Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

When Rhett's letter arrived in Meereen, the stench and bloodshed at the Meereen docks had barely dissipated, and the Caliph's men finally ceased their search.

The docks were no longer a place of wailing and intertwined chains, yet fear still lingered among the people. Saladin, overwhelmed with worry, tried to calm the still-shaken merchants, low-ranking officials, and commoners amidst the chaos.

Martha was already standing at the bow of the purple sailboat that was about to pass through the natural canyon.

At this moment, she was dressed in Braavos robes, her face had unfamiliar angular features, and her voice had changed to a deep and steady tone. She was no longer Martha, an old noblewoman of Meereen. Before the martial law was declared in Meereen, she had changed her face with the help of a member of the Braavos delegation, traveled through the underground channels of smugglers to Valentis, and then boarded a merchant ship bound for Braavos.

"The waters off Braavos are surrounded by islands and mountains, with only a natural strait large enough to allow ocean-going merchant ships to pass through. All ocean-going merchant ships must pass through here, protected by a huge statue, the Titan of Braavos. It is not only a landmark and a lighthouse, but also a perfect defensive fortress..." Among the companions, an elderly man who looked like a scholar gestured excitedly as he spoke to the tired traveler huddled on the deck, telling him about Braavos as he had learned from books and pages.

As the mist dissipated, a colossal bronze giant stood majestically, its eyes like torches, overlooking the passing ships.

Across from the old scholar, a ragged man stared blankly, his finger trembling as he pointed at the figure in the mist, and cried out in a trembling voice, "Bravos!"

"Long live--!"

Different accents and different mother tongues converged into a tsunami of cheers at this moment. Exhaustion, fear, and despair all exploded into ecstasy the instant they saw the Titan.

"Old world, keep your past splendor!" His silent lips cried out, "Give me your weary, weary, yearning-to-breathe-free masses, your wretched huts crowding the shores! Send them, send the homeless, the displaced, and I will stand at the gates of liberty, holding high the lamp!"

The old scholar's recitation was clear and resonant, his powerful and magnetic tone filled with surging passion, which made Martha turn her head. As a former great master, she enjoyed the most luxurious life and the most prestigious education, so her level of literary appreciation was not low.

This poem, written in standard Mandarin, has a tight rhyme scheme and a neat aesthetic. It is rich in vocabulary and concise in word choice, which can evoke emotional resonance in the reader. At the same time, it uses symbolism to increase the depth and complexity of the poem.

"Did you write this?" Martha asked with interest.

The old man laughed heartily, pointing at the Titan, his eyes practically overflowing with fanaticism: "No! This is the poem 'The Titan' from the open letter 'To the Beacon of the Free World—Bravos,' written by the new conqueror of Meereen, the Black Dragon King Reid, to the Sea King of Braavos! Do you know? Many people in Braavos no longer call it the Titan—" He paused, his voice rising, "They call it—the Statue of Liberty!"

Martha's face darkened, and she pursed her lips tightly, remaining silent.

"Why are you unhappy? We faced many hardships to reach the shores of freedom." The old scholar squinted his eyes.

Martha's gaze fell on his neck, where a faint white mark was almost invisible.

"You were once a slave." She wasn't asking a question; she was stating a fact.

"From the day the Black Dragon King shattered the shackles of slavery, I have been a free man! My name is Henry Freeman!" The old scholar, as if struck on a sensitive spot, quickly flushed red and roared incessantly, "This is the land of freedom! There are no slave owners, no whips, no evil oppression! No one can enslave me anymore!"

The mask on her face made Martha's expression slightly stiff; otherwise, Henry would have seen a mocking sneer. "There aren't any slaves here the kind you're talking about, but there are slaves in another form."

"You're talking nonsense! You're slandering me—"

“I respect the knowledge in your head,” Martha interrupted him, taking two Slave Bay Gold Coins from her sleeve and handing them to him. “If you can’t make a living in this ‘free paradise,’ you can find my place in the southwest corner of the Palace of Truth. I’m short of clerks and accountants.”

Henry caught sight of the harpy design on the gold coin and, as if burned by fire, swung his hand to knock it away.

"To hell with your filthy money! You evil slave owner!"

Two gold coins rolled into the crowded mass of people, and were instantly stepped on by a foot, disappearing without a sound.

"You'd better watch yourself." Martha said coldly, not giving her another glance.

Martha visited Braavos many years ago, and more than once, for study, business, and vacation.

She knew this city's ways all too well; there were no tangible collars here, but there were invisible chains—money.

A collar signifies ownership, and slave owners would exercise restraint out of concern for property loss. Money, on the other hand, only signifies the right to use, and employers would choose to extract all value from a tool within its limited lifespan, without considering what would happen to it once it had lost its usefulness.

This place proclaims freedom, but in reality, it follows the law of money above all else. High commercialization has turned all the necessities of life into commodities. In Braavos, only water, air, and death are free.

A citizen without income is no less miserable than a slave at the very bottom of Slaver's Bay. Ironically, Braavos is the second largest slave supplier after the Dothraki. Every year, a large number of impoverished people driven to bankruptcy by debt and the elderly, weak, sick, and disabled who have lost their ability to work spontaneously board merchant ships bound for neutral city-states, and then transport them to the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, where the slave trade has been legalized, and to Slaver's Bay.

"Sir, it's time for you to disembark," a sailor bowed respectfully, reminding him.

In the midst of the argument, the purple sailboat had already passed under the Titan's crotch and docked steadily at the Purple Harbor Wharf.

Martha, holding onto the wooden gangway, strode down with her head held high and composure.

The sailor reached out and blocked Henry, who was about to follow, from his spot.

"This is not a place for outsiders like you to disembark." The sailor's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable coldness. "Everyone, proceed to the secondhand clothing market dock for customs inspection."

Henry Freeman stood frozen, watching the figure calmly walk away.

The Titans' lights still hang high in the fog.

Martha stepped off the pier. Two men dressed in black silk robes stood a short distance away, one an elderly man who kept glancing at the ships docking, and the other a young man who was lost in thought, clutching a thick ledger. Two flamboyantly dressed swordsmen stood behind her.

"Mr. Berry!" Martha called out in her own voice.

The old man stared in shock for a long time before realizing who the visitor was. "My goodness, Madam! Why are you dressed like that?"

"Have you completed the tasks I asked you to do in the letter so you could escape safely?"

"Excuse me for my rudeness, madam, this is Mr. Antonio, the commissioner of the Iron Treasury."

Good day, Mrs. Yahzan.

"Let's get straight to the point, shall we?"

"As shrewd and capable as ever, Mrs. Yahzan." Antonio opened the ledger: "Please show me the token."

Martha handed Antonio two black iron rings, then whispered two secret words in his ear.

Antonio took out a quill, moistened it slightly on the tip of his tongue, and then began to write fluently on the receipt.

"As one of our valued and high-quality depositors, I would like to offer you a word of advice: the interest earned on this money at Iron Vault would be enough for you and your descendants to enjoy a life of luxury and wealth... Are you sure you want to use it to exchange for a trust with a low success rate? After all, they have already failed once."

"I have no descendants, only an old woman nearing menopause and the hatred she doesn't want to take to her grave."

"I'm sorry," Antonio said apologetically, heating a sealing wax stick in the brazier beside him and making two dots on the document. He then used the black iron ring Martha had given him to leave his mark before pointing to the end of the document: "Please sign here."

Martha signed the papers, and Antonio then handed her a simple wooden box.

Martha opened it to take a look, then frowned: "I paid enough to buy two!"

"I know you have doubts, but the Iron Vault does business honestly and fairly. The reason there is only one is because your uncle and brother, Darcy Graza and Corey Graza, have claimed ownership of your family's savings. Therefore, you can only access the portion of the Graza family's savings that is clearly in your name."

"They didn't invest, did they?" Martha asked worriedly.

"Initially, they were asking for an interest rate hike, but my colleague recommended an investment to them. I personally don't think it's a good idea, since if they don't mess with it, that money would be enough for them and their descendants to live a life of wealth and comfort."

"You good-for-nothing spendthrift!"

"They are all our valued clients, so I cannot comment further," Antonio said with a shrug.

With Berry's help, Martha boarded a beautiful, moon-shaped cruise ship and immediately ordered, "Take me to the Black and White Palace."

In Meereen, nine-tenths of the land was always enslaved, supporting less than one percent of the noble slave owners. Pyramids soared into the clouds, gold and slaves filled the cellars, and power and life were in the hands of a few.

The immense wealth generated by slavery meant that any new luxury item or popular plaything among the powerful would appear in the mansions of slave owners the moment it hit the market.

The wealth accumulated over generations was not confined to Meereen. They had long since dispersed their wealth in various forms throughout the major trading city-states of Essos, with the most substantial foundation residing in the Iron Treasury of Braavos.

Even if the city-state is breached, the family is overthrown, and the homeland is reduced to ruins, as long as one family member is out of town, they can retrieve the family's ancestral savings from the Iron Treasury by virtue of the secret code and token they possess.

This money, along with their assets in various places, would be enough for them to live a life of luxury in a foreign land, or even make a comeback.

Now, Martha used it to buy a silver coin.

Before the gates of the Black and White House, the grand hall built of massive stones remains magnificent and imposing, exuding an aura that keeps strangers at bay. However, the pillars still bear the mottled marks of fire, and a few newly repaired bricks clash with the old materials. In addition to the silence and the crispness of the sea, there is also a faint, lingering smell of scorched earth in the air.

Although the arson marks have been carefully repaired, they resemble an unhealed scar, hinting at a cover-up.

Martha was dressed in the robes of a Braavos envoy, her face was angular and unfamiliar, and her voice had changed to a deep and steady tone. At this moment, she was not Martha, an old noblewoman of Meereen, but Giovanni Lechini. As a Braavos envoy, this identity would allow him to avoid being questioned by the Caliph's henchmen, thus enabling him to escape smoothly from the martial law city of Meereen.

Passing through the newly painted black and white carved wooden gate, in the silent center of the hall, a pool of poisonous water quietly gleams with an eerie light, clear yet capable of swallowing all names and lives.

The kind-looking man sat by the pool, his gray robe clean and his face gentle like that of a physician who had been ill for a long time, as if the fire that destroyed the palace had never touched his eyes.

Martha discreetly surveyed her surroundings. The hall revealed numerous signs of restoration; the newly replaced wooden beams still bore faint grain, the cracked floor tiles had been carefully pieced together, and even the incense and candles were arranged with meticulous care. Yet, the more perfect it appeared, the more disheveled it concealed.

Martha could see clearly, but she restrained her gaze, knowing that the person before her certainly didn't want her to see the House of Black and White in such a sorry state.

"This face isn't yours," the kind-looking person said, her voice as soft as ripples on water, yet it pierced through her pretense.

Martha stopped pretending. She forcefully tore her face off, revealing Giovanni's true face. She removed the envoy's outer robe, revealing the patterns belonging to the old nobility beneath.

Martha bowed to the kind-looking man: "All men must die."

"All men need to be served."

Martha took out an antique silver coin, its color dark, with only the edges and raised patterns polished to a shine, and respectfully held it above her head.

"I am Martha, who fled from Meereen. I have paid the price to come here and beg for the grace of the Many-Faced God."

The kind-looking man reached out and took the silver coin.

"Only death can buy life."

"My son is dead, my father is dead, my husband, my clansmen, and possibly my lover... I have used almost all of my family’s savings in the Iron Vault and entrusted the Faceless Man to take Rhett’s life."

"The God of a Thousand Faces only responds to prayers, not to assignments."

The benevolent man looked down at the poisonous water in the pool, the ripples reflecting his black and white robes, as well as the repaired scars deep within the hall.

"You couldn't do it, could you? Giovanni, or someone else, was the assassin! He never found an opportunity to strike!"

An angry glint flashed in the kind man's eyes as he stared at Martha for a long time.

"I've found a way. Diseases, as recorded in the ancient Valyrian texts, still cause the Daedric Princes to die from illness, and the Targaryen royal family has been ravaged by tremors and puerperal fever. But I can't collect this many pathogens by myself; I need you!"

"He burned this place down." The kind-looking man spoke calmly, his tone devoid of anger, only a statement bordering on indifference. "We remember every single one of the debts."

The kind-looking man finally raised his eyes, his black and white pupils calm.