Thirty years after the War of Broken Crowns and the fall of the White-Gold King: Sun-Li had a new adversary to face.

“So what do you like to do?” he asked his granddaughter, Antha.

Antha had been riding on horseback all day with her mother (his daughter) and wisps of hair were sweat-stuck to her small, round cheeks. Instead of answering, she scowled and dashed past him into the house.

Sun-Li sighed and turned to follow, wishing for a little of her speed. He battled another enemy now, invisible, near invincible: age.

Inside, she was frowning at the food—congee, youtiao, pickled vegetables—arranged on the table.

“You can eat, if you’d like?” he began.

“I don’t wanna. I wanna play. Why did my mother leave again?”

“Well, you were both on the way to visit me, but she heard news of some bandits. So she dropped you off and she’ll be back soon.”

“Will she cut off their heads?” Antha asked eagerly.

If there was an appropriate age for stories about beheadings, Sun-Li couldn’t remember it. “She will, ah, do what is right.”

Antha glared at him—the look of a child who can smell a diplomatic answer.

“Maybe she’ll catch them and smack their bottoms,” Sun-Li said lightly.

She giggled at the joy of a grown-up saying a forbidden word. Then she remembered she was sulking, scowled again, and scuttled into his bedroom.

When she emerged, Antha had found a robe and was busy trying to wrap herself in it.

No, not just a robe.

The Robe Invincible. The one he had worn when he had captured the White-Gold King.

Sun-Li entered the throne room.

The White-Gold King on his throne, looking down. “But how did you get through the traps?” And then he saw the Robe and he glared. “Not even that can protect you forever.”

Antha’s little hands lifted the edge of the robe as she ran outside.

“There’s something wrong,” she said, when he caught up to her. “The robe is broken. It’s too heavy.”

He laughed. “No, not broken, little one. It’s Crafted. Magical. It doesn’t let things get close.”

She looked at him like this was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Why?”

“So you can’t be hurt.”

“But you can’t get hugs.”

“That’s a fair point,” he conceded.

“Lemme try,” she said, then before he could catch her, she hurled herself at the katsura tree that bloomed crimson up and over his house. The robe bounced her back from the tree unhurt, and she rolled on the ground.

She looked wide-eyed at him.

“Did you know it could do that?”

“I … I did not,” he said.

“Do you have any other toys?”

The White-Gold King gripped his blade, half-astonished, half-anguished as Sun-Li deflected another spell.

“Do you truly believe these toys can defeat me?”

Sun-Li grinned back, cocky. “Yes, I think they can.”

He led her into his storeroom.

“It’s a little dusty,” he said.

She looked around wide-eyed at the assembled things. Each one had a story from his adventures—

“Junk,” she said.

“Would any of this be okay to play with?” he asked.

And then her eyes lit up. She reached over to the bottom of a stack and pulled, sending the rest clattering to the ground.

He winced then helped her to unearth it. It was the Shield.

He had never quite been sure if it was Crafted. Its reputation was that every blow that it took split open reality like a melon, and the Shield led you to the best outcome, the best world. Had it worked? It was difficult to tell.

The girl pushed her sleeves up and with a grunt, lifted the Shield with both hands. He helped her with the other side.

“What do we need a Shield for?”

She gave him another look. “It’s not a shield.”

“It’s not?”

“Help me outside and I’ll show you.”

Outside, she put it onto the grassy hill and then plomped herself down upon it.

“See? It’s a dragon slaying sled. Now I just need a lance to slay the dragon.”

“Hm.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Have you ever even slayed a dragon?”

The White-Gold King on the floor, his helmet shattered. Spitting blood at him. “What next after you defeat me? You can only become what I’ve become. Then you will see.”

He blinked himself back to the present. “I … haven’t, I admit.”

“Well you obviously need a lance.”

“Obviously. One moment, little mistress.”

Sun-Li went back to the storeroom and took the Spear of Sorrow. He unscrewed the spearhead, then took it the staff in his hands. For a moment muscle memory took over and it windmilled through his hands, spinning end over end. And then memory faltered and it fell, clattering to the floor.

He chuckled to himself and took it outside to his granddaughter.

She took it, dubious.

“Are you sure this will work?”

“I thought we could try.”

“It looks too old.”

“Are you talking about me or the staff?” She looked at him, unsure if he was joking.

He let it go. “But aren’t we still missing one thing?”

She furrowed her brow.

“Where is the dragon?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s just pretend.”

“But we could use my dragon.”

“What?” For a moment, her jaw dropped and then suspicion crept up her face. “Wait, that’s not true.”

“Yes, it’s just down here.” He walked to the bottom of the hill, and pretended to look one way and then the other, his back towards her.

“Well, where is it?” Suspicion gave way to a haughty pretense.

“It’s right … here.” Sun-Li turned and growled as loud as he could, hands outstretched into claws, robe pulled over his head.

Despite herself, Antha gave a shriek that turned into a giggle, and kicked off the ground and slid on the sled down the hill towards him, the staff pointed at his heart and her laughter reaching to the sky.

* * *

Ⓒ Guan Un

Originally published in Worlds of Possibility, August 31, 2023. Reprinted here by permission of the author.