Tattoo Scrolls: King

The King Scroll is the third of the five Tattoo Scrolls, written by Grandmaster Zhang the Burdened during the events of the War of Shadows. In it, teachings of leadership and fairness of judgement are distilled that are available only to the initiated disciple.

Like the other Scrolls, the King Scroll has several properties that mean only great training and preparation allow one to safely read it directly. One will quickly notice the enormous map of a seemingly endless city, unofficially named the Palace of Zhang by students, covering the entire Scroll. Understanding the layout, political dynamics, and needs of the city is paramount to comprehending the Scroll. Otherwise, the unprepared reader finds themself lost in this city in their every dream, unable to escape until they learn it fully and take control of it as a just ruler.

Provided below is a mere transcription of the Scroll, which is understood to not possibly convey the nature of the Scroll in its entirety.

## Transcription

The student, with Peace but not Power, finds his Master, smiling.

"Master, a truly great honor has come my way. My village has chosen me to be their leader!"

The Master turns to his student. His blind eyes see all to be seen.

He shares his student's grin.

"Wonderful news, my student. You have risen to great power, as I had always expected."

The student nods, and leaves with great Pride to see his people.

One day later, the student returns to his Master. His smile has vanished.

"Master, I bring bad news. A farmer has been branded a murderer by my people and I know not what must be done."

The Master does not answer.

Instead, he walks to the village quietly. His blind eyes scan the farmed landscape.

"My student, I would like to join this village."

The student does not understand, but complies. Soon, the Master sits within his new home.

"Again, my Master, can you resolve this? What wisdom have you for me?"

The Master turns to his student.

"Why do you ask me? I am merely a villager here. You are our Leader."

The student recoils in shock and anger. The Master smiles.

"Young one, if you are to accept great power, you must also endure great responsibility. If a leader merely follows another, then they are no leader themselves."

The student leaves the house.

He does not need his Master. He is enlightened.

He has learned the Weight of the Crown.

The student stands before the Accused. His Master does not stand with him.

The Accused is beside a Widow and a Mortician. The Widow's son has been killed, one who the Accused had visited on the night of his death.

The student peers into the eyes of the Accused. The warmth of his master is not in these eyes. They are cold. Lifeless. Apathetic.

Villagers jeer and howl profanities. The Accused must perish. Justice must be served. Punishment must be dealt.

The weight of a village's rage presses on the student's back.

*I lead these people*, the student ponders. *But I must listen to them too. If I don't fulfill their demands, they will not be satisfied...*

The student hears an odd noise.

He listens.

Ugly sobs heave from the Widow, drowned out by the crowd's gnashing teeth.

*I lead these people. But I must listen.*

The student listens further.

Beneath the storms of the ravenous crowd swim the calmest of truths.

The truth beneath the short-minded Mortician, who had raised the accusation without evidence.

The truth beneath the silent Accused, whose frail mind has cracked under the weight of his horrible fate.

The truth beneath the crying Widow, who had fallen in love with the Accused at her husband's funeral and hoped he would attend another.

A raised hand of the student silences the crowd.

The student smiles with the warmth of his master.

"My people, I am your leader. My voice shall decide our fate. However, there is one thing we can all do, and must - and that is listen."

The student gestures to the three before him.

"Listen, my friends. Listen for the whispers of truth that our world mumbles to us. Truth is not in the words we speak. It is in those we choose to hear.

So silence, my friends. Open your ears, and hear the whispers."

The people listen. The voices of the Three are heard.

In the crowd, the Master smiles.

And both the student and his village are enlightened with the Wise King's Ear.

The Widow stands in a room with the student. They are alone.

The student paces from one side of the room to the next.

*I must decide the fate of this criminal*, he pondered. *It is my duty to choose what is right.*

Minutes pass. The student considers his many options.

*If my decision is wrong, it will be a mighty disservice. I must make the right choice.*

Hours pass. The student thinks further.

*I must make the right choice. What shall I do? My choice may be wrong. What if there is a better one to come?*

Days pass. The student sends the Widow away, and ponders deeply.

*What if my decision is wrong? If there is a better choice, I must find it. To make the right choice, as leader, is most important of all.*

A knock comes to the door.

Behind it, a village guard frowns.

"The Widow has run away."

The student steps back in surprise.

"What?! I had not yet chosen her punishment!"

The guard's anger is hard to miss. "You have failed to make a choice in time. In your endless hunt for perfection, you have failed to do anything at all. To be paralyzed in hesitation is a state unworthy of any leader."

Enlightened tears flow from the student's eyes.

And the student relishes in the Might of the Decisive.

A knock rattles the Master's door.

The student stands before him. Guilt fills his eyes.

"Master, I am unfit to rule this village. I must leave."

The Master, knowing all but seeing none, smiles deeply.

"My student, you have learned profound lessons. You have been taught the Crown's Weight, the Wisdom of your ear, and the Might of decisiveness. It is time for your next lesson - one for which I must not join you."

The door closes.

And alone, the student bears the Way of the King.

*These lessons were distilled from Mistress Mulan Fong, Tiger Queen of the House of a Thousand Whispers.*