The Tiny Emperor's Great Wall (Revised)

Chapter One

Nipping cold seeped into the demon's white robes. Seated upon a straw mat, he stared out at the large lawn. Brown grass complemented the skeleton trees and naked bushes. Mountains off in the distance appeared brown from slumbering trees, only their tops a stark white. They were hardly beautiful, but he knew everything must wither away in its own winter of life.

The demon scooped up a cup of tea with his lower pair of hands to warm his chilled flesh. His two upper hands held a bowl of rice up to his mouth. He shoveled the rice in with chopsticks, but he choked down only a few grains. His rebellious stomach refused to hold anything in.

He passed the rice from his upper to lower hands to retrieve the tea. Worn muscles groaned at the simple action. Wrinkled skin creased as he drank. Hot liquid, tasting of ginger and cinnamon, soothed his throat.

"Grandpa," called a voice behind him. The elder grinned at the younger demon, about two hundred years old. Her bulky, even for a demon, frame leaned upon the red door frame. A sliding door tucked just behind the wall. The two-story house, built for demons with tall hallways, made her seem small. The elderly demon had built all two thousand square feet of it. Wooden, white walls supported her and the weight of the curved, black tiled roof.

A black dress with snowflake designs sewn into it reached her feet. Two of her arms pulled a fur jacket to her body. "It's cold out. Why not come inside?"

Quiet chuckles slipped from the elder. Each breath burned his wizened lungs, but he hid it behind a smile.

"This is nothing," declared the elder. "You should have seen the winter of eleven thousand six hundred. Nearly every river in the Han Empire froze. Even the jungles to the far south were frosted over."

"Of course, Grandpa," groaned the granddaughter. Walking out onto the porch, she knelt and glared at the bowl of rice in disdain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Humming, the old demon studied the snow-capped mountains, their white caps growing by the day. His breath fogged up his thick pair of glasses. He took them off, and the entire world turned into a blur. The boundaries of earth and sky blended so well together that they might as well have been one.

"Please fetch me some roots for a soup," requested the elder. "The rice is just too hard to eat."

"Grandpa, you need to get something down you." Patting the elder's back, the girl pulled him into a hug. "It isn't healthy to eat soup all day."

Nodding, the elder placed his glasses back upon his pointed ears just in time to see a small group of horsemen walking toward the estate. A confused hum slipped from the elder. Except for his home, there was nothing else in these parts of the mountains.

So why visit here? he wondered.

As the horsemen neared, the elder noted their tattered black jackets and brown jeans. Dust and grime coated the horses. The saddles, with frayed leather sticking in all directions, threatened to slip off. Round, if beaten, caps protected their heads. A .45 caliber lever action rifle sat upon each back.

The elder assumed that the leader of the group was a noble, based on his thin blue robes, the holes dotting his long sleeves, and the tan pants. The soles of his riding boots looked ready to peel off. They marched across the browned yard. Patches of dried dirt, where flowers and tea leaves would grow in warmer times, flanked the dusty path to the house. Even the lone oak tree growing in the yard could not wave hello, for the mountain breeze had stripped off its leaves.

Keeping his place, the elder drank his tea. He was just a common man but had outlived most, at eight hundred and fifty-three years. His elderly age granted him the privilege to stay seated, yet his granddaughter knelt and bowed her head.