When That Day Really Comes

[Khemia]

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"Will you be ready?" the man clad in a stern, grey uniform tapped his black gloved hand against the cherry wood table, the stained woods reports audible in the deathly silence hanging in the room following the question.

"My superiors have also grown tired of Han's efforts to stymie us in the Yuan," the other man, clad in drab, olive green replied as he rested his chin within his own hand, his sullen eyes glaring at the warped contours of the wood. "He has always been a nuisance, but now he has gone too far..."

"Answer the question."

The brooding figure glared to his spartan counterpart with apprehension. He knew the answer had already been determined, and he was little more than a messenger, but he could not help but try to grasp at the realization of the consequences that might occur. His fingers caressed his jaw line for what seemed like an eternal, and yet ephemeral, moment. "Hǎo. You have Quan's pledge, brother, whatever the cost. Together, we will save Yujin."

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He slammed his fist against the table with a resounding force, jarring pencils and stirring papers, demanding the attention of everyone sitting around it. "Those dogs think they can push me around?!" he snarled at those around him. "They think that I divide the country! Ha! If this country could be anymore divided, Heaven would fall!" He stood from his chair, resting his palms on the surface, looming over aides and party members who were taken aback by the aggression.

"The only reason they have not fallen in line behind the slavemasters of Cantigny is because of fear that we would revolt! They think we're terrorists, and they're right! But we've been fighting them since the start of this so-called 'Republic', and I will not see some foreign scum wag their finger at us," Han Juemin, leader of the GGD, was furious. More than half of the GGD's liquid assets had been frozen abroad, by simple association with a political organization that could not muzzle a mutt.

"Perhaps we should leave the Pact," one man muttered.

"And backpedal?! We'd look weak kowtowing for foreigners like that! Fuck them!" he shook his hand in accusation against a phantom foe. He let his hand fall back down to the table as his colleagues consulted amongst themselves, giving him a moment to think. Han Juemin was a radical and an idealist, he had been elected because he still prescribed to the cult of personality left behind by the founder of Zhi, Tang Shishang.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that greedy bastard Xiong tried to force us out of the Pact," someone in the room chimed in, and the decibel level within the room heightened in response. The words rang with surprising truth to Han; he had known for some time the Xiong family had plans afoot for some time to undermine the integrity of the GGD. The international community had presented his with the perfect pretext.

"If we don't move now, Ying will make the first move," he muttered under his breath. None around him heard, and in frustration he tilted his head and repeated himself loud enough to quiet the room.

"Mister P...President..." someone stuttered.

"Duì. I'm issuing Article Zero pursuant to the Executive Options detailed in Chapter Four," President Han's hawkish glare burned holes through the alarmed members of his privvy council. "We've talked about this gentlemen, you know the plan. We are destined to succeed, so long as we maintain our conviction and keep our eyes on the ball." The silence within his private chambers was disquieting. The unwritten article had never been issued, but the Zhi Clique had been established because of it. It was the fledgling Republic's sole purpose.

 

[Khemia]

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Within a dank, concrete walled room, a number of men sat in cheap, folding chairs with cigarettes in their mouths while playing a gambling game involving dice, a bowl, and a lot of alcohol. Four lights hung from a scarcely visible ceiling, and the rattle of the plastic against the ceramic could be heard in between the boasts and goading. An assertive rap on the door silenced the room. Several of the men moved to a workbench by the wall, their hands drifting underneath to grip onto hidden weapons. One man moved slowly to the door.

The knock came again; three, loud bangs. The one at the door looked through the visor and, seemingly recognizing the visitor, signaled to the others to calm down. "Who is it?" he asked the men on the other side of the door.

"Zhǐpái," the other responded, and the door opened for him. Several men dressed in athletic gear hurried into the room carrying large duffel bags. Within moments the table was cleared of dice, bowls, and bottles of rice wine. In it's place, the eight black duffel bags were placed. One of the men turned to another.

"Huáng tóngzhì," one of the men dressed in athletic wear greeted another.

"Zhào tóngzhì," nodded in response. He did not have the appearance of a leader, but all eyes seemed drawn to him for guidance. "Did you get everything we needed?" he asked.

"Yǒu," Zhao responded, gesturing to the bags, "uniforms, guns, and explosives. They're all here." He moved towards a bag and opened it. "These are the exact uniforms the Guard wear, down to the size of the buttons. No one will tell the difference."

Huang nodded and opened the other bags. Disassembled assault rifles, ammunition, several pins and medals, and an entire duffel bag of semtex. He let out a sigh of both relief and worry. "Our contacts in the Guard can be trusted?" he asked.

"They are concerned for their families, but I believe that we should not have difficulties."

"If we fail," Huang stated flatly, "their families lives are forfeit. If we succeed, then they are free."

The others nodded, and Huang looked to the wall. "Put the bags behind the loose bricks. Our suppliers might have loose lips, we can't afford to be discovered now."

"Hǎo, hǎo," the men replied quickly, busily removing several inconspicuous bricks and placing the bags within the large crevice. As quickly as they had been placed, the bags had been removed and the bowls and dice and bottles appeared again. Everything seemed the same, but a keen eye would notice that the ecstatic celebrations and goading had lacked the same heart and spirit that had pushed them on. The same eyes which had been filled with drunken revelry now seemed tainted by the same gloomy realizations.

 

[Khemia]

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Lightning etched its way across the sky as thunder crackled through the mountains, the rain slamming heavily into the ceramic tiles of the multi-inclined gable roof of the centuries old siheyuan. The Dashan residence was one of several dozen which occupied the spaces between the cramped, neglected hutong alleys that webbed their way in grid-like fashion through the ancient cities eldest residential areas. The rain beat against the tiles, spilling into the notched grooves and flowing like falls into the courtyard. On the northern face of the structure, facing towards the south, was the zhèngfáng, or main house. Flanking it on either side were xiāngfáng, connected to each other by decorated, covered láng, or walkways, which seemed to be inspired by legends of the Heaven of the Jade Emperor, or perhaps even vice versa. The dàozuòfáng to the south served as a reception room, leading to a gateway. Upon this gate, two heavy copper knockers were bolted, flanked by two stone lions, known to the Yujiners as shíshī.

It was a traditional structure built in a style like many of the others, but its occupants were not the same as their wealthy neighbors. Despite their dress, which denoted them as higher class denizens, many of the men and women sitting quietly on the verandah watching the rain spill into the garden were members of the illusive Honyuhui. They hid in plain sight.

Mán tiān guò hǎi, Wu thought to himself as he sipped the hot tea, his eyes peering through the steam rising from its still surface and watching the drops of water falling upon the leaves of the plum tree in the center of the garden. Deceive the heavens to cross the ocean.

He stewed over the ancient chengyu for a moment, considering its wisdom. The hongyuhui had faced adversity and challenge in Ying, it had its share of successes, but the government forces had crushed his attempts to win over the workers and farmers of Ying. Ever since his journey from Franken he had dreamed of a revolution; instead, he had a terrorist organization scantly able to mobilize more than a hundred men into perhaps a dozen cells across the country. But here, in the stormy country of Qiangzhuo, he could bide his time and grow strong.

He could see the factions moving their xiangqi pieces into place. The pawns had taken their place before the river, the cannons crossed in towards the palace, the generals and their advisors prepared for the inevitable. Wu Jindiao was surprised the Republic of Yujin had survived for so long - only the threat of Nokanawa kept it together. But even that dark shadow could not keep the disparate leaders of Yujin together for much longer. A fool wasted his resources in attack after attack, too much yang undermined the yin. Right now, sound strategy called for patience and deception.

He brought the tea cup to his lips again and enjoyed the calming warmth as it flowed down his throat. The temperature was a refreshing 20 degrees, and the storm had brought in high humidity that made the air feel cool as the wind from the Meghalayan peaks altered the trajectory of each falling drop. Wu breathed in the steam from his tea and closed his eyes, allowing the calm to fill him. After more than a decade of war, the pleasurable sense of peace was difficult to find. This rainy, mountain retreat was a welcome moment in his torn life.

Suddenly, the sounds of argument and bickering from a neighboring siheyuan broke the sound of drizzle. The crack of thunder shut out the disquieting rabble, but Wu couldn't tear his mind away from the fact that now, more than ever, he had drawn himself nearer to his foe than ever before. All around him the scum of the nation lived in corruption, and outside the protective yǐng bì of his own siheyuan, in the outskirts of Dashan, the impoverished struggled to live. He could think of their lives, struggling to sell their hard earned crops on the muddy streets, and he felt guilt that now he had the time to live in luxury.

One day, Heaven willing, those peasants would feel the same pleasure of peace he did. He knew this within his heart, it was the driving purpose in his life. But for now, until the rain abated, he'd have to bide his time. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and that step had to look westward, towards the scarlet bastion of freedom beyond the snow-capped peaks to the West.

 

[Khemia]

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Two officers dressed in light grey uniforms, decked in medals and aguilette's, with shoulderstraps pressing the uniforms tightly against the two mens' chests. They snapped a sharp salute to one another, greeting each other with shaken hands, and spinning on the heels of their polished boots towards large, imported doors that opened with loud creaks to reveal a meeting of what was essentially the Duke's court.

The Xiong family had risen to power as a brutal warlord in the late 1910's, and had survived foreign occupation through shrewd, sadistic tactics that had reinstalled them as the supreme Clique in the Northeast. The then General Xiong Chengqian established himself as the pre-eminent leader of the Ying Clique, driving his tentacles into the leadership of the Seoran Free State and, finally, destroying any hope of establishing a democratic system in the Republic of Yujin when he withdrew from negotiations with the other Cliques and proclaimed himself Duke of Ying, heir to the Empire of Yujin.

Now, the 'Duke's' grandson, Qirui, had summoned the top officials and advisers, friends and family, for a banquet designed to strengthen perceptions of his power and influence. The room itself was extravagant and designed in the fashion of baroque Engellex structures - broad arches and columns of white stone provided a prideful backdrop for the decadent golden chandeliers and massive, crystal windows. The room itself was a chamber of pomposity and presumptuousness, demagogues and hedonists declaring their superiority. If ever it seemed the Republic of Yujin had seemed to be upon the precipice of bringing liberty to the masses, the Xiong 'Dynasty' of self-installed would-be Emperor's had delivered the death knell.

Ringing the massive, circular room filled with ministers and officers were a number of the families personal Guard. Not all among them were familiar faces, however - Huang, Zhao, and several others watched with veiled disgust as the haughty men and women took to the floor to dance to music from Danmark, Engellex, Belmont, Montelimar, or some other bastard Western nation which dared to whore its culture here on the sacred motherland. The debauchery was disgusting to the sensibilities of the troop of men who were now keeping their eyes on the prize.

When 'Qióngqí' entered, silence fell across the room. A procession of ceremonial guards, with plumes like those of a peacock, filed into the room and created a veritable hallway of men and rifles for the Duke to make his entrance. With a flowing cape dressed over the pristine, ashen grey uniform beneath. He smiled with a distinct aura of arrogance as he marched towards the 'front' of the room, twirling about on his ridiculously well polished heels. He introduced himself with a dismissive wave of the cape and a cavalier greeting to the crowd, and in the background comrade Huang put the plan into motion.

He raised the rifle and took aim at the Duke. Not unnoticed, a scream let loose as the rifle raised. The advisor closest to the Duke, the Minister of Intelligence Pa Mingqi, outstretched his arm and grabbed the Duke's cloak just as Huang pulled the trigger. Three casings were ejected high and to the right, hitting the ground. One round grazed the Duke's shoulder just as the Minister pulled him to the floor, the two others struck Pa. The second round clipped his jaw, sending teeth and bone flying; the third found his throat - blood spewing across the room like some grotesque fountain as the body of the quickly dying Minister collapsed upon his Lord in a last effort to save the Duke's life.

Huang adjusted his aim towards the mass on the floor and fired three more bursts before he himself began to take fire from guards around him. The marble column behind him shattered as bullets hit it, sending debris across his back. He took to a knee, trying to minimize his silhouette, but cursed as other Ministers had formed a human wall around the Duke. He could see Zhao moving to Duke's side as well, playing the role of a Guard perfectly. Huang turned his rifle on the crowd and let loose with the rest of the ammunition in his magazine, screaming in fury as he was hit. He fell to the floor, scrambling to reload his weapon and suppressing the pain.

Huang tried picking himself up just as Zhao neared the Duke. A member of the Guard pointed to Zhao, an officer who did not recognize the rebel as a friend, no doubt. Zhao held in his hand a device, and as the Guards around the Duke turned their rifles on him, he pressed the button. The force of the explosion consumed Zhao and several of the guards, and the concussive blast launched the Duke and several men's bodies across the room. Several other Ministers dog-piled onto the Duke's unconscious, bleeding body. Huang was able to find enough energy to fire three more bursts before he collapsed again to the ground. At his feet, a pool of blood formed. Two rounds found their way into his back, and in his mind he could almost trace their paths through his body. The pain sent him into shock, but bullets did not kill so easily. He knew this. He rolled his tongue around his mouth, feeling for the glass container between his gum and his cheek. Finding it, he bit down hard and swallowed, closing his eyes and hoping that, one day, his family might forgive him.

 

[Khemia]

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The weather in Qiangzuo was never pleasant. Even in the summers, the clouds above unleashed the wrath of Heaven, and the paths that wound across the frontier of the plateau were treacherous. In the moments when the crepuscular rays of the sun dared to crack through the storms, one could always see towards the western horizon the bold might of the Meghalaya's rising up in defiance against the sky, ever capped with snow and a shield against the 'red menace' to the West.

That shield, however, was also a veil. While the number of pathways through the mountains numbered pitifully few, with the Xianbei Gap and Xinhai border being the greatest entrances between the two Toyou states, men still traversed the perilous route through the Meghalaya's to do business. In the summer, this flow of humble merchants increased, the depth of the snow deteriorating to the point that military-grade vehicles were not the only machines powerful enough to plow through the white snow. Wu's mind concentrated on the future, unaware of present threats.

"Comrade Wu," a girl beside him shook him awake, "a checkpoint." She pointed in the distance and surely there were men guarding a post in the middle of nowhere. Wu muttered a few curses under his breath, his scouts had assured him this route would be free of military checkpoints. He had elected to take this part of the journey outside of the uncomfortably cramped quarters of the secret compartment, and now he regretted it.

"Stop the truck!" he demanded.

"But will that not make them suspect us?" she asked. "Maybe they won't recognize us?"

The driver turned to look at the Hongyuhui commander, the vehicle slowing noticeably as the man at the wheel was waiting for the final decision. Wu Jindiao dismissed the girls concerns, "Of one billion Yujiner's, my face is the one everyone in the nation knows, there is no chance. Stop the vehicle!"

The pickup lurched to a halt and Wu quickly scrambled to open the back window and clamber through it. The compartment was below the bed of the pickup, a cramped space that had just enough space for Wu to lay in and find small snacks. Fifteen years on the run had given him an immunity to claustrophobia, but small mistakes such as these were the riskiest. No sooner had he closed the hatch than the truck came to life again. Wu could feel his heart pound as the men at the checkpoint began to ask questions. The driver pleaded that he was just searching for his papers, but the men outside didn't buy it.

Doors opened and slammed shut as the men questioned Wu's colleagues closer. Cursing at himself for not being smarter, sudden barking caused his pulse to quicken even more. Dogs were searching the car, and had inevitably caught his scent. Hands began to knock on the bed of the truck, searching for abnormalities. Wu could hear them clambering into the bed, their footsteps inches away from his face. He was quiet, but to now avail - when the door cranked open and the light shone in, he could do little but shut his eyes from the blinding brightness. They dragged him from his hidey hole and he could see the men - local police - inspecting the other 3 people that had been in the vehicle. He looked down to Saiya, the girl whose smile only hours before had brightened his day as he left the siheyuan.

"Wu Jindiao," one of the officers whispered in astonishment. It only took minutes for the officers to quickly shuffle the four members of the Hongyuhui into the police vehicle and shuttle them off to jail.

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Fu Bashi regretted his line of work. He had been an exemplary student, he had graduated with honors and moved on to the prestigious Ying Military Academy. There, he had excelled in strategy and intelligence. He had, however, had the misfortune of a midnight tryst with the daughter of a high ranking officer of the Court, and for that he had been prematurely expelled and relegated to the life of a police officer in the State of Ying. It was pitiful work - officers were regarded as corrupt officials who neither enforced the law nor deterred crime; instead, the police were a pestilence on the people, a facade put forward by the government to appear modern when, in fact, all police work was actually carried out by the military.

As such, the cracking sound that came when his baton struck that back of the head of a striking factory worker was not that associated with justice, but instead oppression. His personification as a villain was only reinforced. It was little wonder that every one of the riot police wore face masks to hide their identity, to safeguard their families from the repercussions. His badge glistened in the sunlight as he swung again and again, screaming at those people whose lots in life he sympathized with. Fu Bashi's father had been a worker in a steel mill - he had died in a fiery accident, leaving him the sole male left alive in his family. It was his duty to carry on the Fu family, but with every broken bone he couldn't help but think of how ashamed his father would be of him. How he dreaded to rejoin his family in Heaven.

It was nearing dusk and the demonstrators which had been so active earlier had dispersed, leaving behind miscreants and vagabonds that sought to sow discord and chaos by counter-attacking against the riot police. His job would not be finished until the twilight hours of the morning - he would receive pitifully few hours of sleep - and he would be patrolling this same street tomorrow. He doubted that the blood would even be cleaned by then, unless the monsoonal rains drove in a storm that would give him his recompense and wash away the stains that reminded him of the tyrant he had become.

He passed the time between the beatings by thinking back to his partner, Lü Bie. The man standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the line, beating back the oppressed, was entirely different than the boy he had watched grow into a man. The man he knew was good and honest, he too had a family; a wife and children and parents. Behind the black balaklava was a caring man, but that man had disappeared recently. Since the Duke had been shot, both of their worlds had turned upside down. Now, they were truly the criminals that the people saw. Xiong Qirui was still in the hospital - none had heard a word of his condition since the 7-1-9 Incident, and the military had begun to seize control of power in his absence.

 

[Khemia]

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The jail cell in the backwater Qiangzuo village was unpleasant and dank; the barred windows lacked glass and the cold rain often found its way onto his face in the midst of the night. The bunk itself was bolted into the cement floor, and the toilet was broken and clogged with feces and urine. Wu tossed and turned throughout the night, the room entirely unlit save for the moonlight struggling to pierce the clouds.

"Wu...," a girls voice whispered, "are you okay?"

He knew the voice. It was that of his daughter, Saiya. He closed his eyes tight, cursing himself for getting her into this mess as well. "I'm sorry, Saiya. I didn't intend for this to happen."

"Bàba, don't worry. I'm sure that the Hongyuhui will strike here soon to free us," she reassured him. He smiled in the darkness, knowing her words were nothing more than a hollow reassurance to herself and him. A light flicked on at the end of the hallway, the room that entered into the jail had come to life. His comrades stood up in their cells, grim faces watching as the jailers approached Wu's cell.

"Wu," one of them muttered, kicking the cell door. "The commander wants a word, get up."

"Qǐ! Qǐ! Qǐ!" another officer yelled when Wu failed to respond, taking his keys and unlocking the door.

"Hǎo, hǎo," Wu Jindiao muttered as he sat up in the cot. "What does he need with me?"

"You'll find out soon enough," the police officer muttered as two of them seized him by either arm and dragged him from his cell and down the hall.

"Where are you taking him?!" his daughter cried out. The others joined in unison, protesting his treatment, but the gate at the end of the hallway shut hard.

"Zhùkǒu! You criminals will have your punishment soon as well!" one of the officers spit back, and soon the light of the room was shut off, leaving his comrades in darkness. The officers picked him up by his arms and feet and carried him up the stairs like a pig to the slaughter. He kept his eyes open and was mindful of his location; how many turns were taken and the distance traveled. One would never know when such information was necessary. It also dampened the humiliation he felt as he was slammed into a chair before a man dressed in a worn uniform, his aged eyes looking into Wu for some insight into the Communist masterminds plans.

"Wu Jindiao," he said with a sense of finality. "You are the number on capital criminal in the country." The commander of the precinct looked to his lieutenants and nodded, "Cuff him to the chair and wait outside."

The men obliged, and Wu found the position he was in quite uncomfortable. "You know my name, commander. It is only fair that the accused knows the name of his accuser."

The commander nodded as he moved around the desk to sit beside Wu. "Very well, I am Ma Yiying. Commander of Rutog Precinct," he raised an eyebrow and put a hand on Wu's shoulder. "Wu Jindiao. You are a criminal, but you are to both be hated," he paused, "and admired. You have been on the run, fighting the Ying for more than a decade - you are hated, feared, loved. One day, I feel, men may recite poems about your deeds."

Ma Yiying shook his head in amusement and walked to the door where his lieutenants took glances through the windows beside the door. He nodded to them, grabbing the string to let the blinds close before coming back to Wu. "The reward on your head, Mister Wu, is ten million yuan. Shí bǎiwàn kuài! Do you know how many years worth of Commanders pay that is?" Wu looked down to the table, shaking his head. "Five hundred and eighty years worth of pay. Enough to provide for my family for generations, to pay off the debts of Rutog for decades. It would make me the richest man in the West."

"Then give me over to the government," Wu said, not wanting to sit through the conversation much longer.

"Ten million yuan, Mister Wu, is nothing but money. Your merits, your deeds, will be much longer-lasting than money that will make me the envy - the target - of every man in Yujin. Before I make a decision, tell me Mister Wu, why you fight."

Wu Jindiao sighed, his eyes still cast down. "Yujin was once a glorious nation, Mister Ma. Once respected throughout the east. But for a hundred years it has suffered from a calamity, a disaster that has persisted and become a cancer. There was once a chance for a change, seventy years ago when the War ended. But ambitious men squandered this opportunity, they established their own kingdoms. They tore my country into pieces."

"Mister Wu, you say that Yujin suffers a calamity, but are we not alive? Do we not progress? The West looks to us for aid in attacking Boliatur, they look to us as a rock upon which to build a campaign against terrorism," Ma Yiying stated.

"No, they look to use us. We have nothing to gain from this campaign except to sell ourselves out to the West, to permit their ambitions; to give legitimacy to tyrants. For decades Ying has oppressed their people, driven them into poverty and plundering wealth to permit the Xiong family to live extravagantly," he paused, looking at Commander Ma. "Mister Ma, are you a Christian?"

Ma took a moment, raising his eyebrow as though to gauge Wu's intent before nodding his head in the affirmative. "Qiangzuo has long been the homeland of Eastern Christianity," Wu Jindiao continued, "but now, the government does not give these people their representation. Have you not felt this repression? You are a man of talent, intelligent and crafty - you and your men were the ones that captured me. Your vigilance outsmarted my own organizations intelligence, surely you deserve a position higher than Commander of some countryside precinct away from civilization."

Ma nodded in agreement, letting out a soft grunt. "Yes, I have been in this office for fifteen years now. I have been overlooked for promotions, even though my precinct has the lowest crime rate in the province. I thought it might be because no one has taken notice, but you might be right. Most of those above me are from the East."

"Precisely. In Lian, it is worse. The provincial leaders openly deny the people their wants, they openly provide Yu peoples with tax benefits. In Xianbei, the Emir's do not even choose their own yiyuans. But even the Yu peoples in the Cliques suffer. Look at the prosperity given to the West. Do you know why they are prosperous?" the Communist Wu asked.

The Commander laughed. "Because their capitalist system works?"

"No. We, too, have capitalism. It is because of equality. Our governments foster inequality, but in the West, people can express themselves."

"Then doesn't the Republican model proposed by Tang Shishang suit best? It serves everyone."

Wu shook his head, his hands still tied to the chair. "No, a Republic will only divide the people. The minorities want their desires fulfilled, and the Yu want theirs. Only a system dedicated to the people as a whole can fulfill everyone's needs; a Republic would just encourage people to do what's best for themselves, and not the people as a whole. Imagine, what if the people of this Republic decide that Christian holidays are not 'in keeping with the culture of Yujin' and ban it? How would you feel having the principles of others be dictated to you?"

Ma Yiying nodded his head in agreement, but looked quizzically at Wu. "If your principles were the ones accepted by all, then why haven't you won this war of yours yet?"

"I fight because others cannot. I fight because I am willing to lose everything, but many people in this country cling on to what little they have. I will not ask them to give up what they have to fight - they would give up more than their property. I have no doubt that they would lose everything; their families and lives... I can not demand that from the people. I would stoop to the level of the devil Xiong."

Ma nodded his head slowly and let out a sigh. "I respect you, Wu Jindiao. You are an honorable man, a hero. But I have to look out for the best interests of myself and my men. Ten million yuan would make Rutog prosperous. I simply cannot pass this opportunity."

Wu nodded his head. "I trust you will follow the path Heaven sets before you, Commander; as I have always done. You are an honorable man."

Ma Yiyuan rose from the desk solemnly and walked to the door, slamming on it several times and permitting the lieutenants to enter. Wu did not fuss as they dragged him back down to the dungeon below.