was a signal that would prompt the emperor to halt in his cultivation and fulfill his duties as ruler, though of course stopping the process would always take time. While he looked at the old man's silhouette atop his throne behind the curtains of silk, the Prime Minister mused over the genius nature of his Emperor's cultivation techniques. It truly had been the greatest thought their ancestors had ever conceived.

Back then, several hundred years ago, the scholars were powerful within the empire, but they were still not the ones in charge of policy. Despite all the advances they had brought to Chutwa, despite their great achievements for the benefit of the people, they still had to bow before an Emperor, such an archaic holdover from an ancient era. More than once, emperors would be unhappy with the influence and wisdom the great scholars held within their courts, and would begin unreasonable campaigns to limit their power. Some would even imprison, even kill the great scholars for daring to move the empire's nature closer towards enlightenment, against the archaic emperor's will.

Yet then, his forefathers saw a chance, and found an incredible method to create a perfect, immortal empire. At the time, Emperor Ilhicatl had become an old man and thus searched for a method to reach immortality, like so many had before him. Yet unlike before, the scholars had no longer denied him their wisdom. This time, they had given him just what he had wanted: In their greatness, they had developed a technique that would promise eternal life. In return, all it cost was the life of a handful of ordinary commoners.

As the prime minister was thinking, one of the mortals around the emperor's dais collapsed. The servants in the corner of the room stood ready and acted as they always did. While no one around the corpse reacted, the body was carried away and stacked on top of another who had met the same fate earlier. Every day, two or three of these commoners would give their lives to extend that of their emperor. This was not done in secret, and they would be happy to do so. It was considered a great honor for them to be chosen as the emperor's acolyte, and losing a thousand or so commoners every year wasn't any harm on the empire either. There were far too many of these people either way, so the solution brought happiness to all.

However, even with all of the sacrifices in his name, even with all of these tricks and tribulations, the emperor had to spend almost all his time on the extension of his lifespan. Every time he told outsiders about the emperor's 'search for eternal truths', Zyaton had to stifle his laughter. All the old man did was spend every waking moment clinging on to life. By now, all his wives and concubines had long perished. Even all his offspring had succumbed, either to old age, or to one of many strange accidents over the years.

By now, he was the only one left, the last of his line. Though of course, no one was bothered by this lack of an heir, for the emperor was immortal. And all his immortality had cost him were his life and his power. Now, all he had left beyond food, sleep, and cultivation was about an hour every day he could use on other tasks, not enough to care about the empire or even understand it. The time was just barely sufficient to put his seal and sigil beneath the laws the scholars had worked out for him. Thus, he was stuck in eternal search of true immortality, with the country in the hands of those who had been destined to rule it.

A small smile formed on Zyaton's face as he watched the old man's silhouette bend over his throne and expel a rough, throaty cough. The prime minister clutched the stack of papers brought for the Immortal Emperor to sign. It was time for the old man to fulfill his duties.