Rf Kuang Poppy War Quotes

War doesn't determine who's right. War determines who remains.

Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.

I have become something wonderful, she thought. I have become something terrible. Was she now a goddess or a monster? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.

She’s the only divine thing he’s ever believed in. The only creature in this vast, cruel land who could kill him. And sometimes, in his loveliest dreams, he imagines she does.

Ruin me, ruin us, and I’ll let you.

Oh, but history moved in such vicious circles.

They were monsters!" Rin shrieked. "They were not human!" "Have you ever considered" he said slowly "that that was exactly what they thought of us?

Children ceased to be children when you put a sword in their hands. When you taught them to fight a war, then you armed them and put them on the front lines, they were not children anymore. They were soldiers.

Take what you want. I’ll hate you for it. But I’ll love you forever. I can’t help but love you.

You humans always think you’re destined for things, for tragedy or for greatness. Destiny is a myth. Destiny is the only myth. The gods choose nothing. You chose.

I don't love you. And I can kill anything.

We aren’t here to be sophisticated. We’re here to fuck people up.

You can’t do this for me,” he said. “I won’t let you.” “It’s not for you. It’s not a favor. It’s the cruelest thing I could do.

She was a goddess. She was a monster. She‘d nearly destroyed this country. And then she‘d given it one last, gasping chance to live.

Great danger is always associated with great power. The difference between the great and the mediocre is that the great are willing to take the risk.

She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

People will seek to use you or destroy you. If you want to live, you must pick a side. So do not shirk from war, child. Do not flinch from suffering. When you hear screaming, run toward it.

Between us, we have the fire and the water. I'm quite sure that together, we can take on the wind.

She liked listening to Nezha talk. He was so hopeful, so optimistic, and so stupid.

He brushed his lips against her forehead as he drove the knife deeper into her back.

I am the force of creation, I am the end and the beginning. The world is a painting and I hold the brush. I am a god.

The point of revenge wasn’t to heal. The point was that the exhilaration, however temporary, drowned out the hurt.

It’s easy to be brave. Harder to know when not to fight.

Dying was easy. Living was so much harder—that was the most important lesson Altan had ever taught her.

Rin was so tired of having to prove her humanity.

Well, fuck the heavenly order of things. If getting married to a gross old man was her preordained role on this earth, then Rin was determined to rewrite it.

If there is a divine creator, some ultimate moral authority, then why do bad things happen to good people? And why would this deity create people at all, since people are such imperfect beings?

When man begins to think that he is responsible for writing the script of the world, he forgets the forces that dream up our reality.

You don't fix hurts by pretending they never happened. You treat them like infected wounds. You dig deep with a burning knife and gouge out the rotten flesh and then, maybe, you have a chance to heal.

He loves her. Of this he’s certain.

I don't need your pity. I need you to kill them for me. You have to kill them for me," Venka hissed. "Swear it. Swear on your blood that you will burn them.

But eventually, you'll have to ask yourself precisely what you're fighting for. And you'll have to find a reason to live past vengeance.

You asked how large my sorrow is. And I answered, like a river in spring flowing east.

Power dictates acceptability,

In all of his worst nightmares, she’s dying. She’s fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This, he tells her. He doesn’t tell her that his hand holds the blade.

Come back down,” he said, his expression suddenly grim. His fingers clenched tight around hers. “Listen, Rin. I don’t care what else happens up there. But you come back to me.

It doesn’t go away. It never will. But when it hurts, lean into it. It’s so much harder to stay alive. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live. It means you’re brave.

He can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

What’s the worst that could happen?” “You’re so young,” he said softly. “You have no idea.

She remembered the first time she'd ever laid eyes on Nezha, and then all the times thereafter. It hurt to see him. It hurt so much.

If nothing lasted and the world did not exist, all that meant was that reality was not fixed. The illusion she lived in was fluid and mutable, and could be easily altered by someone willing to rewrite the script of reality.

Fear was impossible to eradicate. But so was the will to survive.

Don’t try to speak,” Nezha murmurs, because it’ll kill him if she does. Because his resolve is only so strong, and if she utters another word then he’ll be lost.

He loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes too quick, like it’s ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She’s everything he’s not: unbound, reckless, free. He’s never known anyone like her. She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

I mean, if that ship were a person, I would fuck that ship,” said Baji.

If you're focused only on your enemy's weapon, you'll always be on the defensive. Look past the weapon to your target. Focus on what you want to kill.

Supernatural is a word for anything that doesn't fit your present understanding of the world.

I am a mortal who has woken up, and there is power in awareness.

Amateurs obsess over strategy, Irjah had once told their class. Professionals obsess over logistics

If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own.

Immigrants, we get the job done. (Acknowlegments)

She recognized the way he was looking at her. It was how she’d once looked at Altan. It was the way she’d seen Daji look at Riga—that look of wretched, desperate, and reproachful loyalty. It said, Do it. Take what you want, it said. I’ll hate you for it. But I’ll love you forever. I can’t help but love you. Ruin me, ruin us, and I’ll let you.

The anger was a shield. The anger helped her to keep from remembering what she'd done. Because as long as she was angry, then it was okay — she'd acted within reason. She was afraid that if she stopped being angry, she might crack apart.

Our dead don't leave us. They'll hunt you as long as you let them.

I‘m exactly what they deserve,” she said. “They don‘t want peace, they want revenge. I‘m it.

But the boy already had a god of his own. And the gods were selfish.

This is a test, and Rin is failing, and his heart is breaking.

She knew with certainty that she'd lost Nezha forever.

She's the only divine thing he's ever believed in. The only creature in this vast, cruel land who could kill him. And sometimes, in his loveliest dreams, he imagines she does.

She saw it in a flash of utter clarity. She knew what she had to do. The only path, the only way forward. And what a familiar path it was. It was so obvious now. The world was a dream of the gods, and the gods dreamed in sequences, in symmetry, in patterns. History repeated itself, and she was only the latest iteration of the same scene in a tapestry that had been spun long before her birth.

This was not a world of men. It was a world of gods, a time of great powers. It was the era of divinity walking in man, of wind and water and fire. And in warfare, she who held the power asymmetry was the inevitable victor.

She had a weapon now. She wasn't defenseless against him. She'd never been defenseless. She had just never thought to look.

But I warn you, little warrior. The price of power is pain.

I think we’re about to be handed off,” Baji said. “It was nice knowing you all. Except you, Chaghan. You’re weird.

They can't say her name in his presence. He's never made this a rule. But for some reason, none of them dare.

We don't die so much as we return to the void. We dissolve. We lose our ego. We change from being just one thing to becoming everything. Most of us, at least.

He knew exactly what choice she'd made and what she intended. And that made everything- hating her, loving her, surviving her, so much harder.

Problem?” Nezha asked. “No, just a question. Have you ever considered being less of a pretentious fuck?

Let them think of us as dirt, Rin thought. She was dirt. Her army was dirt. But dirt was common, ubiquitous, and patient, and necessary. The soil gave life to the country. And the earth always reclaimed what it was owed.

Nothing is written," said the Phoenix. "You humans always think you're destinied for greatness. Destiny is a myth. Destiny is the only myth. The gods choose nothing. You chose. You chose to take the exam. You chose to come to Sinegard. You chose to pledge Lore, you chose to study the paths of the gods, and you chose to follow your commander's demands over your master's warnings. At every critical juncture you were given an option; you were given a way out. Yet you picked precisely the roads that led you here. You are at this temple, kneeling before me, only because you wanted to be.

Who is the true god?" ... She's the only divine thing he's ever believed in.

You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” She leaned down close until her lips brushed his skin, until her breath scorched the side of his face. “I’m not Sinegardian elite. I’m that savage mud-skinned Speerly bitch that wiped a country off the map. And sometimes when I get a little too angry, I snap.

They believe in a singular and all-powerful deity, which means they cannot accept the truth of other gods. And when nations start to believe that other beliefs lead to damnation, violence becomes inevitable.

Life and death, they're equal to this cosmos. We enter the material world and we go away again, reincarnated into something better.

You will die thinking I have abandoned you all. But I do not hesitate to say that I value the lives of my people far more than I have ever valued you.

All these years trying to find a way to kill himself, and here’s someone who might actually finish the job. And somehow, paradoxically, this is the most he’s ever wanted to be alive. This is the first time in an eternity that he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning

Theirs was a bond forged from necessity, hurt, and a shared, intimate understanding of hell.

Ah. I get it.” Baji gave her a curious look. “You’re in love.” “Don’t be disgusting.

Hate was its own kind of fire and if you had nothing else, it kept you warm.

Sring Venka was a prim, spoiled Sinegardian princess turned lethal soldier turned brittle survivor; of course she’d walk into a war zone with red paint on her lips simply because she felt like it.

If you were the victim, what could you say to make your tormentor recognize you as human? How did you get your enemy to recognize you at all?

Nothing lasts,'" said Nezha, at the same time that Kitay said, "'The world doesn't exist.

It's not about who you are, it's about how they see you. And once you're mud in this country, you're always mud.

Amateurs obsessed over strategy, and professionals obsessed over logistics.

But how does the existence or nonexistence of the gods affect me? Why does it matter how the universe came to be?" "Because you're part of it. Because you exist. And unless you want to only ever be a tiny modicum of existence that doesn't understand its relation to the grander web of things, you will explore.

War was not a game, where one fought for honor and admiration, where masters would keep her from sustaining any real harm. War was a nightmare.

Sir?” Kitay asked. The magistrate turned to look at him. “What?” With a grunt, Kitay raised the crate over his head and flung it to the ground. It landed on the dirt with a hard thud, not the tremendous crash Rin had rather been hoping for. The wooden lid of the crate popped off. Out rolled several very nice porcelain teapots, glazed with a lovely flower pattern. Despite their tumble, they looked unbroken. Then Kitay took to them with a slab of wood. When he was done smashing them, he pushed his wiry curls out of his face and whirled on the sweating magistrate, who cringed in his seat as if afraid Kitay might start smashing at him, too. “We are at war,” Kitay said. “And you are being evacuated because for gods know what reason, you’ve been deemed important to this country’s survival. So do your job. Reassure your people. Help us maintain order. Do not pack your fucking teapots.

Jiang was wrong. She was not dabbling in forces she could not control, for the gods were not dangerous. The gods had no power at all, except what she gave them. The gods could affect the universe only through humans like her. Her destiny had not been written in the stars, or in the registers of the Pantheon. She had made her choices fully and autonomously. And though she called upon the gods to aid her in battle, they were her tools from beginning to end. She was no victim of destiny. She was the last Speerly, commander of the Cike, and a shaman who called the gods to do her bidding. And she would call the gods to do such terrible things.

How could she compare the lives lost? One genocide against another—how did they balance on the scale of justice? And who was she, to imagine that she could make that comparison?

And you think you're on the brink of madness, you think that this moment is going to be when you finally snap, but it's not. "How do you know that?" "Because it gets easier every time. Eventually you learn to exist on the precipice of insanity.

I received both these scars from men I thought I loved,” Rin said. “One is dead now. One will be.

Do it. Take what you want, it said, I'll hate you for it. But I'll love you forever. I can't help but love you. Ruin me, ruin us, and I'll let you.

There’s no space for Rin in the world they’re trying to build, and the unavoidable truth of this kills him.

You poor thing," she said. "What are you talking about?" he asked. She just hugged him tighter. She didn't want this moment to end. She didn't want to have to go. "I just don't want the world to break you.

When she turned, she only saw one silhouette against the dark. Nezha had come alone. Unarmed. He always looked different in the moonlight. His skin shone paler, his features looked softer, resembling less the harsh visage of his father and more the lovely fragility of his mother. He looked younger. He looked like the boy she'd known at school

But ideological purity is a battle cry, it’s not the stable foundation for a unified country. A nation means nothing if it can’t provide for the people in it. You have to act for their sake.

Yet, rin supposed, lovers could still inflict that kind of violence on each other. Hadn't Riga loved Daji? Hadn't Jiang loved Tseveri? Hadn't nezha once loved her?

Well, fuck the heavenly order of things.

I don’t believe in gods,” said Rin. “But I believe in power.

Hey,” Kitay said. “What’s so interesting over there?” “Nothing,” Rin said. “Just gossip. Have you cracked the nature of the cosmos?” “Not yet.” Kitay tossed his stick onto the dirt. “But give me a year or two. I’m getting close.

She'd been so stupid to once think that if she ended the Federation then she'd ended the hurting. War didn't end, not so cleanly - it just kept building up in little hurts that piled on one another until they exploded afresh into raw new wounds.

A rational explanation eluded her. Because the answer could not be rational. It was not founded in military strategy. It was not because of a shortage of food rations, or because of the risk of insurgency or backlash. It was, simply, what happened when one race decided the other was insignificant.

They are, both of them, bound by forces far behind their making: vicious paths that put them in this spot, across each other, never on the same side. Their visions of the future don’t include each other. There is no compromise or neutrality. Only her way. Or his. It doesn’t matter that he loves her. It doesn’t matter. It’s never mattered.

Rin forced the last parts of what was human out of her soul and gave way to her hatred. Hating was so easy. It filled a hole inside her. It let her feel something again. It felt so good.

You let me think you were dead.” “What did you want, a letter? It’s not like it was terribly easy to track you down, either.” “A letter would have been better than bombing my ship!” “Are you ever going to let that go?” “It’s rather a large thing to let go!

I command the Cike.” Chaghan looked sideways at her. His expression was grim. “You are going to paint the world in Altan’s blood, aren’t you?” “I’m going to find and kill everyone responsible,” said Rin. “You cannot stop me.” Chaghan laughed a dry, cutting laugh. “Oh, I’m not going to stop you.” He held out his hand. She grasped it, and the drowned land and the ash-choked sky bore witness to the pact between Seer and Speerly.

Hello.” Baji whistled behind Rin. “Who is that?” “It’s Lady Yin Saikhara,” said Nezha. “Is she married?” Baji asked. Nezha shot him a disgusted look. “That’s my mother.”

Her voice, thin and reedy, faded without echo into the frigid air. But she screamed it again, and then again, and then again. It felt so good to say that she'd survived, that she'd fucking finally come out on top, that she didn't even care that she was screaming to corpses.

I have tamed a land created to wither humans away until they are polished bone. Do not think to defy me.

We are not madmen. But how can we convince anyone of this, when the rest of the world believes it so?

We’re not here to be sophisticated. We’re here to fuck people up.

—and I don’t care if you’re pissed, you can’t throw food at the Dragon Warlord, said Nezha. Kitay’s face was purple with anger. If he was at all relieved to see Nezha alive, he didn’t show it. “Your men tried to blow up my house!” “They tend to do that,” Rin said. “I was still in it!” Kitay cried. “And so we’re my ledgers!” Nezha looked amazed. “Who gives a shit about your ledgers?” “I was doing the city’s taxes.” “What?” Kitay stuck his lower lip out. “And I was almost done.

You never want to hurt them. But you have to. You have to put them through hell, because that’s the only way anyone else will survive.

Are you high?” Ramsa let out a shrill cackle. “Tiger’s tits, Chaghan’s high—” “I’m…not…” “Quick, someone ask him if he’s always constipated or his face just looks that way.

There. A clear opening. Rin raised a leg and kicked out, hard. Her leg caught Nezha in midair with a satisfying whoomph. Nezha uttered an unnatural shriek and clutched his crotch, whimpering. The entire studio fell silent as all heads swiveled in their direction. Nezha clambered to his feet, scarlet-faced. “You—how dare you—” “Just as you said.” Rin dipped her head into a mocking bow. “I only know one kick.

People are fragile and desperate fools. They don’t know what’s real and what’s false, so they’ll cling to their little truths, because it’s better than imagining that their world might not matter so much after all.

I’ve reached behind the canvas, she thought. And now I hold the brush.

So you’re not dying, sweetheart, your body is just shedding it’s uterine lining.” Rin’s jaw had been hanging open for a solid minute. “What the fuck?

You can’t kill a movement.

I know the vision you dreamed of for this nation and I know I may have destroyed it. But my first obligation is not to the unborn people of this country's future, but the people who are suffering now, who pass their days in fear because of the war that you have brought to their doorstep.

Hate was a funny thing. It gnawed at her insides like poison. It made every muscle in her body tense, made her veins boil so hot she thought her head might split in half, and yet it fueled everything she did. Hate was its own kind of fire and if you had nothing else, it kept you warm

She'd always thought [him] so ethereally powerful, so detached from the realm of mortals. But he was human after all, smaller and thinner than the rest of them. And for the first time in his life, he was alone.

Can’t I be happy? I’ve missed you.

She no longer fought from pure rage. She fought to protect him - and that, she had discovered, changed everything.

She wondered if he was going to kiss her now. She didn't know much about being kissed, but if the old stories were anything to judge by, now seemed like a good time. The hero always took his maiden somewhere beautiful and declared his love under the stars. She would have liked Nezha to kiss her, too. She would have liked to share this final memory with him before she fled. But he only stared thoughtfully at her, his mind fixed on something she couldn't guess at.

Because you’re about to be the ones in power,” she says. “And because you never decentralize power once you’ve got it. I wouldn’t.” “Well, we all know you wouldn’t.” She gives him a look. “That’s not my cynicism, Nezha. That’s human nature.

It was a funny thing, how fear made him look so much younger, how it rounded his eyes and erased the cruel grimace of his sneer so that he looked, just for an instant, like the boy she'd first met at Sinegard.

Maybe no one was truly a beast. Maybe that was just how murder became possible. You took away someone’s humanity, and then you killed them.

Weird things,” she said. “We’re studying very weird things.” Jiang raised an eyebrow. “How articulate.

He got plucky," Daji said. "I turned him to mincemeat and sent him back to Vaisra in a dumpling basket." Jiang arched an eyebrow. "Darling, fucking what?

What you don't get to do is to remain neutral.

She began to burn herself again. She found release in the pain; it was comforting, familiar. It was a trade-off she was well used to. Success required sacrifice. Sacrifice meant pain. Pain meant success.

Our world is a dream of the gods. Maybe they have other dreams. But all we have is this story unfolding, and in the script of this world, nothing's going to bring Altan back to life.

What does it matter? They’re coming, and we’re staying, and at the end of the day whoever is alive is the side that wins. War doesn’t determine who’s right. War determines who remains.

Tonight was a borrowed grace, innocent of the future. They sat in miserable and desperate silence, wishing and regretting while the bloody moon traced its ponderous path across the sky.

If she let it linger, then she started to drown, and the only way to make those feelings stop was to burn instead.

Nothing lasts. The world does not exist.

You just have to make it through the next five seconds. Then the next five. Then on and on.

The tides of history had shifted. She had never before believed in fate, but this she came to know with more and more certainty as each day passed: the script of the world was now wholly, inalterably colored by a brilliant crimson streak.

He loves her. Of this he's certain. He loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes too quick, like it's ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She's everything he's not: unbound, reckless, free. He's never known anyone like her. She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts. In all of his worst nightmares, she's dying. She's fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This he tells her. He doesn't tell her that his hand holds the blade.

Call off your men, or I will summon into existence things that should not be in this world

And so religion is merely a social construct in both the east and west,” Rin concluded. “The difference lies in its utility.

This isn’t a garden,” she said. “This is a drug farm.” Now she really wanted to meet the Lore Master. Kitay sat down next to her. “You know, the great shamans of legend used to ingest drugs before battle. Gave them magical powers, so the stories say.” He smiled. “You think that’s what the Lore Master teaches?” “Honestly?” Rin picked at the grass. “I think he just comes in here to get high.

She glanced down at the basin with a deranged satisfaction. Better to get the blood out this way, she thought, all at once, rather than slowly, every month, for years. While she continued to retch, she heard the door to the dormitory open. Someone walked inside and paused in front of her. “You’re insane,” said Venka. Rin glared up at her, blood dripping from her mouth, and smiled.

He can't take his eyes off her. She's the most magnificent thing he's ever seen.

You're so much stronger than I am" said Altan. Then he let her go.

I wonder how you people do it,” Kitay mused. “You know, actually having to try to remember things. Your lives sound so difficult.” “I will murder you with this ink brush,” Rin grumbled.

If your opponent is of choleric temper, you should seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak so that he grows arrogant. The good tactician plays with his enemy like a cat plays with a mouse. Feign weakness and immobility, and then pounce on him.

No one would lift a weapon. No one would fight or flee. Just this night, just this moment, they had entered a liminal space where their past and future did not matter, where they could be the children they used to be.

They’ve all gone completely mad.” “Throes of victory,” Rin said. “Growing pains.” “They’re skinning people alive,” Venka said. “Because they traded little girls for food rations.” “Oh. Fair enough.” Venka flicked an invisible speck of dust from her wrist. “I hope they castrated them, too.

I’m not someone for you to use.

Now she had nothing to do—her future was out of her hands, and knowing that made her feel far worse.

It must be nice, possessing all the power, so that you could approach geopolitics like a chess game, popping in curiously to observe which countries deserved your aid and which didn’t.

It's time," Kitay murmured. Rin stood up. They faced each other, hands clasped between them. "At dawn," she said. "At dawn," he agreed. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. This was their standard way of parting, the way they said everything they never spoke out loud. Fight well. Keep us safe. I love you.

They're not the strongest force in the world," Rin said. She felt the god's presence in the back of her mind—eager, delighted, and at last perfectly aligned with her intentions. Together, spoke the Phoenix, we will burn down this world. She slammed her fist against the table. "I am.

His hand went into the skimmer's hull, an inch from her head. She didn't flinch. She turned her head slowly, trying to pretend her heart wasn't slamming against her chest. 'You missed,' she said calmly. Nehza pulled his hand away from the hull. Blood trickled down his knuckles from four crimson fots. She should have been afraid, but when she searched his face, she couldn't find a shred of anger. Just fear. She had no respect for fear. 'I don't want to hurt you,' he said. 'Of, trust me.' Her lip curled. 'You couldn't.

You’re easily angered, and you latch quickly onto things—opium, people, ideas—that soothe your pain, even temporarily. And that makes you terribly easy to manipulate.” Chaghan

They can't say her name in his presence. He's never made this a rule. But for some reason, none of them dares.

Take what you want. I’ll hate you for it. But I’ll love you forever. I can’t help but love you. Ruin me, ruin us, and I'll let you.

Whatever you’re seeing, whatever you’re feeling, it’s not as strong as you are.

Or maybe, she thought, with stars this bright, if you believed that above you lay the cosmos, then you had to construct a yurt to provide some temporary feeling of materiality. Otherwise, under the weight of swirling divinity, you might feel you had no significance at all.

None of that mattered anymore. They weren't stupid little girls anymore. They weren't students anymore. War had transformed them both into wholly unimaginable creatures, and their relationship had transformed with them.

You love your shamans like your own family, and a knife twists in your heart every time you watch one of them die. But you have to do it. You've got to make the choices no one else can. It's death or the Chuluu Korikh. Commanders cull.

She had bribed a teacher. She had stolen opium. She had burned herself, lied to her foster parents, abandoned her responsibilities at the store, and broken a marriage deal. And she was going to Sinegard.

They’ll make you an outsider, because you’re not like them. That’s okay. Don’t let any of that discourage you. No matter what they say, you deserve to be here.

But as she and Rin had both discovered, the battles were easy. Destroying was easy. The hard part was the aftermath.

On the sixth day, the Empress formally replied that Ryohai could go fuck himself.

Destiny is a myth. Destiny is the only myth. The gods choose nothing. You chose.

Darling, people pay you less attention when you don't leave a trail of bodies in your wake.

She saw how scared he was, trapped and isolated in his own mind, watching his world break down around him because of irrationalities that he could not fix.

She didn’t care about anyone’s visions for the future. She’d stopped wanting to be great, to carve out her place in history, a long time ago. She’d since learned the cost. And she didn’t know how to say that she was just so tired.

in the abstract she knew this truth, that to the cosmos they were fundamentally irrelevant, that they came from dust and returned to dust and ash. And she should have taken comfort in that, but in that moment she didn’t want to be temporary and immaterial;

War didn't end, not so cleanly — it just kept building up in little hurts that piled on one another until they exploded afresh into raw new wounds.

The price of power is pain.

And once you’ve turned your world to ash, you’ll wish you could die.

Jiang whistled. 'Well, that's not a prison.' 'It's worse,' Rin said. 'That's a church.

They would take back the south with sheer numbers. The Mugenese and the Republic were strong, but the south was many. And if southerners were dirt like all the legends said, then they would crush their enemies with the overwhelming force of the earth until they could only dream of breathing. They would bury them with their bodies. They would drown them in their blood.

If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own. Once you accept the title of ruler, your choices are made for you.

Rin wasn’t surprised that Nezha had cut Kitay out of his social circle. There was no way Nezha would have stuck around anyone half as witty as Kitay—there were too many opportunities for Kitay to upstage him. “What’d you do to offend him?” Kitay pulled a face. “Nothing, except beat him on the exam. Nezha’s prickly about his ego. Why, what did you do?” “I gave him that black eye,” she admitted. Kitay raised an eyebrow. “Nice.

That none of my beliefs about the world were true. That reality is malleable. That hidden connections exist in every living object. That the whole of the world is merely a thought, a butterfly's dream.

I am the force of creation,” Rin murmured as she stared at the ceiling and watched it spin. Vaisra’s sorghum wine burned sweet and sour on her tongue; she wanted to swig more of it, just to feel her insides blaze. “I am the end and the beginning. The world is a painting and I hold the brush. I am a god.

Youth, Rin thought, was an amplification of beauty. It was a filter; it could mask what one was lacking, enhance even the most average features. But beauty without youth was dangerous. The Empress’s beauty did not require the soft fullness of young lips, the rosy red of young cheeks, the tenderness of young skin. This beauty cut deep, like a sharpened crystal. This beauty was immortal.

This life you've chosen, you won't get many moments like this again. But it's the nights like this that keep you alive. All you think about is who you're fighting against. But that? That's what you're fighting for.

He loves her. Of this he is certain. he loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes out too quick, like it's ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She's everything he's not: unbound, reckless, free. He's never known anyone like her. She terrifies him and he loves her so much it hurts. In all of his worst nightmares, she's dying. She's fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This he tells her. He doesn't tell her that his hand holds the blade.

It's as if - you know how when you're ill for a long time, you forget how it feels to be healthy? You get used to your head ringing, your ears being blocked, or your nose being stuffed - and you don't even notice you're not right anymore. Until you are.

Many more will live,” Rin said, and she was nearly certain that it was true. And even if it wasn’t, she was willing to take that gamble. She knew she would bear full responsibility for the murders she was about to commit, bear the weight of them for as long as she lived. But it was worth it. For the sake of her vengeance, it was worth it. This was divine retribution for what the Federation had wreaked on her people. This was her justice. “They aren’t people,” she whispered. “They’re animals. I want you to make them burn. Every last one.” “And what will you give me in return?” inquired the Phoenix. “The price to alter the fabric of the world is steep.” What did a god, especially the Phoenix, want? What did any god ever want? “I can give you worship,” she promised. “I can give you an unending flow of blood.

We could all just switch to civilian posts now,” Kitay said. “Let’s all be ministers and magistrates.” “You have to get elected first,” Nezha said. “Government by the people, and all that. People have to like you.” “Rin’s out of a job, then.” Venka said. “She can be a custodian,” said Nezha. “Did you want someone to rearrange your face?” Rin asked. “Because I’ll do it for free.

That’s true,” said Baji. “He can’t be any scarier than the other Warlords. The Ox and the Ram Warlords weren’t anything special. It’s just nepotism and inbreeding all around.” “Oh, so how you were produced,” said Ramsa. “Listen, you little bitch—

But she also didn’t want to make it stop. The anger was a shield. The anger helped her to keep from remembering what she’d done. Because as long as she was angry, then it was okay—she’d acted within reason. She was afraid that if she stopped being angry, she might crack apart.

I’ll show you all one last blow,” Kureel announced as the session drew to a close. “This is the only kick you’ll ever need, really. A kick to bring down the most powerful warriors.” Jeeha blinked in confusion. He turned his head to ask her what she meant. And Kureel raised her knee and jammed the ball of her foot into Jeeha’s groin.

Who is the true god.” “Chaos,” he says. That’s the closest the Hesperians will ever come to understanding the Pantheon. They’ll never grasp the depths of it; the terrifying swirl of forces that constitute all that is. Their minds can’t handle its incoherence; the fact that the sixty-four gods do not will and do not care. They can’t fathom a world without intention. The only word they might accept is chaos. But Nezha knows divinity. It’s fathomless. It is not something that can be measured or studied; can’t be described through meticulously constructed logic. The forces that dreamed up this world are the opposite of rational. Divinity isn’t knowable. It’s the Dragon in the grotto. It’s the Dragon inside him. It’s the three madmen who united a nation and tore themselves apart. It’s pain, eternity, and terror. It’s endless, all-consuming fire. It’s her.

She’d loved him like a father once. He’d taught her everything he’d known. He’d led her to the Pantheon. Then he’d abandoned her, returned to her, betrayed her, and saved her. He’d let so many others die—he’d let her people die—but he had saved her. What the fuck was she supposed to do with a legacy like that?

She’d seen the resentment on the faces of her people. The glare in their eyes when they dared to look up. They were not a people grasping for power. Their rebellion would not fracture over stupid personal ambitions. They were a people who refused to be killed, and that made them dangerous. You

Rin had dealt with verbal abuse from the Fangs for years. Hearing insults from this boy hardly fazed her. But slandering Tutor Feyrik, the man who had delivered her from Tikany, who had saved her from a miserable future in a forced marriage . . . that was unforgivable. Rin took two steps toward the boy and punched him in the face. Her fist connected with his eye socket with a pleasant popping noise. The boy staggered backward into the students behind him, nearly toppling to the ground. “You bitch!” he screeched. He righted himself and rushed at her. She shrank back, fists raised.

But what if someone could erase all memories of what she'd done? No more guilt. No more nightmares. She wouldn't have flaring pockets in her memory like gaping wounds that hurt to touch. She wouldn't hear screams when she tried to sleep. She wouldn't see bodies burning every time she closed her eyes. Maybe that was the coward's haven. But she'd want it, too.

Kitay’s Sinegard was full of wonders, completely accessible, and crammed with things that belonged to him. Kitay’s Sinegard wasn’t terrifying, because Kitay had money. If he tripped, half the shop owners on the street would help him up, hoping for a handsome tip. If his pocket were cut, he’d go home and get another purse. Kitay could afford to be victimized by the city because he had room to fail.

Yin?” The apprentice let him go. “And what is the well-bred heir to the House of Yin doing brawling in a hallway?” “She punched me in the face!” Nezha screeched. A nasty bruise was already blossoming around his left eye, a bright splotch of purple against porcelain skin. The apprentice raised an eyebrow at Rin. “And why would you do that?” “He insulted my teacher,” she said. “Oh? Well, that’s different.” The apprentice looked amused. “Weren’t you taught not to insult teachers? That’s taboo.

But theirs had always been a broken country. It had never been unified, not truly; it had only ever been held tightly together by steel and blood, a facade of internal unity, while factions always threated to split from within. Rin had forced those tensions to the surface, and then to their breaking point. She'd forced the Nikara to confront the greatest lie it had ever told about itself — that there had been a united Nikara Empire at all.

Fire: the heat in your blood in the midst of a fight, the kinetic energy that makes your heart beat faster.” Jiang tapped his chest. “Water: the flowing of force from your muscles to your target, from the earth up through your waist, into your arms. Air: the breath you draw that keeps you alive. Earth: how you stay rooted to the ground, how you derive energy from the way you position yourself against the floor. And metal, for the weapons you wield. A good martial artist will possess all five of these in balance. If you can control each of these with equal skill, you will be unstoppable

The cruelty could not register for her. Bloodlust, she understood. Bloodlust, she was guilty of. She had lost herself in battle, too; she had gone further than she should have, she had hurt others when she should have stopped. But this—viciousness on this scale, wanton slaughter of this magnitude, against innocents who hadn’t even lifted a finger in self-defense, this she could not imagine doing. They surrendered, she wanted to scream at her disappeared enemy. They dropped their weapons. They posed no threat to you. Why did you have to do this? A rational explanation eluded her. Because the answer could not be rational. It was not founded in military strategy. It was not because of a shortage of food rations, or because of the risk of insurgency or backlash. It was, simply, what happened when one race decided that the other was insignificant. The Federation had massacred Golyn Niis for the simple reason that they did not think of the Nikara as human. And if your opponent was not human, if your opponent was a cockroach, what did it matter how many of them you killed? What was the difference between crushing an ant and setting an anthill on fire? Why shouldn’t you pull wings off insects for your own enjoyment? The bug might feel pain, but what did that matter to you? If you were the victim, what could you say to make your tormentor recognize you as human? How did you get your enemy to recognize you at all? And why should an oppressor care?