The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) - R. F. Kuang Page 0,112

cowardly.

“Democracy’s not going to work. Look at them.” She was gesturing at trees, not people, but it hardly made a difference to her. “They’re cows. Fools. They’re voting for the Republic because they’re scared—I’m sure they’d vote just as quickly to join the Federation.”

“Don’t be unfair,” Nezha said. “They’re just people: they’ve never studied warcraft.”

“So then they shouldn’t rule!” she shouted. “They need someone to tell them what to do, what to think—”

“And who’s that going to be? Daji?”

“Not Daji. But someone educated. Someone who’s passed the Keju, who’s graduated from Sinegard. Someone who’s been in the military. Someone who knows the value of a human life.”

“You’re describing yourself,” said Nezha.

“I’m not saying it would be me,” Rin said. “I’m just saying it shouldn’t be the people. Vaisra shouldn’t let them elect anyone. He should just rule.”

Nezha tilted his head to the side. “You want my father to make himself Emperor?”

A wave of nausea rocked her stomach before she could respond. There was no time to get up; she lurched forward onto her knees and heaved the contents of her stomach against the tree. Her face was too close to the ground. A good deal of vomit splashed back onto her cheek. She rubbed clumsily at it with her sleeve.

“You all right?” Nezha asked when she’d stopped dry-heaving.

“Yes.”

He rubbed his hand in circles on her back. “Good.”

She spat a gob of regurgitated wine onto the dirt. “Fuck off.”

Nezha lifted a clump of mud up from the riverbank. “Have you ever heard the story of how the goddess Nüwa created humanity?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell it to you.” Nezha molded the mud into a ball with his palms. “Once upon a time, after the birth of the world, Nüwa was lonely.”

“What about her husband, Fuxi?” Rin only knew the myths about Nüwa and Fuxi both.

“Absent spouse, I guess. Myth doesn’t mention him.”

“Of course.”

“Of course. Anyway, Nüwa gets lonely, decides to create some humans to populate the world to keep her company.” Nezha pressed his fingernails into the ball of mud. “The first few people she makes are incredibly detailed. Fine features, lovely clothes.”

Rin could see where this was going. “Those are the aristocrats.”

“Yes. The nobles, the emperors, the warriors, everyone who matters. Then she gets bored. It’s taking too long. So she takes a rope and starts flinging mud in all directions. Those become the hundred clans of Nikan.”

Rin swallowed. Her throat tasted like acid. “They don’t tell that story in the south.”

“And why do you think that is?” Nezha asked.

She turned that over in her mind for a moment. Then she laughed.

“My people are mud,” she said. “And you’re still going to let them run a country.”

“I don’t think they’re mud,” Nezha said. “I think they’re still unformed. Uneducated and uncultured. They don’t know better because they haven’t been given the chance. But the Republic will shape and refine them. Develop them into what they were meant to be.”

“That’s not how it works.” Rin took the clump of mud from Nezha’s hand. “They’re never going to become more than what they are. The north won’t let them.”

“That’s not true.”

“You think that. But I’ve seen how power works.” Rin crushed the clump in her fingers. “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.”

Chapter 18

“You’re joking,” Ramsa said.

Rin shook her head, and her temples throbbed at the sudden movement. Under the harsh light of dawn, she’d come to deeply regret ever touching alcohol, which made the task of informing the Cike they’d been disbanded very distasteful. “I’m unranked. Jinzha’s orders.”

“Then what about us?” Ramsa demanded.

She gave him a blank look. “What about you?”

“Where are we supposed to go?”

“Oh.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. “You’re being reassigned. You’re on the Griffon, I think, and Suni and Baji are on the tower ships—”

“We’re not together?” Ramsa asked. “Fuck that. Can’t we just refuse?”

“No.” She pressed a palm into her aching forehead. “You’re still Republic soldiers. You have to follow orders.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“Something!” he shouted. “Anything! We’re not the Cike anymore, and you’re just going to take that lying down?”

She wanted to cover her ears with her hands. She was so exhausted. She wished Ramsa would just go away and break the news to the others for her so that she could lie down and go to sleep and stop thinking about anything.

“Who cares? The Cike’s not that