--------------------------------- [u][b]July 8th: Beijing, China[/b][/u] --------------------------------- Yaqob woke up cold. The Ethiopian Embassy had once been the mansion of a Kuomintang general. It was built of stone and wood, decorated with complex patterns, and topped with a blue slanting roof. It was majestic, and certainly expensive, but it wasn't well insulated and let in a draft, something the young Prince hadn't experienced in his African homeland. His room had a dresser and a handful of empty bookshelves. That latter detail depressed him. Despite being so far from home, he was starting to feel like a royal prisoner again, the man in the iron mask, kept in a stone cage until he was needed for some official purpose. Sometimes he met Akale Tebebe drinking coffee in the sweet smelling garden, going through paperwork. Akale was a busy man. He'd been tasked with working out trade agreements, particularly for coffee, the prime obsession of the Minister of Pen. Today he wasn't there, and Yaqob took his coffee alone while watching the sparrows flit on blue tiles atop the stone wall surrounding the property. He found himself counting the flowers painted on the wall when he realized he needed to take action. He needed books, right? Every other day he'd been meeting with a tutor to teach him Chinese. Wouldn't a book written in the language be study material of a sort? He went inside, catching to musky scent of incense as he passed from room to room. In his bedroom he got dressed in a Zhongshan suit and boots, both a gift from the mayor of Beijing. He found Yuan, Chinese currency, and went to the garage outside, startling the Chinese driver and his mechanic, who were both smoking when the prince came in. In awkward Chinese he asked for a ride to the market. The uncertain driver obliged. They went down the wooded road where sleepy mansions stood. The city became denser and the road straightened. Grey hutongs crowded under slender jujube trees as the people of the city went on by, barely noticing the car as it passed. They met the main street, crowded with cars and buses. Yaqob loved the feel of the city, how it was lively and bright. He was dropped off in front of an open-air market while the driver went to find what to do with the car. The market was made of so many stalls lined up neatly under canopies. Yaqob, taller than anybody else in the market, had no problem seeing what was for sale. There were buddhas and other religious items, porcelain bowls and vases, incense wrapped in large bundles. He saw one large vase with the angelic image of Hou feeding some ducks, a serene smile on his face. [i]"Farmers are pouring into the cities celebrating this season's bounty!"[/i] a woman's voice stated in a joyous airy tone over radio speakers on wire-choked poles, [i]"The Ministry of Agriculture reports that rice supplies have doubled within the previous two months! Good weather in Hubei, Zhegiang, Shanghai, and Anhui have brought forth a plentiful harvest over this year! More is yet to come as the provinces of Hunan, Guizhou, and Guangxi have yet to report in. It is Friday, July 8th. The temperature is 30 degrees. "[/i] It went on to play music, bombastic and optimistic, a singing choir proclaiming "[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzMKnPtmszc]The east is red, the sun is rising.[/url]" An old man with coke-bottle glasses sold books stacked in shipping crates. Yaqob entered his stall. The old man looked up and did a double take, not used to men of the prince's complexion. Yaqob perused as happily as if he were a housewife shopping for her friends. "Are you looking for something in particular?" the old man asked politely. "I don't know." Yaqob said awkwardly. He was self-conscious of his slow, bumbling way of speaking the language, sounding like a mental retard escaped from the asylum. The old man gave him an off look and left him alone. The titles of the books were hard to read. He'd never heard of most of it, but he picked up three; a collection of Hou's later essays, a book he'd never heard of called [i]Ziye[/i], and a strangely out of place one called [i]Miss Sophia's Diary[/i]. The book dealer wasn't communicative when Yaqob paid him, looking up and nodding at who he must have saw as a foolish near-mute dark skinned giant. With books in hand, Yaqob continued his walk. He entered a part of the street where food was being sold. Amongst the fruits and spices wafted the smells of snacks being cooked on the street. Yaqob wanted to feel like a real authentic Chinese communist. With a set of Houist essays on top of his stack, he walked up to a cart and bought a pork bun. It tasted strangely sweet compared to what he was used to. "Enjoying the town, your highness?" an unfamiliar voice, professional and polite, came from behind. He processed instantly that the voice was speaking Amharic. He turned around and saw an unassuming young Chinese man dressed in overalls like a mechanic. "Who are you?" Yaqob asked. The man pulled out a badge as nonchalantly as if he was showing a photograph of his family. Intelligence Bureau. "I am glad to see you enjoying our city. But, If you don't mind me saying, I could have been somebody dangerous. But you are lucky. I am your friend." "Why would I be in danger?" "The world is a dangerous place. Do you know what kind of strange people loiter the markets this time of day? And you are not exactly conspicuous." "I am done anyway." Yaqob said. The agent shrugged. "Well, no harm no foul, eh? I'll follow you until you are home. Make sure you are safe." The agent walked him to his car, where the nervous looking driver who'd brought him there was waiting. The agent got in with them, and they started back toward the embassy. "So I can't go outside?" Yaqob asked, almost pouting. "You can go wherever you like, but please go with an escort." the agent pulled a cigarette from his pocket and offered it to the prince. Yaqob shook his head. The agent shrugged and lit it up himself. "And make sure your people get in contact with us. We want to know any place you visit is safe for you." Yaqob's day out ended in the garage where it'd started. The mechanic was still there, leaning against the corner, smoking. Yaqob started to leave the car, but the agent grabbed him gently by the shoulder. "You remember what we talked about?" "I'll do as you say." Yaqob said. They both got out. The agent walked down the street from which they'd just came, whistling 'The East is Red.'