The main training ground for the Imperial Bodyguards was a wide, packed-earth quadrangle tucked away in a corner of the Forbidden City. It was a place of sweat, discipline, and the percussive sounds of wood striking wood and men grunting with effort. Here, the elite Manchu and Mongol Bannermen who were tasked with the Emperor's personal safety honed their skills. On this crisp winter morning, however, the usual routine of drills had been upstaged by the arrival of a new recruit.
His name was Meng Ao. He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, but he moved with the deadly grace and economy of a seasoned veteran. He was taller than most of the other guards, with broad shoulders and a lean, powerful build that spoke of functional strength rather than brutish size. He was quiet, almost unnervingly so, his face a handsome but impassive mask, his eyes holding a distant, haunted quality.
His backstory was a matter of some speculation among the guards. He was a foundling, discovered wandering alone in the harsh deserts of Gansu province several years ago, near the crumbling western terminus of the Great Wall. He had no memory of his past, no knowledge of his family or name. The soldiers who found him had given him the name "Meng Ao" in honor of a famous Qin general from that region. Conscripted into the army, his rise had been meteoric. His innate physical prowess and his almost supernatural instinct for combat had made him a legend in the western garrisons. He had been recommended for the Imperial Guard as a man of singular, almost unbelievable talent.
Today was his first official training session with the elite unit, and he was putting on a display that bordered on the terrifying.
The session began with Manchu wrestling, a test of pure strength and leverage. One by one, veteran guards, men known for their power and ferocity, stepped up to challenge the newcomer. One by one, they were defeated with an almost contemptuous ease. Meng Ao's strength was not just immense; it was efficient. He seemed to understand an opponent's balance and momentum instinctively, using their own force against them. A guardsman twice his size, a veritable bear of a man, charged him, only to be sent flying across the yard by a seemingly effortless hip toss.
Next came swordsmanship. The Captain of the Guard, a grizzled old warrior named Turgai with a face like a topographical map, watched with narrowed, appreciative eyes. He pitted Meng Ao against his best swordsman, a man famed for his speed. The clash of steel was brief and decisive. Meng Ao did not meet his opponent's flurry of attacks with equal speed. Instead, he made small, precise movements—a slight shift of his weight, a subtle parry that deflected a blow just enough to create an opening. With a single, fluid motion that was too fast to properly follow, he disarmed the veteran, his blade resting gently against the man's throat.
The other guards stared in stunned silence. This was not just skill. This was mastery on a level they had never witnessed.
Li Lianying, the head eunuch, had chosen this morning for one of his routine inspections of the palace's security apparatus. He stood on the veranda overlooking the training ground, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. He had come expecting to see the usual drills, but his attention was immediately captured by the silent, efficient lethality of the new recruit. He was intrigued. A man with this level of raw, physical talent was a rare commodity. More importantly, his history—a man with no past, no family, no powerful clan allegiances—made him a blank slate. He was a perfect piece of clay, ready to be molded into a loyal tool for the Empress Dowager.
"Captain Turgai," Li Lianying called out, his voice smooth and carrying. The captain hurried over, bowing deeply.
"That man," Li Lianying said, gesturing with his chin towards Meng Ao, who now stood alone in the center of the yard, breathing easily. "The new recruit, Meng Ao. He fights like a demon from the old tales."
The captain's weathered face was filled with genuine awe. "He is the finest I have seen in thirty years of service, Excellency," Turgai said, his voice a low rumble. "It is uncanny. He has the strength of a bear and the speed of a leopard. He touches a spear, he is a master spearman. He draws a bow, and he can hit a willow leaf at a hundred paces. It is as if the spirit of a great general from antiquity possesses his body."
A thoughtful, calculating look entered Li Lianying's eyes. Cixi had recently expressed a desire to tighten the young Emperor's personal security even further. His "illness" had made him seem vulnerable, and his growing political significance as a symbol for Prince Gong's faction made him a potential target. The current retinue of bodyguards were loyal, but they were older, perhaps complacent. A new shield, a hyper-competent warrior whose loyalty was forged here and now, owed entirely to the favor of the Empress Dowager's faction, would be a perfect addition. He would be a guard, but also a warden and a spy.
"A spirit of a great general, you say?" Li Lianying murmured, a thin smile touching his lips. "Excellent. Such a spirit belongs in service to the Son of Heaven." He made his decision. "Effective immediately, Guardsman Meng Ao is to be reassigned. To the Emperor's personal retinue. He will serve as one of His Majesty's close-proximity bodyguards. See to it."
The captain bowed, surprised by the sudden promotion but not daring to question it.
Unaware of the conversation that was sealing his fate, Meng Ao stood under the pale winter sun. He felt a strange emptiness, as he always did after these displays. The skills came to him as easily as breathing, but he did not know from where. He felt a deep, nagging sense of purpose, a feeling that he was meant for something more than just being a soldier. He felt a pull, a strange, inexplicable sense of loyalty towards the heart of the palace, a place he had never been. He did not know why, but he felt as if he was finally coming home.