Once he had covered the flute with dirt and finished giving it a proper burial, Akim fished around in the breast of his garment. “Congratulations. This closes the book on your own revenge.”
He unfolded a piece of scrap paper on which he and Genyou had once written their memorandum. It listed both parties’ names, the promised remuneration, the responsibilities of the job, and the following termination clause:
Contract valid until both parties have taken their vengeance.
“I’m astounded that you’ve kept such good care of that worthless piece of scrap paper.”
“What can I say? I’m a former merchant. I like to keep my employment contracts.”
Twenty-five years ago, one half of the pair had been an ordinary prince, and the other had been a mere merchant. The morning of the former emperor’s murder, they had become the emperor and his spy. Now, decades later, that bond of theirs was coming to an end.
Still crouching, Akim ripped up the memorandum and let the shreds fly away like cherry blossom petals in the wind. As the men sat side by side, one watching the fluttering scraps of paper and the other staring at the mound of dirt, a long silence fell between them.
Akim was the one to break it, his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. “So, how’re you feeling?”
“Invigorated.”
“Hmm. Hate to tell you this, but that’ll pass in three days.” After dropping that offhand comment, Akim flicked his gaze to the emperor and tacked on a consolation. “Well, you’re pretty obsessive, so maybe you can drag out the good times for three whole months.”
“That hardly helps,” Genyou muttered, disgruntled.
Shoulders shaking with mirth, Akim hooted, “I’m your predecessor in revenge, so trust me on this one!” Once his laughter died down, he said, “Say, after getting into it with the Maidens and their friends, I realized something: Kids these days really know how to get revenge.”
Genyou furrowed his brow and said nothing. Neither did he interrupt, so Akim took that as permission to keep talking.
“How to describe it? They act fast, I guess. If someone hits them, they hit right back. That one Maiden especially. If you dunk her in water, she dunks you back. If you trick her, she tricks you back.” Reminded of how Kou Keikou had taken swift retribution for the murder of his birds, he added, “Well, maybe it’s got more to do with her being a Kou than her age.”
Genyou nodded silently. Gomei had also been of Kou descent, and he had hurled a brush on the spot to punish his younger brother’s arrogance, just as he had unflinchingly ordered the execution of someone who came for his life.
“They give as good as they get, see? But then they move right on to the next thing and make sure they find happiness. When I saw that, I realized they had the right idea.” With a quiet chuckle, Akim recalled how cheerfully the group had left the hill behind. “Kind people love to say, ‘Nothing good ever comes of vengeance.’ Or sometimes, ‘Living well is the best revenge.’ I always dismissed that as a bunch of empty platitudes, but I get where they’re coming from now. Both of those things are true.”
“After all this time, you mean to tell me that revenge is meaningless?”
“No. It’s absolutely essential. The two platitudes only become true when you combine ’em. Only once you’ve taken your vengeance and found your own happiness is your revenge truly complete.”
Akim had gone a roundabout way of making his point, but his argument made sense. Nothing good could come of vengeance alone. Revenge wouldn’t truly count until you lived well. Hence, the correct answer was to strike back against your enemies right away and move along to finding your own happiness.
“By that logic, the revenge I’ve considered long over is actually only half complete. I may have killed all my enemies, but I never tried to live my own life.”
The wind whipped Akim’s hair back, exposing the tattoo on his temple. His face changed with every mission, and no one had ever suspected a thing. How could they? He had never let anyone into his life.
“You’re probably headed down the same path I’ve walked,” he said.
The same applied to Genyou. He had devoted his whole life to revenge, never opened his heart to anyone, and never even built a relationship with his own son.
Genyou fell silent. Akim observed this with a chuckle, then dusted his robes and rose to his feet.
“On that note, I have a proposal for you.” This ceremonious preamble was a callback to their conversation twenty-five years ago. Akim could only wonder if Genyou would make the connection. “Would you care to become my friend?”
“Come again?”
At that, Akim burst out laughing. Genyou’s response had clearly been automatic, but it was identical to his own words back then.
“On that note, I have a proposal for you. Would you care to become one of my personal spies?”
“Come again?”
That day, that morning, what did he look like when he asked me to be his spy? Akim wished he could imitate details like the man’s expression, the way he’d held out that paper, and his infuriatingly matter-of-fact delivery, but alas, it had all faded from his memory.
But that was fine. The relationship they were about to form didn’t call for a contract. It wouldn’t suit their future selves to do things the same way they had twenty-five years ago.
“A ‘friend,’ really? You sound like a child.”
“Hey, cut me some slack. I couldn’t think of any better ideas. My wife always used to say that making friends is the best way to enjoy life.”
“For instance…if you make a friend in the neighborhood, you get to see them all year long. That sounds like a lot of fun to me.”
As Fatma’s words played back in his head, Akim was relieved to find that he still remembered the bright bounce to her voice. He also took that moment to offer her an unspoken apology. His big sister—his uka—had foreseen how quick he would be to give up on life. After how much she had worried for him, he had spent far too long allowing her fears to come true, never once making an effort to find happiness.
“Ridiculous,” said Genyou. “Just look at what our relationship has been. Supposing we start calling each other friends now, what would that even entail?”
“Beats me.”
Akim’s first response to the criticism was to think, How should I know? Upon reflection, however, he realized his wife had given him the answer to that question as well.
“I bet the people here share drinks just because it’s sunny out or whoop for joy just because it’s a warm day.”
In his mind’s eye, familiar dark-brown eyes sparkled with joy.
“Well, we could always share drinks when it’s sunny out. Or maybe whoop for joy when it’s a warm day?”
“Sounds pointless. Do you think I have that much time on my hands?”
His suggestion dismissed out of hand, Akim cracked a smile at the irony. “Dhal,” he says. I’m afraid this isn’t going to work, Fatma. He and I think too much alike.
Akim had no interest in forcing the matter. He wasn’t one to play at friendship to begin with.
“Well, it was just a thought,” he muttered before turning to leave.
He would head downhill and depart the imperial capital. Nothing was tying him to this place anymore: no promises to keep and no people to see.
“Akim,” Genyou suddenly called out, and it surprised Akim enough to halt his steps.
Upon turning around, Akim found that Genyou had also gotten to his feet. His jet-black Gen eyes were boring straight into his former spy.
For a while, the emperor just stood there, expressionless, until he suddenly raised both hands in the air. He then turned his face skyward to bask in the sun’s rays.
“The world is bathed in light today,” he said.
The comment wasn’t meant as a tribute to Gomei. It was his own way of saying, It’s sunny out.
Realizing as much, Akim cracked a grin. “Yeah. I’d better bring us some booze to celebrate.”
“It’s also quite warm.”
“Woo-hoo!”
The exchange was as stiff and contrived as could be.
Overcome with mirth, Akim clutched his stomach and doubled over with laughter. “The hell are we doing? We sound like a pair of old geezers!”
“It was your idea.”
“Got me there!”
The offended scowl on the overserious man’s face only added to the humor of the scene. Akim had to wipe his eyes as he wept from laughing too hard.
“Forget it,” Genyou said, whirling away in a huff.
“Wait up, Genyou!” Akim hurriedly called after him.
No one but Gomei had ever been allowed to call Genyou by his given name, especially after he became emperor. But as the man’s brazen head spy, longtime partner in revenge, and now friend, Akim had no qualms about using it.
It didn’t take long for Akim to catch up to his surly-faced friend, and thus did the pair walk down Sunlit Bliss Hill side by side.