Book 8: Chapter 55: Two Vials
While Sen let Wu Chia-Hao think about those questions, he looked around the room. It was a surprisingly bare room, save for a few pictures that had been rendered in a style Sen didn’t recognize. Standing from his chair, he walked over to one of the paintings and studied it. It was a simple enough image, a still pond with a lone tree spreading its branches over the water. What made it unique was that the entire image had been rendered entirely in what looked to be black ink. Sen had no idea how the artist had accomplished the feat, having no practical experience with art himself, but he found he appreciated the quiet mastery it seemed to display.
“This is very nice,” said Sen in a conversational tone. “Who painted it?”
There was a pregnant pause before Wu Chia-Hao choked out, “My daughter, Wu Ningli.”
Sen nodded before he returned to the chair and sat down. He remained silent for a time and simply stared at the Wu patriarch. The other man tried to still his trembling hands by pressing them flat against the table.
“I didn’t have a family,” said Sen. “When I was a child. I grew up alone. On the streets. It’s hard for a person to appreciate what family truly means until they live without one. It’s given me a particular appreciation for those who have become my family, as well as those who enter into my service. I am protective of them.”
“I… I see,” said the Wu patriarch.
“I sincerely doubt that given how many people you sent out there to die at my hands. But you are a father,” said Sen and let that implied threat hang in the air.
Wu Chia-Hao’s eyes shot to the painting. Real panic bled into the man’s expression.
“I tried to stop it! I did!”