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[A quiet corner of the Koguryan market] The stalls are nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of cooked pork and the smoke of oil lamps. You set a small cloth upon the ground, lay out three weathered coins, and draw a curious crowd. The coins clink as they fall, their sound sharp in the silence. I speak slowly, my voice carrying just enough for Suni to hear over the murmur of passersby: Suni butcher of Koguryo.. your blade is keen, your stall heavy with meat, yet the signs tell me the work is not done. You stand in a moment of completion-but not safety. The fox that hurries across the ford finds its tail wet; the wheel that turns too hard snaps in its own hub. Begin with care, guard your bonds, and when the time comes to end, end cleanly-lest your head be crowned with misfortune's water. But mark this: beyond the strain, there is release. Storm clouds gather, and when they break, the ropes that bind you- be they debts, rivals, or shadows will fall away. Cut away the fat, Suni. Travel light. When the lightning strikes, the open path will be yours to claim before any others feet touch it. The coins rest on the cloth, their faces glinting in the lamps glow. The market resumes its bustle, but the message lingers in the air like the scent of blood and rain. ..:ZenSi | |