Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Ninth Month (November 1494).
Eastern Sea of the Ryukyu Kingdom, aboard the Tequendama II (Suaza Delegation).
The rhythmic creaking of the ship's massive wooden frames was a constant lullaby accompanying the scratching of Zote's quill.
In the gloom of his cabin, lit only by an oil lantern swaying with the motion of the waves, the Suaza scholar and military man feverishly reviewed his parchments. He was making fair copies of the final conjugations and vocabularies of the native language of the Mai archipelago, compiling a vital glossary so that future envoys from the central government would have at least a foundation for communication.
The Joint Expedition had set sail from the flourishing Discovery Town several weeks ago. Zote rubbed his tired eyes, accidentally smudging his cheekbone with black ink. He missed Tyfo.
He missed the pragmatic mind and the unwavering resolve of the captain who had stayed behind to hold that savage frontier. He offered a silent prayer to the gods, asking that the winds be kind to all the Suaza who remained in that remote outpost.
But nostalgia could not cloud his duty.
Zote set aside the thick tome of the Mai language and pulled closer a stack of leather-bound books, their virgin pages waiting to be filled. He was preparing himself mentally. Just as Tyfo had become the anchor of the Suaza Kingdom in Mai, Zote knew his destiny was to remain in the mythical Cipango. He would be the voice, eyes, and ears of his civilization in those legendary lands.
Over the last few days, the atmosphere on the flagship commanded by Admiral Umzye had shifted.
The Suaza sailors and European lookouts murmured on deck about strange island formations to the west and a steadily growing traffic of junks and fishing vessels with exotic sails.
Just as Zote uncorked a new inkwell, the thunder of heavy footsteps pounding on the upper wooden deck made him flinch.
"Sails to port! Land! Land ho!" The lookout's cry shattered the monotony of the voyage, immediately followed by the sharp, booming orders of the Suaza officers preparing the anchoring maneuvers.
Zote hastily packed away his books and stumbled up the stairs. As he peered over the bulwark, the freezing wind struck his face. There, emerging from the ocean mist, rose emerald mountains and bustling ports... They had arrived.
...
By the next day, the docks were an assault on the senses. The air smelled of dried fish, fermented soy sauce, and unknown spices. Zote, clutching his notebook tightly against his chest, stood in the center of a human whirlwind, surrounded by local merchants clad in flowing robes of hemp and silk.
He had disembarked at first light alongside Admiral Umzye. Initial contact had been tense, but commercial curiosity soon overcame mistrust. For Zote, however, it was the beginning of a monumental intellectual battle.
"Kore wa ikura desu ka?" spoke one of the merchants, pointing to the fine Suaza bronze mirrors that Umzye had laid out on a bartering table.
Zote furrowed his brow, observing the phonetics, furiously jotting down the sounds. The language of the Ryukyu Kingdom—for that was what they had discovered this archipelago south of the mythical Cipango was called—was fiendishly complex. And its writing system was even worse.
As the hours passed, Zote and the small team of linguists remaining in the expedition worked at a frantic pace. When a local scholar showed them the commercial records, Zote's heart sank. They did not use a phonetic alphabet like the Suaza, but rather intricate symbols, kanjis, where each stroke seemed an artistic brushstroke encapsulating an entire concept.
"Tell them we offer five rolls of our finest cotton cloth for that shipment of sulfur," ordered Admiral Umzye, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the negotiation table.
Zote nodded, swallowed hard, and began to gesticulate, mixing the few words he had managed to decipher with quick sketches on his chalk slate. The Ryukyuan merchant smiled, nodded, and sealed the deal with a bow that Umzye imitated with military respect.
The following days blurred into a relentless, frantic whirlwind for Zote.
His days were divided between his exhaustive grammatical studies, his uninterrupted assistance to the Admiral at the local court, and the grueling translation work for the Europeans of the joint expedition, who shouted and haggled without the slightest subtlety.
Through those translations and nights spent sharing hot tea with the wise men of Ryukyu, Zote unraveled the political map of the region. The language and writing shared deep roots with Cipango, but the meanings of many kanjis and the spoken dialect differed drastically.
He also discovered that, although Ryukyu and Cipango were not in open war, the immense shadow of the Ming Empire on the continent conditioned everything.
The clear commercial favoritism that the Ming Dynasty professed toward Ryukyu had turned these small islands into coveted plunder, placing them squarely in the crosshairs of the warlike lords of southern Cipango.
"It is a precarious balance, Admiral," Zote had whispered to Umzye one night while reviewing the trade treaties. "They are wealthy, but vulnerable. Our presence here could upset a scale that has been tense for centuries."
In spite of everything, Zote had triumphed.
He had managed to forge a silver bridge between the Suaza merchants, the impatient Europeans, and the nobles of Ryukyu. Gold and silver flowed, the holds filled with porcelain and spices, and everyone seemed to overflow with satisfaction.
Everyone, except for a small group of European sailors who cornered him one afternoon near the harbor warehouses.
"Come on, Master Zote," insisted a robust Spanish captain, giving him a conspiratorial nudge. "You're the only one who understands these people's scribbles. You only need to write a few words for us. A little letter for the ladies in that red-light district at the top of the hill. We have plenty of silver to pay for their... hospitality."
Zote halted his stride and hugged his thick books to his chest. He looked the European up and down with an expression of absolute coldness, the very same he had learned from Captain Tyfo.
"My knowledge, Captain," replied Zote in perfect Spanish, his tone as cutting as ice, "is at the service of diplomacy, free trade, and the glory of the Suaza Kingdom. I have translated your purchases of silk, your haggling for gunpowder, and your disputes over rice."
The scholar rubbed his nose and took a step forward, forcing the European to step back.
"But under no circumstances will I serve as the middleman for your carnal needs in the brothels of Ryukyu. Learn the language, or resign yourselves to silence. Good evening, gentlemen."
Leaving the Europeans stammering complaints behind his back, Zote spun on his heel and walked back to his quarters, yearning for the comfort of ink and the infinite complexity of his new dictionaries.
...
Two weeks after that tense exchange on the docks with the Spanish sailors, Zote's surroundings had drastically changed.
The Suaza scholar found himself waiting in the antechamber of a beautiful traditional Ryukyuan residence, an estate with wide polished wooden corridors and sliding rice-paper panels that Admiral Umzye had discreetly acquired for meetings with the local nobility.
The atmosphere held an overwhelming serenity. The scent of cypress wood and subtle sandalwood incense drifted through the crisp air.
From his position, kneeling neatly upon the tatami mats, Zote could hear the rhythmic and melancholic sound of a bamboo fountain in the inner courtyard, filling with water until it struck the stone with a hollow clack.
Zote mentally reviewed his vocabularies, trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. The rumors among the Suaza officers were clear: the joint fleet would weigh anchor and leave Ryukyu to venture into the waters of Cipango in exactly one week.
Zote hoped this impending meeting with the Admiral was to receive the directives for his landing on the mythical northern islands, where his solitary mission would finally begin.
The soft slide of a shoji door interrupted his thoughts. A Suaza guard nodded at him, indicating that the fleet commander was ready to receive him.
Zote stood up, smoothed the folds of his scholar's tunic, and entered the temporary office. Admiral Umzye sat cross-legged before a low table, surrounded by maps of the East China Sea and dense commercial logs.
Seeing the young man enter, Umzye set aside his calligraphy brush and gestured for him to take a seat across from him.
"Admiral," Zote greeted, bowing his head with profound respect.
"Zote," Umzye replied, his deep voice resonating with the authority of one who commands storms and men alike. "As you have surely deduced from the movement on the docks, we depart very soon."
Zote nodded, his mind already traveling to the shores of Cipango.
"I have compiled three tomes on the Ryukyuan language for the flagship's library, sir. I am ready for the next step."
Umzye observed him in silence for a long, heavy moment. His eyes, weathered by a thousand battles, reflected an uncharacteristic pride.
"Throughout this voyage, you have demonstrated impeccable composure, an unwavering commitment to the Kingdom, and an iron will. You remind me of Tyfo in many ways, Zote. Both of you are pillars upon which our leader Chuta will build the future. That is why, just as planned since we conceived this vanguard network... you will stay behind. But you will stay here."
Zote blinked, bewilderment shattering his stoic scholar's mask for a second.
"Here, sir?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "With the utmost respect, Admiral, my initial orders and preparation were directed toward infiltrating and establishing myself in Cipango."
Umzye nodded slowly, acknowledging the young man's confusion.
"Plans change when the map reveals itself, Zote. You have been instrumental in helping us understand the politics of this archipelago. Ryukyu, under the rule of King Shō Shin, is a prosperous, peaceful kingdom and, above all, much friendlier to foreigners. Cipango is another story."
The Admiral unrolled a partial map of the northern islands and tapped it with his knuckle.
"Our reports indicate that Cipango is a viper's nest at the moment. Its warlords are plunged into absolute chaos. Internal battles stain every valley with blood. If I leave you there, your movements will be so restricted by civil war that you would be unable to study or trade. You would be a prisoner in your own home, assuming you even manage to keep your head. Here, in Uchinaa, the soil is fertile to sow our roots."
Zote, whose logical mind took no time to process and validate the Admiral's tactical analysis, nodded in understanding.
"I understand, sir. The survival of the mission takes precedence over the original destination. If I stay in Ryukyu, what are my instructions? I assume the approach will be different from that of Discovery Town in Mai, given the complexity of this court."
"Exactly," Umzye confirmed, leaning back slightly. "Our approach in Uchinaa will draw inspiration from what we attempted years ago on the Mexica plateau. Blood alliances or deep commercial pacts. However..." Umzye paused, measuring his words, "in this case, official large-scale trade will not settle until the first solitary Suaza expedition embarks on its journey following our arrival at the Great Quyca, unburdened by the joint European fleet. Therefore, in the short term, only marriage will grant us the legitimacy and protection you need to operate."
The word marriage fell upon Zote like a lead anvil.
His stomach knotted. Barely two weeks ago, he had reprimanded the Spanish in disgust for their escapades in the brothels; Zote was a man of books, ink, and grammar, not of romance or diplomatic courtship.
"Marriage?" Zote repeated, feeling his hands sweat—something exceedingly rare for him. "Admiral, do you mean... what some of our sailors have been doing? Must I choose a local woman and 'buy' her hand from peasant or artisan parents to justify my presence?"
Umzye shook his head, and the faintest shadow of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"No, Zote. You are the most brilliant mind we will leave in this corner of the world, the direct representative of the Suaza Kingdom's government. You are not going to marry a lower-class woman like the sailors who have decided to take women or stay behind."
The Admiral leaned forward, lowering his voice to give the revelation the weight of a state secret.
"Over the last few days, I have had private audiences with King Shō Shin himself. I have spoken to him of the immensity of our Empire on the continent across the sea. I have personally interceded on your behalf, and I have secured your hand in marriage. You will marry a distant niece of the King. You will become a part, albeit peripheral, of the Ryukyuan royal family."
Zote was dumbstruck. Frozen. The air left his lungs, and the sound of the bamboo fountain in the garden suddenly seemed deafening. The fearsome Admiral Umzye, the deadliest naval strategist of the Suaza Kingdom, had been acting as his royal matchmaker behind his back. He was going to marry into Asian royalty.
The scholar's mind went blank. He tried to find some logical objection, some Kingdom protocol that would forbid such a thing, but there was none. It was a masterstroke on a geopolitical level.
Incapable of articulating a single coherent thought on how to be the husband of an Uchinaa noblewoman, Zote merely swallowed hard and nodded mechanically, accepting the weight of his destiny with blind obedience.
After a long and uncomfortable silence in which he tried to catch his breath, Zote straightened his back and locked eyes with the Admiral.
"I understand the magnitude of this honor and this responsibility, sir. What are your specific orders for my stay in Uchinaa in the meantime?"
Umzye's expression regained its martial severity.
"We do not know exactly how long it will take for the second Suaza expedition to reach here; the oceans are treacherous and politics follow their own tempo. Your primary order is to assimilate. Marry her, honor her, embed yourself in their nobility. Study and master their language and their kanji writing system until you can read their laws and treaties as if they were our own. And, above all, survive on your own."
Umzye stood up, marking the end of the meeting, and Zote hastened to imitate him.
"You won't be left destitute, of course," the Admiral added, placing a heavy hand on the young scholar's shoulder. "Before departing, we will leave you sufficient resources. Gold, silver, and continental spices so that you and your new wife may live comfortably for up to two years. You have done exceptional work, Zote. Now, your true mission begins."
Zote offered one final, deep bow. When the shoji doors closed behind his back, the young linguist remained standing in the wooden corridor, looking out toward the inner garden. His life of solitary scholarship had ended; now, his battlefield would be marriage in the court of a foreign king.
6 months later.
Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Third Month (May 1495).
Naha (Naha, Japan), Ryukyu Kingdom.
The rhythmic dripping of the spring rain upon the clay roof tiles accompanied the hesitant scratching of the brush. Exactly six months had passed since the imposing sails of the Joint Expedition vanished over the horizon, leaving Zote anchored in the lush capital of Ryukyu.
Seated before a low sandalwood table in the residence Admiral Umzye had acquired, Zote sighed and rubbed his numb wrist. The rice paper before him was covered in kanjis, but the strokes lacked the fluidity and grace demanded by Uchinaa high society.
Zote was a master of phonemes and grammars, and his immersion in the intricate local public records had yielded astonishing fruit: his fluency in speech bordered on native, marred only by an exotic accent he could not manage to shake.
However, when it came to the brush, his hand was trained for the hard lines of the Suaza alphabet, not the pictorial dance of the East.
"Master Zote, your tongue flows like rivers in spring, but your brush walks like an old man clinging to a cane," Zote remembered, offering an ironic smile as he recalled the friendly teasing of the Minister of Trade during their last tea ceremony.
Those meetings with local nobles and wealthy merchants had become his daily battlefield. At first, they looked at him with suspicion, but his prodigious ability to absorb dialects and his genuine effort to understand the intricate poetry of the Ming Empire had earned him undeniable respect. Zote was beginning to grasp the subtleties of continental verses, but lately, their conversations increasingly veered toward commerce.
He set the brush aside and drew a thick ledger toward him.
Although Umzye had left him chests of silver and gold, Zote knew that stagnant wealth eventually rots. He needed to be self-sustaining. Not just for himself and his position at court, but for the men who depended on his leadership.
The Suaza guards and scholars who accompanied him had settled in less affluent districts of the city; they lived well and managed with a basic vocabulary for their routines, but Zote felt the weight of their well-being on his shoulders.
Even worse was the case of the weathered Suaza sailors who had decided to stay, seduced by the policy of integration. Out of love or the sheer necessity of providing for their new families, those sailors had been forced to swallow the language whole, stumbling over words as they worked on the docks.
Zote had sworn to himself that he would not bring shame upon the Kingdom, nor would he allow his people to fall into misery in foreign lands.
The soft slide of the shoji door interrupted his financial calculations.
Zote looked up. Omo-matsuru entered the room with steps so light they seemed not to touch the tatami mats. She wore a silk kimono with bingata patterns in shades of indigo and crimson, and she held a black lacquer tray carrying a steaming teapot.
Upon seeing her, Zote's chest filled with a warmth that still took him by surprise.
When they had married by political decree six months prior, Omo-matsuru—a distant niece of King Shō Shin—had been a porcelain mystery. She was tender, infinitely delicate, and accommodating, but Zote noticed in her eyes the resignation of one fulfilling a dynastic order; she was by his side out of duty, not will.
But Zote was a scholar, a man who did not know how to inhabit a silent house.
"You have been frowning for nearly an hour, my husband," Omo-matsuru murmured with a timid smile, kneeling gracefully beside him to pour the green tea. "Your tea will grow cold if you keep fighting with those numbers."
"These numbers are more stubborn than Ming grammar, my lady," Zote replied in a flawless, soft local dialect, accepting the cup with both hands. "I was calculating the cost of rice for our sailors down at the port."
Omo-matsuru glanced sideways at Zote's ledgers.
Over the past few months, the young Suaza had begun speaking to her not as a mere courtly ornament, but as a partner. He told her the epic tales of Dawn City, described the immensity of the ocean, and, on long rainy nights, proactively began to teach her the knowledge he had acquired at the Simte Academy: geography, basic mathematics, and deductive logic.
To Zote's astonishment, his young wife did not merely listen out of courtesy, but possessed a voracious thirst for knowledge and a mind as sharp as glass.
"If I may, my lord..." she said, pointing a delicate finger at one of the columns in the ledger. "The merchants of Satsuma will raise the freight price next moon, as they do every year before the end of spring. If you buy the surplus now and store it in the eastern granaries, you will save almost a third of your silver."
Zote's eyes widened, mentally mapping out the calculation she had just suggested. It was brilliant. It was the exact solution he had been searching for all morning.
"By the gods... you are absolutely right," Zote exclaimed, looking at her with genuine admiration. Instinctively, he took his wife's hand. "Omo-matsuru, your mind is quicker than that of any of the ministers with whom I drink tea. You should accompany me to discuss these figures with the merchant guild."
The young woman's face suddenly went pale. Her hand trembled slightly within Zote's, and she looked nervously toward the closed door, as if the walls could listen.
"Zote..." she whispered, squeezing his fingers with urgency. "I beg of you, never say such a thing outside these walls."
"Why? You are brilliant, there is no dishonor in—"
"It is improper," she interrupted softly, lowering her gaze to her knees. "In my culture, for a woman to study philosophy, mathematics, or to correct the numbers of a businessman is not a source of pride; it is a source of shame for her family. My duty lies in light poetry, flowers, and silence. If the court finds out that you are teaching me the wisdom of your Academy, or that I offer opinions on your finances, you will be the laughingstock, and I will be dishonored."
Zote fell silent.
The rigid social structure of the East clashed violently against the intellectual freedom of his beloved Suaza Kingdom. Looking at his wife's frightened face, he understood the immense trust she was placing in him by revealing her intelligence in intimacy, and the risk she ran in doing so.
With infinite delicacy, Zote released the ledger and brought Omo-matsuru's hand to his lips, reverently kissing her knuckles.
"Then it shall be our secret," Zote said, looking into her eyes with a solemn promise. "Here, within this house, there are no restrictions or forced silences. Here you are my equal, Omo-matsuru. My partner and my counselor."
The tension left the young woman's body. Omo-matsuru looked up, and in her dark eyes shone a profound loyalty and an absolute love. She had grown up expecting a husband who would treat her as just another possession, but the gods had delivered her a gentle and wise foreigner, a man who not only tolerated her intellect but cultivated it with devotion.
"Thank you, my Lord Zote," she whispered, serving him a little more tea, feeling that this house had truly become her home.
.
----
.
[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support.
First, this section will be shorter because many of you are already familiar with Asian culture in general, and a long introduction isn't necessary. However, I should clarify that each independent culture has its own differences, so I'm only generalizing for narrative convenience. If you'd like more chapters like this, just let me know.
Second, as I mentioned before, it's possible that one of Chuta's wives is Asian, possibly Japanese. But I had the idea that, like Margaret, she would be a real historical figure.
However, even though there is concrete historical data, I've struggled to find a suitable character. The worst part is that, just like in Margaret's case, this early marriage needs to be encouraged, and as things stand, this engagement would happen when Chuta is around 18 to 20 years old, which would give us an age difference of more than 10 years between the fiancée and Chuta, which is already starting to seem strange to me.
What I am thinking is that one of Chuta's sons or daughters could take on this role in later stages of the novel; this could prevent Chuta from having another wife.
---
Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (ON HOLD)
You can find them on my profile.]