Once Xian and the others had been permitted to grow their hair, even the modest length they had to adhere to, they were to integrate themselves more and more into the Jade Temple. If they had to be seen in public, they had to be seen as acolytes of the Jade Temple, preparing for a lifetime of worshiping Xuewen. Xian couldn't exactly say that he liked wearing the acetic monks' attire, but he followed orders regardless.

  The days were filled with lessons in subterfuge, right under the noses of the actual monks and priests of Xuewen. Xian privately thought it was amusing how ironic it was how ignorant the monks of the God of Knowledge were to what was happening in their temple, but perhaps that was why the Lotus Pond was located in this particular temple. If you were able to avoid detection from the monks, you deserved your place.

  At night, more lessons of agility, stamina, and stealth, not to mention a few lessons in interrogations. How to conduct them. How to withstand them. How to clean up after them.

  The years were a bit of a blur for Xian. He knew logically that he had grown: he was taller, he was broader, his voice had cracked and sufficiently found a new timbre, and that was to say nothing of all the subjects Xian had been instructed in besides his night lessons.

  The Gardener had all of them practice their Common until their enunciation and elocution were completely devoid of any Semetran inflection; then he had them learn how to include intonations and colloquialisms of various countries: adding a swooping lilt of Lanrutcan, using Aneian filler words in conversation, rolling their r's like the Beleza, or use Uthwanese idioms. All tiny details meant to flavor their Common to sound like someone who was, if not local to the foreign kingdom, then had lived there for quite some time.

  Once their Common was deemed sufficient for the Gardener's standards, then came the lessons in all the other languages. Several times, they would be tested by listening to a conversation in the target language, then instructed to transcribe it verbatim in the same language after only one listen. They'd be tested in the reverse as well: a document in a foreign script would be held in front of them for the slightest of moments before being burnt to ash and have to be recalled entirely from memory.

  Xian wished he could say he was flawless in all his lessons, but he simply couldn’t grasp the intricacies of all the languages to the same mastery. His only comfort was that the others seemed to have similar struggles, and none of them had been pruned yet. Perhaps the Gardener would specifically assign each of them to the kingdoms whose languages they mastered best. He prayed to Jabidanche that he would not be sent to Beleza, he would be found out in less than a day.

  Though he highly doubted he'd have to worry about Beleza.

  When they were all in their sixteenth year, or as close as Xian could estimate, they all knew change was just on the horizon.

  It began when they were the other acolytes and monks for evening prayer. They recited the sutras of Xuewen alongside the others as if they had always devoted themselves to the god, but all the while, they were listening for the sound of a distant gong. Too far to be considered by the other monks as something concerning them, but close enough that those who knew could hear it.

  Eight gongs. They were to meet after prayers.

  Xian finished his sutras in time with the others, performing his kowtow in front of the statue of Xuewen with all the reverence the god of knowledge deserved. But while the other monks and acolytes rose from their kowtow, Xian did not move. Even as the temple began to empty as the others began to retire for the evening, Xian maintained the posture of an acolyte caught in reverent worship of the god.

  Before long, Xian could spot from his periphery that it was just him and the other seven that remained from his group. The eight imposter acolytes. Though, by morning, the rest of the temple would be told that they all had simply decided to go back to their home villages, never to be seen or heard from again.

  Their time masquerading was over.

  They stood at the same time, with far too much practice in silent movement, not saying a word to each other as they made their way to the room specified by the secret message in the ringing gong.

  The Gardener was waiting for them when they entered, but he wasn’t alone. Not for tonight.

  “Long live the Emperor!” He did not raise his voice, but the force of his words was no less felt by the rest of the occupants in the room.

  “Vessel of heaven, divine ruler of earth!” Xian called back in unison with the others.

  “Long live Semetra!”

  “May her Horizons be endless and her enemies tremble!”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Satisfied with their response, Akita Kunikage nodded, slowly walking around the room as he inspected each of them. Xian could feel his skin prickle as the Gardener circled him, a chill running down his spine when he passed too close.

  “You all came from the muck and mire of society,” Akita began, “when you entered this temple, you had nothing, you were nothing…if not less than.”

  Xian had learned over the years that the others (both those who were standing beside him and those who had already been pruned) had come from poverty: living on the streets or in overcrowded orphanages. He had realized he was the only one among them who knew his family name; even if he were not permitted to use it.

  Xian might not have been permitted any of his belongings from his old home, but Xian had not come to the Lotus Pond with nothing. If nothing else, he had his family name.

  He had A-die’s family name.

  "For the past ten years, you have trained," Akita spoke again, "Those ten years were spent attempting to grow beyond the muck you came from. You saw what happened to those among you who were unable to grow, but you persisted. The time has come for you to become Lotuses, to serve Semetra and her Emperor."

  Xian's heart skipped a beat. He knew this was coming, but it was still surreal to know he had made it: he was one of the final eight, he was going to become a Lotus.

  But he also knew what was coming next.

  The Gardener walked back to the front table, picking up a single black bottle, "I've taken great care in assigning which of Semetra's neighbors you will infiltrate. You have learned their language, but you will also learn everything possible about their rulers, their people, and their weaknesses." He set the bottle down on the table once more, "Tonight you will take the mark that will strip away the muck you came from, and bestow upon you the grand purpose your Emperor desires of you."

  Xian watched as the strangers in the room moved to the table, picking up small inking needles and receiving small portions of ink from the black bottle. That was when Xian understood Akita's words.

  While Xian had never actually seen a bottle of Ryioshi ink before, he remembered enough from his studies to know its properties. Collected from the poisonous spines of the Ryioshi squid from the depths of Lake Xinyue, the ink contained a powerful camouflaging agent. For the squid, it made hiding from predators easy. But if a talented alchemist knew the correct method of distilling the ink from the poison of the squid, that same ink could be used to write invisible messages...or used to meld with a person's flesh if mixed with enough blood.

  Growing up in the Lotus Pond, Xian had heard stories of previous Lotuses, and what happened in this room on nights like this. He had always heard that Lotuses had to surrender their faces and identities to the Emperor's will to serve as his loyal tools. Lotuses, after all, did not have faces. Growing up, Xian hadn't understood how exactly one could surrender their face without serious bodily harm and maiming.

  But if someone were to have enough Ryioshi ink embedded in their flesh, that camouflaging property that served the squid would also serve to permanently camouflage the individual as well. But instead of giving the illusion of invisibility, the camouflage came in the form of ambiguity. There would be no defining features; instead, they would have an appearance based entirely on perception, never the same from person to person. Impossible for anyone to identify.

  But that was if the ink was distilled correctly before application. If not...the poison would do its job quickly and efficiently. There was a reason the ink was far too expensive for the common folk to use.

  The Gilded Emperor, in all his wisdom, had deigned them all a reasonable expense.

  There wasn't much to say after Akita had made his declaration. All eight of them stripped down to the waist before submitting to the strangers-- or rather, the ink masters-- and their needles. None of them spared each other a second glance. After all, there were no men or women in the Lotus Pond, only weapons to be wielded in service to their emperor.

  Weapons to defend, weapons to cut down the enemy. That was the adage drilled into them after their first kill. Their dirty work meant the good folk of Semetra did not suffer, they did the unspeakable so their Emperor would never need to know the atrocities the enemy planned.

  It was the adage that Xian kept repeating to himself, timing it with each breath to remain steady with each strike of the needle, and the sting of the ink in his flesh.

  Because of the amount of ink necessary to cause the change necessary for the Lotuses, the process took several hours. If Xian was accurate in his timekeeping, they were drawing close to sunrise. His back felt like it was on fire, and the slightest movement in any sort of direction sent jolts of pain directly to the base of his skull and the small of his back. But the pain was meant to be ignored, pain was a meaningless distraction, after all.

  It was only after the ink master permitted him to rise from his spot that Xian was afforded the chance to glance at his fellow acolytes and their own marks. After all, it was only when the ink was fresh and had yet to react with the blood and flesh of the bearer completely that Xian would ever be able to see the tattoo and the face of the bearer at the same time.

  Xian felt a vague sense of surprise when he saw the twisting Leviathan of Anaeia on U-jin's back. On the other hand, seeing the delicate hibiscus and plumeria of the Haivai Islands on Shimi's back was far less surprising.

  As Xian's gaze moved from one to the other, he noticed that they were also doing the very same, taking this one chance to properly look at each other; one last chance to see each other's faces.

  Inevitably, Xian realized that their gazes were lingering on his own back. He didn't blame them; even if he hadn't already suspected before tonight, the process of elimination would have told him what was on his back.

  But that hardly meant Xian could avoid confronting the issue with his own eyes. With a sigh, Xian picked up a polished piece of silver offered to him by the ink master, before the master moved a larger mirror behind Xian.

  And even though Xian was looking at a reflection of a reflection, it did not ease the sense of dread that curled and twisted in his gut as his eyes took in the winding ink that traveled down his spine. The complex, multi-petaled blooms, each one unique in size, shape, and number and layers; the stems and vines that twisted and turned wherever they damn well pleased, the thorns that reminded Xian all too well of the needle that had placed the image in Xian's flesh.

  There was no mistaking the wild roses of Rathania.