Lore – Xing Hong

The Constables are Xing Hong’s street-level law enforcement, a familiar sight across all six districts. They patrol markets, respond to domestic disputes, investigate crimes, and make arrests—the daily work of keeping two million people from killing each other in a city where four rival factions maintain permanent presence.

Their uniform consists of black fitted longcoats over tactical underlayers, with gold circuitry embroidery tracing traditional patterns along the sleeves and lapels. Standard equipment includes the Raiden shock katana, an electrified blade capable of non-lethal incapacitation or lethal force depending on power settings. The weapon serves both practical and symbolic purposes: visible authority without the aggressive posture of firearms, effective for close-quarters work in Xing Hong’s crowded streets and corridors.

Recruitment draws from all four major factions, requiring candidates to formally suspend factional allegiance during their service. This creates an unusual brotherhood: former Covenant zealots patrolling alongside ex-Directorate soldiers, Imperial defectors working shifts with Alliance veterans. The oath ceremony involves placing one’s Nucleus Watch into a ceremonial lockbox for twenty-four hours—a symbolic death of old loyalties before rebirth as Xing Hong’s own. Many find the transition difficult. Some find it liberating.

Constables learn quickly that “neutral law” means different things in different districts. Eagle District expects them to defer to corporate security. Dragon District expects them to look the other way on minor infractions. The Slum District expects nothing at all. Veterans develop an instinct for reading which rules apply where, and when to enforce the letter of the law versus its spirit. The unofficial motto, passed from senior officers to rookies: “Keep them alive. Keep them calm. Keep walking.”

When Constables call for backup, the Blackcoats answer. Named for their heavier black greatcoats—longer, armored, and lacking the decorative gold embroidery of their Constable counterparts—Blackcoats serve as Xing Hong’s dedicated defensive infantry. They deploy during Radi-Mon incursions, large-scale civil unrest, and any situation requiring coordinated firepower rather than individual peacekeeping.

Their primary weapon is the Kowloon-7 Gauss Rifle, a semi-automatic precision weapon manufactured in Lion District. The rifle emphasizes accuracy and stopping power over rate of fire, designed for disciplined volley fire from defensive positions. An integrated bayonet attachment allows Blackcoats to hold their ground when enemies close to melee range. Blackcoat doctrine centers on formation discipline: they train to hold lines, establish overlapping fields of fire, and maintain cohesion under pressure.

The unit earned its reputation during the 2295 Fenris assault on Dragon District. When Skarn’s forces breached the outer defenses, Blackcoat formations held defensive lines for six hours until Alliance reinforcements arrived. Their volley fire cut down wave after wave of Bone Fiends attempting to breach civilian shelters near the Sleeping Mantis Inn.

Unlike Constables, Blackcoats maintain permanent garrison posts rather than walking beats. Phoenix District’s government tower, the water treatment facilities, the atmospheric processors—anywhere that Xing Hong cannot afford to lose. Recruits undergo eight weeks of intensive formation drilling before ever touching live ammunition. The training philosophy is simple: individual heroics get people killed. The line holds, or everyone dies. This grim pragmatism extends to their unofficial tradition: before major deployments, Blackcoats write letters to be delivered if they don’t return. The letters are stored in Seneschal Kenji’s office. The drawer is heavier than anyone likes to think about.

Though Radi-Humans can now be found scattered across the Seven Realms—feared, worshipped, or simply avoided—their origins are inextricably tied to Xing Hong itself. In 2170, the first generation of Radi-Humans made humanity’s expansion beyond Earth possible. These early specimens were crude by modern standards: part synthetic flesh, part machine, their bodies engineered to withstand cosmic radiation that would kill unmodified humans within hours. They built Xing Hong’s foundations, carved settlements into Martian rock, and died within decades as their hybrid biology inevitably failed. The city owes its existence to people who no longer exist.

The term “Radi-Human” in contemporary usage refers to something far more refined. Between 2282 and 2283, the geneticist Meiya Ji perfected what earlier scientists had only approximated. Her third-generation Radi-Humans are fully biological, grown from human genetic material in specialized breeding chambers. They reach biological maturity at age nineteen within nineteen months of gestation, emerging as complete adults. Upon reaching twenty-five—or upon losing their virginity, whichever occurs first—their aging halts entirely. They possess accelerated learning capabilities, exceptional physical fitness, powerful psionic potential, and cognitive function that outpaces baseline humanity by significant margins. The same research that created them also produced the theoretical foundation for Radi-Mon bioengineering, a connection that haunts public perception of both.

These advantages carry severe costs. Third-generation Radi-Humans exhibit pronounced emotional instability and an elevated predisposition toward psychotic episodes. Most notably, they develop intense, often uncontrollable sexual fixation on individuals they form attachments to. Due to Meiya Ji’s personal network, the majority of surviving Radi-Humans are of Imperial (East Asian) ethnicity, though specimens of other backgrounds exist where factions have acquired and modified her methods through espionage or theft.

Public attitudes toward Radi-Humans remain deeply divided. Progressive voices herald them as humanity’s evolutionary future, proof that biological limitations need not define the species. In Xing Hong, however, the predominant view is far grimmer. The city’s substantial Buddhist population regards Radi-Humans as living evidence that the Age of Declining Dharma has arrived—that humanity’s brightest minds have finally transgressed the natural order beyond redemption. To them, the ability to manufacture superhumans from harvested genetic material represents the same hubris that spawned the Radi-Mon hordes: the wisdom of ancestors abandoned, the sanctity of life profaned, and the doom of civilization authored by those who believed themselves above consequence.

The Lotus Monks comprise the psionic backbone of Xing Hong’s governing apparatus—judges, executioners, and advisors whose authority derives from abilities most citizens will never possess. Unlike the celibate martial monks of the Digital Era whose traditions they superficially resemble, Lotus Monks operate under a doctrine refined by generations of Prefects who understood that repression breeds weakness.

These elites among elites are permitted to indulge animalistic desires, including sexual ones, as frequently as they wish. The sole restriction: such indulgences must occur exclusively through legally sponsored Leased Lilies. Senior monks receive officially sanctioned discount coupons, a bureaucratic absurdity that nonetheless reflects Xing Hong’s pragmatic approach to human base needs.

In combat, Lotus Monks favor the complementary disciplines of Void and Eclipse psionics—destruction and preservation wielded in equal measure. Their preferred weapons include traditional warstaffs, Psi Fans for spell amplification, and reinforced fist weapons for close-quarters work. Selection is merciless: from an average of ninety thousand annual applicants, exactly six are chosen. The successful candidates demonstrate not merely psionic aptitude, but the psychological profile the order requires.

Nearly every Prefect and Seneschal in Xing Hong’s history served as a Lotus Monk before ascending to their current positions. Dilinur Altai and Kenji Tsudo were both celebrated practitioners before assuming administrative roles.

What Lotus Monks are forbidden—absolutely and without exception—is emotional attachment of any kind. Not romantic love. Not familial bonds. Not friendship, loyalty, or sentimental regard for colleagues. This prohibition exists because Lotus Monks must be capable of the cruelest decisions Xing Hong demands. When justice requires a mother’s execution, the Lotus Monk must swing the blade without hesitation. When a beloved mentor turns traitor, the Lotus Monk must be the one who kills them. The order cannot afford practitioners whose judgment might waver when faced with destroying someone they care about. Any monk found developing affection, exhibiting emotional weakness, or engaging in sexual relations with colleagues faces immediate consequences: rank revoked, income forfeit, permanent banishment from Xing Hong. The city has no use for Lotus Monks who remember how to love.

Despite their reputation as Xing Hong’s most ruthless institution, the Lotus Monks maintain a remarkably open stance toward outsiders.

All ethnicities are welcome to apply, and the order actively favors non-Imperial candidates for leadership positions—a deliberate policy designed to prevent any single faction from claiming undue influence over the city’s psionic elite. The majority of current Lotus Monks are immigrants: Valorans fleeing Covenant rigidity, Maridians seeking opportunity beyond Directorate borders, Novians escaping Alliance corporate exploitation, and countless others drawn by the promise that merit alone determines advancement. This inclusive philosophy serves practical ends as much as idealistic ones. Immigrants who sever ties to their homelands make ideal candidates for an order that demands the abandonment of all emotional bonds. Those who have already left everything behind find it easier to let go of what remains.

In the 23rd century, the term “Leased Lily” refers to a legalized form of contracted companionship that has become one of Xing Hong’s most economically significant industries. What began as a local practice on Mars has since spread to Venus, Earth, and the moons of Uranus, though Xing Hong remains where the modern framework originated and where the industry carries the most economic weight.

The profession’s rise can be traced to two converging factors: the eradication of sexually transmitted diseases through widespread Medi-Vap application, and the socioeconomic disruptions that eliminated traditional employment across multiple sectors. For many—particularly female college graduates facing a brutal job market—Leased Lily work offers income that office positions simply cannot match. By 2295, economists estimate that Leased Lily earnings account for 55% of Xing Hong’s Tertiary Sector GDP.

The legal framework in Xing Hong requires Lilies to operate under a sponsoring agency. These companies theoretically screen clients for safety, provide insurance coverage, and handle contractual disputes. In exchange, the agency takes a 31% cut, leaving Lilies with 69% of their earnings. Critics argue this system creates dependency while providing inadequate protection. Supporters counter that unsponsored work, while more profitable, exposes Lilies to dangerous clients with no legal recourse. The debate continues in district councils, though no legislation has passed in either direction.

Unsurprisingly, a shadow market exists. Unsponsored Lilies operate outside the legal framework, keeping their full earnings while accepting the associated risks. Prefect Dilinur’s administration officially condemns such activities, though enforcement varies dramatically by district. Lion District’s Constables investigate aggressively, Dragon District’s look the other way, Eagle District’s corporate security cares little, while Opera District’s Covenant rulers forbid the practice altogether. Nonetheless, when the average rent costs $3,000 Atomic Dollars monthly and a single premium appointment pays $800, the math pushes people toward whatever works.

Social attitudes toward the profession remain sharply divided. Venus, nicknamed “the Pleasure Planet” by admirers and “Lust & Rot” by detractors, celebrates Leased Lilies openly, with several political figures publicly involved in the industry. Xing Hong’s population proves more complicated. Traditionalist immigrants from the Covenant and Imperium view Lilies as symbols of moral decay, while others see them as pragmatic in an unforgiving economy. Prefect Dilinur maintains the status quo: neither encouraging unsponsored Lilies nor restricting operations. The industry is simply too large to touch without consequences.

Demographics vary by region, but Xing Hong’s registered Lilies are approximately 86% female, 11% male, and 3% non-binary. A niche but notable subset of the industry involves “Futa-Lilies” (combining the Japanese “futanari” 双形, meaning “dual form” with the standard designation) who undergo extensive surgical modification to achieve dual-sex physiology. The 23rd century’s medical advancements make such procedures safe and reversible, though the ongoing hormone treatments, specialized supplements, and regular medical monitoring required to maintain physical health create financial barriers that keep the practice exclusive. On Uranus, a world known for its progressive enclaves and spiritual communes, some Futa-Lilies claim connection to ancient Buddhist concepts of divine androgyny, where enlightened beings transcended fixed gender entirely. Whether this represents theological continuity or modern reinterpretation of fragmentary old-world traditions remains a matter of debate.

The standard Leased Lily contract runs for one year with annual renewal options. Lessees provide for all financial needs in exchange for the Lily’s availability and compliance with agreed-upon terms. Early termination requires the Lily to repay expenses incurred during the agreement. Whether the system represents personal agency or sophisticated exploitation depends largely on whom you ask…and how much they’re earning.

The Genbu is Xing Hong’s primary armored transport, a one-of-a-kind vehicle that has become as much a symbol of the city’s independence as the golden phoenix on its flag. Named after the Black Tortoise of Chinese and Japanese mythology, the vehicle earns its title through sheer stubbornness—it was built to survive, and twelve years later, it’s still rolling.

The design prioritizes protection over speed or elegance. Heavy black armor plating covers every surface, with gold trim tracing the edges in what engineers insist is “traditional aesthetic choice” rather than vanity. The interior accommodates a full Blackcoat squad plus additional personnel—up to nineteen people—with bench seating along both walls and weapon racks between them. A roof-mounted turret provides suppressive fire during hot extractions, while reinforced treads handle the Hellas Basin’s rocky terrain and Dragon District’s debris-choked streets with equal reliability.

Operational on almost any planet or moon in the Seven Realms, the Genbu’s origins are the subject of persistent rumor and official denial. Its hybrid design bears unmistakable resemblance to both Alliance Space Rover mobility systems and Imperium Draconic Engine armor configurations that Prefect Dilinur has always attributed to “convergent engineering principles.” Whatever its true lineage, the vehicle proved instrumental during the 2283 Independence War, breaking through Imperium blockades that should have crushed the fledgling city-state. Veterans of that conflict still speak of the Genbu with something approaching reverence.

Observant technicians note that the Genbu’s turret housing contains sealed compartments and dormant power conduits that connect to nothing. Maintenance logs from 2283 reference a “primary weapons integration system” that no longer appears in current schematics. When asked, Seneschal Kenji simply states that the Emerald Directorate provided certain technologies during the Independence War that were “returned as part of diplomatic agreements.” The empty housings remain—whether as a reminder of debts paid or capabilities surrendered, only the Prefect knows for certain.

Standard crew consists of a driver, a turret gunner, and whatever squad is being transported. The vehicle lacks the speed of Alliance rovers or the raw firepower of Imperial siege engines, but Blackcoats trust it to hold together when everything else falls apart. As Sergeant Haylen Shih reportedly tells new recruits: “He flies like a brick. But that brick gets you home.”