A Treasonous Discussion

On the nights of Colchis, even the sound of windblown sand seemed gentler than in the daytime, like the weary breathing of some colossal beast. Inside the heavy canvas tent that served as both study and command center, the acetylene lamp cast the shadows of one large figure and one small figure onto the rough canvas walls, where they swayed and flickered.

Lorgar sat cross-legged on a low couch pieced together from discarded parts and wooden planks. Even seated, his towering frame carried an intense sense of oppression. Yet when he looked at Zhou Beichen, his gaze held a focus wholly at odds with his size—one could even call it... filial adoration.

Zhou Beichen reclined in the only metal chair, turning over a cloudy lump of "glass" roughly ground into the shape of a convex lens. The tent was quiet, filled only by the soft crackle of the flame and the distant, faint creaking of windmills turning.

Then, an extraordinarily soft hum, barely more than a sound caught in his throat, broke the silence.

"Dun dun dun dun dun dun..." Zhou Beichen's gaze drifted. His fingers unconsciously tapped an off-key rhythm against his knee as he hummed a strange tune, then squeezed out several even stranger lines in fits and starts. "In the twenty-sixth year of Guangxu, the Spirit-Assisted Fist Boxers, support the Qing and destroy the foreigners, fifty-five days in Beijing..."

His voice was low, carrying an absurdity from some distant time and place that was utterly out of tune with the wasteland world around them.

Lorgar listened quietly, a flash of understanding passing through his violet eyes. This was not the first time he had heard his father hum such strange melodies—or rather, recite "spells" or "epics" he could not understand at all. He had long understood that his father, Zhou Beichen, was not of this world.

It was an unspoken secret between them, a thin layer of paper over a window that had never been pierced, yet truly existed. His father came from a world beyond his imagination, where there were marvelous things called "stocks," battles of ever-changing numbers, and... these historical fragments filled with an alien flavor.

The humming abruptly stopped. Zhou Beichen seemed to come back to himself, gave a self-mocking smile, and set down the unfinished lens.

"Father," Lorgar spoke at the right moment, his voice low and steady. "What you were humming just now... was it a war song from your homeland? Something about faith and war?"

Zhou Beichen glanced at him without answering directly. Instead, he asked, "Want to hear something else? We had quite a few... interesting people in our history too."

Lorgar nodded. Listening to his father recount the historical figures of that world was an important way for him to understand both his father's way of thinking and that mysterious world. It was also a rare diversion amid his tedious studies and construction work.

So Zhou Beichen began to speak in his somewhat sardonic, pragmatic tone.

He spoke of Wang Mang, a "suspected transmigrator" who had tried to implement reforms through idealized, near-archaic institutions, only to arouse the fury of both heaven and people before dying himself and destroying his state. "See that? Take too big a step and you'll split your balls. Ideals don't put food on the table. They have to fit productive capacity, fit human nature," Zhou Beichen commented.

He spoke of Zhao Kuangyin, the Chenqiao Coup, the Yellow Robe Investiture, and Relinquishing Military Command over a Cup of Wine. "That's called a smooth transition, an exchange of interests. Transfer power at the lowest possible cost and avoid internal losses. Sometimes compromise works better than toughness."

He spoke of Li Shimin, the Xuanwu Gate Incident, murdering his brothers and forcing his father aside, yet creating the Zhenguan Governance. "The process was bloody, but the result was brilliant. History is written by the victors. As long as the final outcome is good enough, the methods... can be glossed over. Of course, that's assuming you can keep the situation under control. Don't screw it up."

Lorgar listened with utmost seriousness. These names were unfamiliar to him, but the principles of power, human nature, reform, and conflict at the core of their stories faintly resonated with everything he was experiencing and learning.

His father always seemed to be using these stories to impart something beyond specific knowledge: the underlying logic of how things worked.

The tent fell silent once more, with only the acetylene lamp's flame dancing.

Lorgar's gaze fell upon Zhou Beichen's somewhat weary profile. A question that had been buried in his heart for a long time finally surfaced in this relatively relaxed atmosphere.

His voice was lower than before, carrying a trace of nearly imperceptible probing.

"Father, you said... I was not born from nothing. Then my... biological father, what kind of man is he, as you understand him?"

The fingers turning the lens came to a stop. Zhou Beichen raised his head and met Lorgar's clear, profound violet eyes.

What was coming would always come. He had known all along that, with Lorgar's intelligence and rate of learning, this question would inevitably be asked sooner or later.

Besides, he needed to prepare Lorgar for the Emperor—and for that fucked-up future of the Warhammer Universe.

He drew in a breath of Colchis's dry air, choosing his words as he tried to describe that cold being seated upon the Golden Throne in a way Lorgar could understand, and that fit his own persona.

"You do have a real father," Zhou Beichen said. "According to... some fragments of information I know, he's, well, an incredibly badass existence. You can think of him as the founder and sole chairman of a colossal 'family corporation' spanning the stars, too vast to imagine. His power is boundless, and his strength is beyond measure."

Lorgar's eyes flickered slightly, but he did not interrupt.

"But," Zhou Beichen changed tack, a familiar sardonic curve pulling at the corner of his mouth, "your real dad isn't much of a father, and he may not mean well either."

He weighed his wording. "He created—or rather, came to have—you 'sons' with a very strong purpose in mind. It's more like he was building a batch of high-end tools with different functions to help him complete an extremely grand project. Say, unifying the entire known universe and fighting certain... well, 'vicious competition within the industry.'"

"He'll come for you sooner or later." Zhou Beichen looked directly into Lorgar's eyes, speaking with absolute certainty. "With the little foundation you and I have right now, we wouldn't even count as a regional distributor in front of him. You can't resist him at this point, either."

Lorgar's brows drew together slightly, but he remained calm.

"So don't go against him," Zhou Beichen gave his first core piece of advice. "When he comes, whatever he tells you to do, do it openly. Show your value, but don't stand out too much. There are a lot of rules in his 'corporation,' and plenty of trouble too."

Then he dropped even more shocking information. "You also have quite a few... 'brothers.' A lot, actually. And according to some... 'industry trends' I've learned about, those brothers of yours are bound to stir up some trouble sooner or later. They might even... rebel."

Lorgar's pupils contracted slightly. "Rebel?"

"Right. Internal conflict, fights over shares, or... rebellion." Zhou Beichen said it lightly, as though discussing someone else's affairs. "When that happens, it's going to get ugly."

He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, his tone carrying a shrewdness that was almost mercenary. "Listen, Lorgar. When that day comes, don't rebel. Don't follow the crowd and make a fuss, but don't be blindly loyal to your real father either."

"Then... what should I do?" Lorgar's voice remained even, but his eyes had sharpened considerably.

"Just coast along." Zhou Beichen offered an exceedingly practical strategy. "Put in the hours without putting in the effort. Preserve your strength. Let those big brothers of yours go head-to-head and wear each other down first. Once they've beaten each other into mutual ruin, or when the outcome is nearly decided..."

A gleam flashed in Zhou Beichen's eyes, like a seasoned speculator spotting the chance to buy the dip after a market crash.

"Then go back and pick the peaches."

"Pick... peaches?" Lorgar found the metaphor somewhat novel.

"It means seizing the fruits of victory," Zhou Beichen explained. "Choose the right moment, return with the strength you've accumulated, and clean up the mess in the name of 'restoring order' or 'coming to the ruler's aid.' By then, your real father's 'corporation' will have been severely weakened by internal strife and will desperately need stability and fresh support. If you have troops, commanders, and territory in your hands, your words will carry weight."

He further refined the plan. "So the time before he finds us is crucial. We need to develop like mad, grab as much as we can, gather as many resources as we can, and expand your own 'legion'—whether that means people who believe in you or armed forces. The bigger your territory, the larger your population, and the richer your resources, the stronger your capital will be when you go back to 'fight over the inheritance.'"

"Remember, when you run into a hard battle you can't win, let those older brothers at the front go die first. Keeping yourself intact is the top priority. Go back to pick the peaches before the fighting ends. That maximizes your profits."

After saying all that in one breath, Zhou Beichen picked up the cup beside him, took a drink, and watched Lorgar's reaction.

Lorgar remained silent for a long time. The acetylene lamp's light danced in his violet eyes, as though countless thoughts were colliding fiercely within them.

His father's words were entirely different from notions of sanctity, faith, and responsibility. They were filled with cold calculation and the wisdom of survival.

Yet strangely, he did not feel offended. Instead, he felt a clarity as though clouds had parted to reveal the sky.

His father had not fobbed him off with empty talk of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness. He had given him a plan for surviving in cruel reality—and perhaps even living better than before.

Though that plan sounded so treasonous, so... undignified.

"I... understand, Father." Lorgar slowly spoke, his voice carrying a calm that had settled deep within him. "Preserve my strength, wait for the right moment, and put interests first."

He did not judge the Emperor, nor the "brothers" he had never met, nor whether picking the peaches was right or wrong.

He merely accepted this logic and internalized it as a viable strategy.

Seeing how quickly Lorgar digested and accepted everything, Zhou Beichen felt a complicated mix of emotions.

He had successfully led a primarch who might have been full of idealism onto a more pragmatic, perhaps even somewhat despicable path ahead of time.

Perhaps that would allow him to live better in the future, but... was it really right?

He shook his head, casting aside the useless thought. In the Warhammer Universe, surviving—and surviving well—was the greatest kind of "right."

"Good, as long as you understand." Zhou Beichen stood and patted nonexistent dust from his backside. "All that is still far off. For now, our focus is still on managing this Earthly Heaven well. That will be your strongest asset when it comes time to... pick the peaches."

He walked to the tent entrance, lifted a corner of the flap, and looked out at the silhouettes of windmills slowly turning beneath the stars, along with the scattered lights flickering throughout the settlement.

Lorgar rose as well, walked to stand behind him, and silently gazed into the distance alongside him.