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Lin Shu’s body was covered in soulmarks.
Once he tried to count them. They were as small as pinpricks, making his skin look speckled. He could never read any of them but he thought he could at least try to count them. To give an idea: One finger had more than a hundred on it. To try to count the soulmarks on his palm would have been even worse.
These were the names of people who would influence his life greatly or whose life he would influence greatly. People whose souls were tied to him in some inextricable way. “I'll be a brilliant general,” he told Xiao Jingyan haughtily, whenever the subject came up, “and save thousands of lives.”
Privately, however, he had his doubts. Soulmarks were generally supposed to be reciprocal, and he’d only met a handful of people who had his name on their skin. Jingyan was one of them. There was also Mu Nihuang—her soulmark was one reason they’d been betrothed by their families—and Meng Zhi. But in the Chiyan Army, for instance, which he was supposed to lead one day, very few soldiers had his name on their skin. In fact, the soldiers of the Chiyan Army shared very few names. They didn’t even share the name of Lin Xie. A lot of them had the name “Xie Yu”, and some had the name “Xia Jiang” or “Xuanji”. And most of them carried the name “Mei Changsu”. But that was about it.
Mei Changsu.
This name was a name extraordinarily common in soulmarks in Da Liang in this era. The emperor himself was marked with the name Mei Changsu, as was Lin Shu’s father, as were most of the more influential nobles at court. Many soldiers outside the Chiyan Army also carried the name. Jingyan and a few of his brothers carried the name. Nihuang did, as did several inhabitants of Yunnan. It was known to be widespread in the jianghu, as well. Even some people in adjacent kingdoms carried the name. It was mysterious indeed, this name, for there was no man named Mei Changsu known in Da Liang—or at least, none who lived up to the title. Sometimes swindlers would call themselves Mei Changsu, but it was a transparent hoax, and none of them did anything to merit marking thousands upon thousands of people’s skin. Besides, none of them carried the many reciprocal soulmarks that such a man would require.
Lin Shu supposed that in theory “Mei Changsu” would have to have skin as speckled as his own, were all the marks reciprocal. But he doubted that soulmarks have to be as reciprocal as people think. After all, so few in this world carried his own name, while he carried so many. Perhaps some people were affected by many lives they would never affect—perhaps they had sensitive souls that way—and perhaps others could affect thousands of lives without themselves being affected.
Lin Xie used to joke about how maybe “Mei Changsu” were some relative of his. It was a joke he could make with a very limited number of people: Old Master Lin at Langya Hall, Yan Que, a handful of others. People who knew he called himself “Mei Shinan” when he wanted to go incognito, spelling the “Mei” the same way as the “Mei” in “Mei Changsu”.
Considering this, the answer to the riddle of the age—who is Mei Changsu?—should perhaps have come to Lin Shu sooner. In fact, it did not come to him until the day Lin Chen unwrapped the bandages around his jaw and asked him, now that he could properly talk, what they should call him, as until now they had called him simply “our visitor” in order to avoid giving away his identity. Months he had lived nameless. Now he stared at the mirror and saw new skin, an unmarked face, and something clicked.
“I’ll be Mei Changsu,” he said, voice still hoarse.
Lin Chen glared. “You won’t actually get away with taking on that kind of title, you know.” The disrespect annoyed him too. He was one of several in Langya Hall who had Mei Changsu’s name on his skin, and had no patience with any fakes they heard about in reports.
“I’m not taking it on falsely. It’s been my name all along. Surname from Mei Shinan. And the rest… it’s a fucking pun, can’t you see? Now that I look at it, now that things are as they are… All along, a joke,” he said. Lin Shu hidden in Meiling. A bitter joke, now that he saw its meaning.
Lin Chen considered the pun, frowned, and said, “You may be right.”
“I used to bear those soulmarks without owning the name,” he said. “Now they’re gone, but the name is mine. I wonder how I will convince people I’m really the one. Well, it doesn’t matter. I will have the power to change lives, apparently.” All he had to lose to do it was his name, his self. He became Mei Changsu, and became the man who would live for the Chiyan Army—the one who would set their souls to rest by getting them justice.
The news spread in the jianghu that a man named Mei Changsu had started a new sect called the Jiangzuo Alliance. At first people were skeptical. But as time passed and the Alliance’s power grew, as it took down rivals and local villains—corrupt nobles and roving bandits and other infamous characters all with equal efficiency—most folk of the jianghu began to believe that this was truly the one and only Mei Changsu. Many people flocked to visit him, either hoping for some deep personal connection or hoping to ask him for help or advice with some problem they were having. The Jiangzuo Alliance was generally pleased to offer help to the deserving, but those who hoped they and Mei Changsu would become close friends due to their soulmarks were gently, politely rebuffed. Mei Changsu’s circle was only Jiangzuo Alliance members and a few select others. To others he would be kind, but never intimate.
Xiao Jingrui knew better than to assume he could befriend Mei Changsu easily, so he was surprised when the two of them met by chance in a restaurant and got along well. He didn’t even learn Mei Changsu’s name until they were deep in conversation. When he did, he started, stammered, blushed, and at last bowed and pulled open his collar to reveal the name Mei Changsu sitting a little under his collarbone. It was considered common courtesy to share soulmarks when you met someone who marked you.
He smiled as he showed it, but Mei Changsu looked at it gravely, and bowed as Xiao Jingrui had. “I’m sorry that I cannot show you any mark of my own. From birth, I have never borne a soulmark. It is my illness, my deformity… You may have heard of it.”
“Yes, of course, I had heard that rumor. I understand, Chief Mei. There is no need for—I only wanted to show you mine, but many others are like me. I don’t expect anything, and I hope I haven’t made Chief Mei uncomfortable.”
“Not at all. Were I to carry your name in return, I could only be happy. It is one thing that saddens me about my illness more than anything else.”
“Ah, but if Chief Mei carried all the names of those who carried his name, there would hardly be any clear skin. Your influence on the world…”
“It may be said as easily that those who carry my name will touch my life,” Mei Changsu said, “as I suspect you may. Let us be friends, Young Master Xiao.”
So they became friends, and Jingrui felt honored, for he knew a soulmark was not enough to affect Mei Changsu this way. How he’d won the man over in mere conversation he did not know, but it could only be said that he was incredibly lucky.
“Perhaps he’ll be friends with you too,” he told Yujin hopefully. Yujin also had Mei Changsu’s name on his skin, halfway down his back, right where it would have been difficult to scratch if it were itchy.
“Perhaps! How exciting. All the court will be jealous of us.”
Later, Jingrui would consider that a soulmark was not always a sign of friendship. It could as easily signify an enemy, as long as the one named changed the other’s life.
He could admit his life was changed.
It was a puzzle to many in the capital that Meng Zhi seemed to get along well with Sir Su but did not have the name “Mei Changsu” on him anywhere. If you asked him, he would shrug and laugh, say that he was hard to mark. This was true enough, but not the full truth.
“Why should I carry your alias anyway?” he told Mei Changsu once, when it came up. “Lin Shu is good enough for me. Ah, I hope it doesn’t offend you… I know it’s not your name anymore, but I can’t see you any different. It goes over my head, I guess.”
“I’m not offended,” Mei Changsu said. “Far too many people have my name already.” He sighed. He’d never felt the burden of thousands of names when he was actually marked, but now they were all too heavy.
Meng Zhi slapped him on the back. “Well, as you used to say, soulmarks don’t decide everything anyhow. I don’t trouble myself over it and neither should you.”
“Easier said than done, with half the capital on my back.”
“More like your name on the back of half the capital,” Meng Zhi said. Mei Changsu gave him a look. “Sorry, sorry! Just a joke.”
…it was a little funny.
“I should have known it was you,” Jingyan said, when at last the truth was revealed. “It should have been so obvious. All those marks you had back then, and all the ones you don’t have now… I should have known.”
(“Lin Shu,” the emperor would cry days later, “I should have known. We all should have known.”
“Mei Changsu,” Yan Que would say, “Mei as in Mei Shinan… I wonder…”
“Mei Changsu,” Prince Yu said once, almost weeping, never having learned the truth, “in this life, you were not the one fated to raise me up but to destroy me. A cruel one like you—it is no wonder I never marked you, or that no one can.”)
“Very few have ever guessed,” Mei Changsu said quietly. “My lie was built into the skin of this country since before I was born.” He smiled. “I told you once, didn’t I, that I would change the world with my brilliance?” But his smile was cynical, and carried none of Lin Shu’s bravado of the past.
“You’ve changed everything,” Jingyan said. “Xiao Shu, Mei Changsu, you have changed me.”
Mei Changsu looked away. “I never wanted to do that.”
“Did I say it was for the worse?”
“How could it be for the better? The person I have become…”
“Is still honorable, industrious, ambitious but only for the good of others, thirsty for power only to achieve justice. You woke me from years of grief and bitterness and made me a warrior again.”
“And I will make you emperor,” Mei Changsu said. “Your highness, forgive me.”
“You should still call me Jingyan,” Jingyan said. “If the name is no longer on your skin, I hope you still carry it in your heart.”
“Always,” Mei Changsu said, “but, your highness…”
Jingyan raised his eyebrows.
Chastened, Mei Changsu said, “Jingyan.”
“That’s better.”