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[scholar]

Lu Shang? I was already planning on it! I'm just working on a way to bring him in

Isn't that old general still alive I'm not going to include any generals that are still alive in this Truthfully I want to keep this to people pre-1900s. Otherwise having Hitler, Stalin, Patton, Wilson, MacArthur, etc. crammed in would be silly

Now, in cooperation with the other places I've put up the story and poll the current standings for countries are:
Mongolia 2
Italy 1
Great Britain/England 1
France 1
Other 1

Two for mongolia  I'm curious about the Italy possibility. I have a few ideas on England, France... I already have Napoleon And for the other... you're supposed to STATE who you want. They didn't so.. foey.

[scholar]

Chapter 14: Remembrance.

   Several days have past, Wu Qi was kindly given residence by Liu Biao. The Kuai brothers have been frequently visiting him seeking to tap his knowledge. Liu Biao himself visited twice to coax him into giving his opinions. Wu Qi had originally thought Liu Biao to be a kind, goodly ruler but he found him one-sided and unable to rule on his own. He was nothing like his King. Though the Kuai brothers had talent Wu found the elder to be militaristic and the younger too fond of books. The rest of the men in Xiang Yang that came to visit him were either arrogant and full of themselves or far too reliant on others. Wu Qi learned of a civil war taking place in this very country yet all they could do was stabilize their province giving nominal allegiance to evil and despicable men.
   Wu Qi simply couldn't stand the affairs of this region, he wrote down his frustrations in characters so neatly written, it was as if they were written by a master calligrapher, or so Kuai Yue thought when looking at it. In actuality they were poor scribbles compared to others in his Kingdom. When he could no longer stand the situation he left the residence and sat alongside the south bank of the river facing north. The scenery was all too familiar, he had sat on this bank many times before. When he thought of others who used to be here in Chu he could only weep. There were no familiar faces, only distant memories of the long since dead. It was all too depressing.
   A young boy with a piece of straw in his hand was riding an ox. He was singing a nursery rhyme that was all too familiar to Wu Qi. Quickly Wu Qi stood up and approached the boy. "Who are you?" asked Wu Qi, with newly found vigor. "I am a child, born in the chaos of the capital, raised in the safety of the Jing with distant family" Rather surprised by the directness of the answer, Wu Qi inquired further. After the death of He Jin and Dong Zhou, dark figures who's names are only known to those that directly serve them have taken control of the Capital. In the chaos around this transition his family fled south. "Dark figures?" The boy was rather perplexed "My uncle told me, I don't know much else" Wu Qi was aggressively direct now "May I speak to your uncle?"

[scholar]

I need an editor...

I just realized my grammar is the same as that of a third grader's.

[scholar]

Chapter 15: A simple fisherman

Jiang Ziya has grown old with age.  Now bordering a century, he is by far the oldest man of rank throughout the Kingdom.  Long, silvery gray hair would drape onto his shoulders and back.  A fine, silken robe normally companies him, usually a fine green.  His heart is virtuous and playful, something that is normally forgotten with age.  Every day he goes by the river with a fishing rod, and every day he sits.  The occasional passer-by, who doesn't know him, thinks of him as nothing but an old man who's lived well beyond his years.   Jiang didn't care much about that.  He had helped to forge a Kingdom where the people could be happy, and that was all that mattered.  If his name gets lost in history, so be it.  As long as the Zhou would last a thousand years, then nothing else matters.

A gentle breeze blew across Jiang's face, pushing his silver hair along his back.  A soft, gentle glow appeared, resembling the appearance of a butterfly.   Jiang noticed the glow and his eyes were fixated on it.   He extended his hand and the butterfly descended onto his finger.   A wide smile appeared on Jiang's face and a few small laughs were heard.  The butterfly then morphed into a sphere, then expanded, and seemingly consumed Jiang in its glow.  Eventually, Jiang vanished, leaving only his fishing rod.  Moments after the disappearance several fish fought a near tug-a-war match over being caught on its hook.

When the glow disappeared Jiang found himself sitting by the same riverbank as before, but immediately he started noticing differences.  Thatched housings had moved, or had appeared out of no-where.  There were more people there now, but most importantly his fishing rod was gone.   Jiang stood and gained a better view of his surroundings.   They were the same as before, yet slightly different. These differences were keenly picked up by Jiang, who then immediately set off in search of a new fishing rod.

Walking with a sort of youthful energy, Jiang found himself moving rather quickly.  Eventually he would spot a man in the distance with two fishing rods.  Jiang was quick to introduce himself.  The man merely laughed. "You're no Taigong Wang," he had said.  Jiang was taken aback slightly by the man's knowledge of him, but quickly figured that news of his contributions may have made their way into this town.  Also, the strange differences were enough to make sure that he should, and would, expect unexpected things.  After a short discussion Jiang asked if he could use the fishing rod.  The man refused.   Jiang inquired why.

"I can't spare the bait," the man sighed, "bait has become far too expensive and the fish far too few."  Jiang smiled and simply said "I don't need any of your bait," in a gentle tone, like a great elder who's far past his time. "You can't do much fishing then, but I have no complaints."  Jiang thanked the man and sat not far away fishing. The setting was peaceful, despite its differences.  The slowly flowing water, with vivid reflections, accompanied by a warm breeze, was euphoric.  In the distance, news of Emperor Huan's ascendancy to the thrown was filling the ears of the people.

[yellow turban]

good effort

[Date Masamune]

This is a great writing Scholar, writing a story like this is something to be proud of.

[scholar]

This is a great writing Scholar, writing a story like this is something to be proud of.

Thanks, I have a hundred ideas floating in my head, I just need to write them down.I hope to update this story soon.

[Date Masamune]

Hope so can't wait to read more.

[scholar]

Chapter Sixteen: Enter Yoshiaki Ashikaga
Yoshiaki Ashikaga asked for a meeting with the Mori clan in Chugoku, however he was flatly rebuffed. No one cared for the former Shogun, he had fallen from grace and was left to wander alone. Everywhere he went he was scorned, Nobunaga’s unending reach terrified some into refusing him and others almost attempted to assassinate him. Through all this there has been nothing but darkness. Now after four years of trying he left Chugoku and settled on the Island of Tsushima. It’s not even still under control of Japan, but the Koreans. There he will stay for the remainder of his days, or so he planned. Yoshiaki intended to die here. He viewed himself as a disgrace, someone who had lost all honor.

Three days after arriving on the Island he found a private residence and set himself up, it took him over ten hours to write his death poem. The poem was to be his last act on this earthly plane and he wanted his final act to be memorable. Yoshiaki’s eyes scoured the page, each and every single line met his line of sight and was scrutinized. In the end he tossed the poem into a fire and threw logs unto the flame until it became a great conflagration. As soon as he went back a group of villagers became panicked and tried to put out the fire which they viewed as being caused by the gods. Yoshiaki allowed himself this one last chance to smile. He was no longer a great poet and his poem was met with disapproval and disgust. In the end it was truly fitting, he was not worth anything anymore. Useless Yoshiaki scorned himself.

 As the villagers left so did those who owned this lodge. Yoshiaki took this chance to move into a straw matted room and knelt on the floor. He dressed in white and carried a small knife. Panic raged outside and some worry drifted into his mind. He had made a massive inferno, a tempest of flames and ash, but that was well over a mile away. His old Ashikaga arrogance came back to life and quietly contented to himself that if these peasants couldn’t stop a single fire then they deserved to die in flames. Without a second thought he unsheathed his blade and its edge disappeared into the white silk. The silk slowly changed color to a deep dark red that spread across the fabric.

And so several hours passed, Yoshiaki was still breathing. His hand froze before he could completely finish himself off. Still, if anything, he would surely bleed to death if he didn’t attempt to stop the bleeding. In his thoughts he was screaming in frustration at how useless and pitiful he really is. He can’t even commit suicide without committing a folly. At least he had done enough to ensure his death. Despite his objections in his thoughts and his criticisms he had become slightly relaxed and began to find relief. This paradoxical change of events was met with Yoshiaki’s chagrin.

Yoshiaki’s hair was gray, his stomach was becoming more and more robust, his stamina had left him and most pitifully of all, his mind was slowly fading. He did not know how he knew, but he felt the memories he had slowly tear themselves from his conscious and he could no longer remember things. That was his main reason for his suicidal tendencies. While mostly superficial (with exception of the mind) Yoshiaki wouldn’t allow himself to believe that this is why he wished to die. He convinced himself of the ways of Bushido only now in his life. It is not that he knew no shame or felt no honor before this, it’s just that it is only now that he feels the need to find reverence. It seems a common trait among men to seek out salvation when they are nearing their end. Yoshiaki simply sighed and closed his eyes as a glowing butterfly appeared before him. Perhaps his nirvana was close at hand he thought to himself as it’s glow illuminated the room.

[Boydie]

Sorry I didn't comment because I didn't find a problem with it.  It is very good so far. I hope you keep on going with it.