Chapter 57.3 Matriarch of Memory, Lady of the First Rank

  First Lady Meng walked alongside Michio, who felt that he was taking too much space despite the corridor being wide enough for them.

  “I apologise for Jun En’s curtness,” First Lady Meng started. “Communication isn’t his forte. His bluntness is as unchanging as ever.”

  Having the First Lady of a presumably prominent sorcerer family apologise made Michio’s insides squirm. He combed his fingers through his hair and forced a smile, though she was not looking at him to see it, and he was not entirely sure why he had bothered.

  “It’s alright,” Michio said.

  First Lady Meng glanced at him before turning her eyes forward again. “You must be wondering why you were brought in through the… catacombs.”

  Catacombs! Michio’s stomach lurched as he glanced around furtively, chills running up his spine.

  “Because of your background,” First Lady Meng continued without so much as acknowledging where they were, “this is the only way for you to enter the manor. Sorcerers, on the other hand, have more options. The most common entrance is the main gate, where they are automatically subject to an enchantment put in place to protect the manor.” She paused to raise two fingers. “The second is teleportation. Even for us, should a limb lie outside the array or the vision of the destination not be clear enough, we would end up in pieces. Both methods are far too dangerous for an unconditioned body and mind like yours.”

  Michio’s mind flew to the jade talisman, which he held up. “Is this what the talisman is for?”

  First Lady Meng turned to regard him with those purple and gold eyes. “You are perceptive. I can see why you are in your line of work. Perhaps, in another life, you would make a fine sorcerer,” she said. “Indeed, that trinket of mine you possess helped you gradually adjust to our environment and shielded you from the enchantments.”

  A small bud of pride blossomed in Michio’s chest, and he did his best not to look too pleased with himself.

  First Lady Meng lifted the torch at intervals to light the others lining the corridor. Every additional flame cast another shadow sprawling across the walls, and the catacombs grew simultaneously brighter and darker for it. “The jade talisman also serves as a wayfinder for individuals to find one another,” she said. “Anyone without a jade talisman would be lost in this maze of a catacomb forever. The manor does not recognise those who have not been authorised.”

  Michio's grip on the talisman tightened until he could feel the dampness of his own palm against the jade.

  “It will be a long walk,” First Lady Meng said, unhurried. “You may as well tell me how you met Dante Higashino. After all, he is the thread that connects us.”

  Those memories required no effort to surface.

  “I remember that I was chasing someone who was the key suspect in a series of armed robberies,” Michio recalled. “That bastard jumped off the roof when he got cornered. I managed to catch him before he fell, but he suddenly gained this—”

  Michio held both arms out, searching for the word.

  “—burst of energy when he realised that he was caught. It was as though something took over him entirely. Before I knew it, I was the one going over the edge!” The exclamation echoed around them. “I thought I was done for when a young man grabbed me.”

  “I heard that his arm got dislocated,” First Lady Meng interjected.

  “A-Ah… U-Uh-huh…” Michio blushed, but another memory pierced through the embarrassment. “But when he grabbed me, I saw this dark aura surrounding the robber!”

  “Aura… So the robber was possessed by a phantom,” First Lady Meng said while lighting yet another torch. New shadows joined them with every torch she lit. The darkness latched onto their feet, mimicking every move they made.

  Though First Lady Meng was small, she cast rather long shadows.

  “That was what Higashino called them. He told me that the robber was lucky that the phantom had not taken root within him. Oh, he had a whip that managed to kill the phantom. After which, we managed to apprehend the suspect.”

  “Kill the phantom… What an interesting choice of words, but yes, our main focus is to exorcise phantoms to maintain balance in the world,” First Lady Meng remarked as she stopped before another flight of stairs. She tilted her head upward. "We have arrived. Above us is Poppy Manor." She glanced back at him. "I will show you around. Perhaps you will come away with a better understanding of us."

  These steps… they’re narrow! Michio stared at his shoes as he made his way up the stairs. Each step could barely fit a third of his shoe. Again, there were no handrails for him to hold onto. He made his way up with the focused concentration of a man who had decided very firmly that he was not going to die in a sorcerer's staircase.

  When Michio reached the top, the breath went out of him for an entirely different reason.

  The room Michio found himself in was cylindrical, and every inch of its curved walls was occupied—scrolls and tomes stacked from floor to ceiling, so densely packed that the stone behind them had long since disappeared. In the corner, two oversized couches sat before an unlit hearth stacked with wood. On the table between them sat a teapot, a thin ribbon of steam rising from its spout.

  “This is one of the many libraries we have here,” First Lady Meng said as she discarded her torch into the hearth.

  “It’s like a huge scroll! An inception of scrolls!” Michio exclaimed, sizing up the manor in his mind. “This place… How could this be a manor?”

  “We call this lovely place the Poppy Manor for sentimental reasons. My family started small, after all.” First Lady Meng said, with the air of someone who was choosing humility. “We have… expanded a lot since then.”

  “Geez, over here we just keep everything on our servers. Stores more for less space.”

  “We do as well, but I prefer this.” First Lady Meng raised two fingers and drew a tiny circle in the air. A scroll slid from somewhere near the top of the wall, drifting down through the air. She caught it without looking. “It seems more fitting to savour the knowledge that we’ve collected since the beginning of our time on something tangible. This is part of my Will.”

  “Will?” Michio asked, albeit a tad too excitedly.

  The ends of First Lady Meng’s lips turned up into a smile, a stage act of politeness with no encore of genuine emotion.

  Michio knew this by looking at how they never reached her eyes. I’m just a guest here, he reminded himself as he subdued his initial excitement.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “Before I start, there is something I wish to ask you.” First Lady Meng turned the scroll over in her hands, pensive. “Do you remember your first memory, Mr Mikami?”

  “In my life? The whole thing?”

  “Correct.”

  Michio thought for a long while. “I remember when I lost my front tooth after I fell off my bicycle badly,” he said slowly, stroking his chin. “That was when I was… five? Or four, I don’t remember.”

  First Lady Meng walked around him in a circle, saying nothing. Michio stood very still and resisted the urge to ask what she was looking for. Whatever conclusion she reached, she kept to herself. “Take a seat, Mr Mikami,” she said finally, gesturing to one of the armchairs. “I shall enlighten you.”

  Michio did as he was told.

  He also accepted the cup of tea First Lady Meng poured out for him. She settled the poker against the kindling with a single nudge, and the wood crackled in response, tiny flames licking up the sides as the fire slowly came to life.

  “The human mind is fascinating in the way it handles memories,” she said as she sank into the opposite armchair once satisfied with the fire. “Many do not remember the beginning years of their lives. Their recollection of everything after their very first significant memory can be sparse until they reach an age where they remember better. Even then, there would still be holes.”

  Michio sighed, recalling the many difficulties with interrogation in his line of work. “There’s the issue of false memories, too.”

  “Indeed,” First Lady Meng said. “But going back to the topic of our first memories, it may seem that whatever happened before that memory is lost.”

  “Is it not lost?”

  “No. Others will remember for us. Your parents would certainly remember your birth, your first steps, your first word and the emergence of your first baby tooth. Have they told you such stories?”

  “Now that you mention it…” Michio nursed his cup of tea. “My mother did tell me how I was a difficult baby.”

  “And therefore we are much more than one person. I once theorised that a human soul is not a solitary entity but instead is split between those who have crossed paths with us. Over time, different versions of us will reside in others. However, I soon realised that I was wrong.”

  It was beginning to sound like testimonies delivered by those who turned out to have unsound minds. Michio found himself opening and closing his mouth, at a complete loss of what to say.

  “Then pray tell! What is the essence of a soul?” Michio asked finally with feigned exuberance.

  Another smile from First Lady Meng. “A soul is an engine and a transcript of memories. The body is the medium the soul uses to interact with the world. It’s a rule that binds living creatures and a rule that phantoms do not follow, but it is in their nature to break nearly every established rule of nature.”

  “Does a young child not have a soul then?” Michio rebuked. “Or half a soul?”

  “They are merely blank slates. All souls start as blank slates, but there are situations where a soul can lose its memories through diseases like dementia or Alzheimer’s.”

  Michio mulled over First Lady Meng’s words. “If I were to take a guess,” he ventured, “you sorcerers can somehow utilise your souls?”

  “Correct,” First Lady Meng affirmed. “Would you like to take another guess about how a Will is determined?”

  “Through deciding one’s path based on a conviction,” Michio answered. Why am I entertaining her?

  “Half-correct.” First Lady Meng poured out another cup of tea for herself. “They decide on their convictions based on inherited memories or their experiences. They can be carriers of legacies or trailblazers.”

  “What about you? Which do you fall under?”

  First Lady Meng chuckled. “Both. But I would say that we would appreciate it if there were fewer trailblazers.”

  “Don’t you want the young ones to chart their paths?”

  First Lady Meng merely smiled. “Phantoms are a form of trailblazers, so are rogue sorcerers who use the Cursed Arts. We aren't risk takers, Mr Mikami. Even more so in this era.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Michio asked. “Aren’t you afraid that I would tattle?”

  “On the contrary, no. I believe you are sharp enough to know why the existence of sorcerers has to be kept a secret.”

  “I don’t want to be thought of as a lunatic.” Michio leaned back in his armchair and lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “And for that, I thank you. I’m sorry if I gave off the impression that I thought you were a rogue agent.”

  “No need for that. I just thought that I would be doing myself a favour by keeping my mouth shut.” Michio held up a hand. “Serious.”

  “If only more thought like you.” First Lady Meng sighed deeply. Her eyes darkened. “There was an age where the existence of sorcerers was widely known,” she said quietly. “However, those who do not wield such power forcibly wear memories of impossible feats like clothes and obsess over them. Many terrible things happened. My ancestors had to step in to establish a new age where sorcerers acted secretly.”

  This time, Michio found himself empathising with First Lady Meng. “Are you familiar with the six-handshake rule?” First Lady Meng asked.

  “That people are six or fewer social connections away from one another?” Michio raised his brows. “Yes, it’s a double-edged sword in my field. Networks formed can be impossibly large at times, and information can be disseminated extremely quickly.”

  “Indeed,” First Lady Meng agreed. “Should more people know of our existence, there is no guarantee that they can all be sworn into secrecy. That burden falls to the Meng family, as it always has — erasing part of their memories, and the memories of those connected to them. In essence, nobody can be trusted.”

  Aren’t I lucky? Michio mused, thinking about his subordinate, Makishima, who was absent.

  “A few of my family members dislike doing such things, like one of my grand-nieces.”

  “Is it because of the whole theory about souls being a collection of memories?” Michio asked as he stared at his reflection in his cup of tea.

  “It’d be like killing a part of them, wouldn’t it? Tell me, Mr. Mikami. In your line of work, how many ways are there to kill a person? And how many have you uncovered so far?”

  Michio looked up. First Lady Meng’s eyes were devoid of the initial warmth she had displayed. She stared at him with lowered eyelids. “Do you wear them like clothes?” she asked, her lips twisting into a leer. “What about the lies, hm? Did you grow so fond of the patterns that you kept them for yourself?”

  The goosebumps on the back of Michio's neck stood up immediately. He looked up at First Lady Meng. I have to stand up, his mind told his legs, but they were still.

  Sweat streamed down Michio's temples, gathering at his jaw before dripping onto his collar. His throat bobbed, but no words came. His fingers gripped the edge of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

  First Lady Meng drew a black staff with vibrant pink engravings from the depths of her sleeves and set it on the table with eerie silence. Her movements were fluid, like a spider withdrawing into the stillness of its web. The flames in the hearth flickered and cast long, wavering shadows behind her.

  “My grand niece…” First Lady Meng's fingers rested lightly on the staff. “She abandoned her sword for guns and, with them, found a most elegant way of distancing herself from the act of killing.” She rose from her armchair and moved toward the hearth. “The bullet opens the wound that stops the heart, she will tell you. She holds that truth close.” She crouched before the fire and held her palm out toward the flames, which dimmed abruptly. “But press her hard enough, and she will admit herself a murderer as well. Two truths can occupy the same hand, after all. That ability to live in the fracture between the two is precisely what makes her worthy of the title of Second Lady.”

  First Lady Meng got to her feet and strode toward Michio, towering above him. The skin on her palm was raw and blistering. Michio’s breath hitched. His eyes darted between the staff and her mismatched eyes; one eye was a cold, glittering gold, the other an unreadable violet.

  “But I hold a greater truth still. That of life and death.” First Lady Meng regarded Michio with an expressionless stare. “Clothes maketh man, as do memories a lived man. Memories are the companions of man's soul; as such, together they begin, grow and flourish.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “And later, together, they fall.”

  A log in the hearth cracked, sending a shower of sparks into the darkness.