Xing had a very specific list of instructions when it came to meetings.
Particularly if it was a meeting where multiple nations were attending.
--Trust nobody.
--Observe.
--Speak when spoken to.
--Say as little as possible.
On the surface his was a calm and beautiful country, lovely festivals every month or so, beautiful spots for outsiders to vacation and visit. This carefully-kept facade had been going on for years now, the quarrels between the clans hidden as carefully as possible. Even his new 'allies' weren't aware of what was going on within his borders, out of sight, and he was very glad for that.
This meeting was drawing to a close with him having said not a single word the entire time; his current worries were ones he didn't want to express to anyone, save perhaps Russia off to the side afterwards. He'd been getting some troubling reports from the Zheng clan, and the Zhao clan, as well as a few others. But he was certain it was just the usual issues that arose after a new Emperor had been chosen; it had been two years but tensions were still high between those with the most power and the emperor's clan itself, the Yao clan.
Of course, his new Emperor had done something very few before him had-he supported the Chang clan and informed his siblings that Mei, their princess, would rule next if something ever happened to him.
Most seemed to take that as a direct challenge, and scoffed at him, or were shocked, or even disgusted. Hers was the weakest clan, after all. Her people were mostly ignored, in the larger scheme of things. Hell, it had shocked Xing himself-because this went against tradition. Clans rarely formed alliances, and never so openly would they admit them.
That was a death sentence to whoever was foolish enough to do so. But he suspected Emperor Yao knew this.
Xing himself had recently been the target of two assassination attempts meant for his Emperor. He was actually bandaged under his clothing right now; one of them had been far sneakier than anticipated and gotten past the guards. Examining his clothes and face afterwards had told him-and the Emperor-that the Zhao clan was out for blood, in a big way. But were they daring enough to take it a step further?
As it turned out, they were.
Xing's focus had been turned inwards for long enough that he only just now realized the meeting had ended and the others were leaving or had already left. He blinked and looked up, then stood; he had to get back quickly, make sure everything was all right. But an eerie sensation made him freeze in place. He'd hardly noticed someone else was left in the room, and he didn't notice them now, either.
No, he was distracted by sudden, all-consuming agony.
He covered his mouth and tried to draw in a shaky breath, trembling-this was bad. This was very bad. He'd felt this before, but not to this kind of degree. It felt as though something was trying to claw its way out of his stomach, burst free. Xing's breathing was ragged now, eyes tightly shut and nails digging into his arm; he couldn't help but fall.
Something must've happened.
He caught himself, just barely, on his knees and hands. Of all the times to realize it was now that he noticed someone else was still here; he looked up, tried to speak and failed, then let out a low, pained noise.
"Help me."
A glance down revealed that with those two words blood had spilled forth as well, spattering on the carpet, his clothing.
No, no, no-not now, not now.