Silk and Ashes
Copyright© 2026 by Komiko Yakamura
Chapter 5
The Jin-Controlled Territories, Western Border, Late 305 AD
Something was wrong.
Xiào Wèi had known it for the last three days, though he couldn’t name it yet. Just a feeling—the kind soldiers learned to trust or die ignoring.
The border crossing had been too easy. No patrols. No inspections. The guard post they’d passed two days ago had been abandoned, its gate hanging open, fires cold.
And the refugees. They’d passed dozens in the last week—families with everything they owned on their backs, moving west. Away from China. Away from something.
He called a halt in a sheltered valley, where a monastery carved into the cliff face offered temporary refuge. The monks were Buddhist, neutral in the empire’s conflicts, willing to shelter travelers for a modest donation.
Wei Shu approached as the men began unloading the camels. “Something’s not right.”
“I know.” Xiào Wèi watched another group of refugees trudge past on the road below—gaunt faces, haunted eyes. “We’re two weeks from Luoyang. I should be seeing imperial patrols, trade caravans, tax collectors. Instead, I’m seeing people fleeing.”
“The War of the Princes?”
“Maybe. Or something worse.” He made a decision. “Choose two men. Fast riders, fluent in the local dialects. Send them ahead to Luoyang. I want to know what’s happening before we walk into it.”
“And the rest of us?”
“We wait here. The monks will let us stay—they don’t care about politics, only donations. We rest, we resupply, and we wait for intelligence.”
Wei Shu nodded and went to select the scouts.
Xiào Wèi looked over at Claudia, who was helping Valeria down from the camel. The child was chattering in Chinese, pointing at the monastery caves with wonder.
“Māma, kàn! Big caves!”
“Yes, little one. Very big.” Claudia switched to Latin. “Can you say ‘cave’ in Latin?”
“Um ... spelunca?”
“Good! And in Greek?”
“Spē ... spēlaion?”
“Very good!” Claudia hugged her.
Xiào Wèi watched them and felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. Somewhere in the last ten months, his mission had become something else. This child wasn’t a political tool anymore. She was—
He cut the thought off. The mission was the mission. They’d present her to Sima Yong, receive their reward, and return to their regular duties.
Except his instincts were screaming that something had gone very, very wrong.
The Monastery
Five Days Later
The scouts returned at dawn, their horses lathered and exhausted.
Xiào Wèi met them in the monastery’s courtyard. One look at their faces told him everything he needed to know.
“Report.”
The first scout—a man named Zhao—dismounted with visible relief. “Luoyang is burning, sir.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “Explain.”
“Sima Yong is dead. Killed three months ago by Sima Yue’s forces. The city changed hands twice since then. When we arrived, it was under siege—we couldn’t get close. But we spoke to refugees. The stories...” He shook his head. “The War of the Eight Princes has destroyed everything. The Emperor is a puppet being dragged from camp to camp. Half the noble families are dead. The other half are killing each other.”
The second scout added, “There’s no government, sir. No functioning administration. Just warlords fighting over scraps. Anyone associated with Sima Yong’s faction is being executed.”
Xiào Wèi stood very still, processing this. His mission had been to bring the child to Sima Yong’s court. To present her as proof of the Prince’s reach and legitimacy.
Sima Yong was dead.
His court was destroyed.
Anyone who showed up claiming to have completed his mission would be executed as his supporter.
And the child—a foreign princess with imperial blood—would be valuable to whoever captured her. Valuable as a hostage, a bargaining chip, a symbol to display or destroy depending on political need.
“How bad is it?” he asked quietly.
“Sir...” Zhao’s voice was grim. “The empire is falling apart. This isn’t a war anymore. It’s collapse.”
Xiào Wèi dismissed the scouts and walked to the edge of the cliff, looking out over the valley below. Behind him, the monastery hummed with quiet activity—monks chanting, travelers sleeping, normal life continuing as if the world wasn’t ending.
Wei Shu found him there an hour later.
“You heard?”
“I heard.”
“What do we do?”
Xiào Wèi was silent for a long moment. Then: “We were ordered to take the child to Sima Yong. Sima Yong is dead. We were ordered to present her to the Emperor’s court. There is no court—just chaos and warlords. If we bring her to Luoyang, she’ll be seized, used, probably killed when she’s no longer useful.”
“So we abandon the mission?”
“The mission is already dead. It died with Sima Yong.” He turned to face Wei Shu. “The question is: what do we do with her now?”
Wei Shu looked back at the monastery, where Claudia was teaching Valeria some sort of clapping game, the child’s laughter echoing off the stone walls.
“She’s just a baby,” Wei Shu said quietly. “She didn’t choose any of this.”
“No. She didn’t.” Xiào Wèi made his decision. “I can’t deliver her to chaos. I won’t. She’d be dead within a month, or worse—used as a political tool until she was no longer useful, then disposed of.”
“So what do you propose?”
“I take her somewhere safe. Somewhere far from Luoyang, far from the fighting. I raise her until this madness passes.” He looked at Wei Shu. “My family estate is in Sichuan—remote, defensible, far enough from the capital that warlords haven’t reached it yet. I’ll take her there. Claudia too—the child needs her.”
“And us?”
“I release you from the mission. All of you. Scatter, find your own way, try to survive this collapse. Staying together makes us a target—a group of Sima Yong’s agents will be hunted. But alone, you can disappear.”
Wei Shu considered this. “Some of the men won’t want to separate. We’ve been together for over a year.”
“Then they can come to Sichuan with me. My estate is large enough. But I won’t order it—each man chooses for himself.”
“And when the empire stabilizes? When there’s a functioning government again?”
“Then we reassess. Maybe I present her to whoever’s in power. Maybe I don’t. Maybe by then she’s old enough to choose for herself.” Xiào Wèi shook his head. “Right now, all I know is I can’t throw her to the wolves.”
Wei Shu smiled slightly. “You care about her.”
“I care about not wasting a year of work and five thousand miles of travel by getting her killed in some warlord’s political game.” But even as he said it, he knew it was more than that.
The child had become something to him. Not just a mission. Not just a tool.
Something that mattered.
“Gather the men,” he said. “I’ll tell them.”
That Evening
The twenty men who’d traveled from Luoyang to Thessalonica and back gathered in the monastery’s hall. Most had already heard rumors about what the scouts found. Their faces were grim.
Xiào Wèi stood before them and didn’t waste words.
“Sima Yong is dead. Luoyang is chaos. The empire is collapsing. Our mission cannot be completed—there’s no one to present the child to, and attempting to do so would get us all killed.”
Murmurs ran through the group.
“I’m releasing you from service. Each man is free to go his own way. Take your share of the remaining gold, scatter, try to survive this collapse. Staying together makes us targets.”
He paused. “However. I’m taking the child to my family estate in Sichuan. It’s remote, defensible, and far enough from the fighting to be safe. Any man who wants to come with me is welcome. You’ll have shelter, food, and protection until this madness ends. But I won’t order it. Each man decides for himself.”
Silence.
Then one of the younger operatives spoke up. “What happens to the child?”
“I raise her. Keep her safe. When the empire stabilizes—if it stabilizes—we’ll decide what to do with her then.”
“And the Roman woman?”
“She comes with me. The child needs her.”
Wei Shu stepped forward. “I’ll come to Sichuan.”
Another man: “I will too. I have no family, nowhere else to go.”
A third: “My wife’s family is in Sichuan. I was planning to go there anyway.”
In the end, six men chose to come with Xiào Wèi. The other fourteen took their shares of gold and scattered—some heading south, some west, some simply disappearing into the chaos of a fragmenting empire.
Xiào Wèi watched them go without regret. Smaller groups survived better than large ones in times like this.
He turned to the six who remained. “We leave tomorrow at dawn. Sichuan is three weeks’ travel south. Stay alert—bandits and deserters will be everywhere.”
They dispersed to prepare.
Xiào Wèi found Claudia in one of the monastery’s guest cells, getting Valeria ready for sleep.
“We’re not going to Luoyang,” he said without preamble.
Claudia looked up sharply. “What?”
“The empire has collapsed. The prince who ordered this mission is dead. There’s no one to present her to, and bringing her to Luoyang would get her killed.” He sat down on the stone bench. “I’m taking her to my family estate in Sichuan. It’s safe there—remote, away from the fighting. You’ll come with us.”
“You’re ... keeping her?”
“I’m protecting her until this madness passes.” He met Claudia’s eyes. “She’s three years old. She didn’t choose to be kidnapped, didn’t choose to be a political tool. I won’t deliver her to chaos and watch her be used and destroyed.”
Claudia’s hands stilled on the child’s hair. “What about your family? Your wife?”
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