After forty days, the road ended. It did not end with relief, but simply ceased to be, replaced by the unforgiving cobblestones of Chang'an. The stones no longer hurt; the soles of my feet were now leather, calloused and numb to the world.
The great capital, the heart of the world, felt distant, a dream happening to someone else. Throngs of people lined the thoroughfare, their faces a blur of curiosity and contempt. Their whispers were a constant hiss, like wind through dry reeds. "Chen HuaRong's children…" "…the traitor from the Censorate…" "Such a shame, they say the daughter was beautiful…"
The words were stones thrown from a safe distance. A fire born of injustice licked at my throat, and I opened my mouth to shout, to defend my father's name, to scream that they were fools celebrating the triumph of corruption. The Bailiff's heavy hand shoved me forward, stumbling. "Keep moving."
A million souls and no kindness. My mind drifted back to the tall scholar and the boy who gave us water on the road. I saw no such courage here.
We were herded through a grand, imposing gate and into the courtyard of the Ministry of Justice. Our road-weary bailiffs handed over our paperwork to Ministry staff. I watched as an official counted out a string of coins into their hands, their reward for delivering the remnants of my family. They bowed and exited the Ministry without a backward glance.
The process was swift and merciless. My father's brothers, my uncles, were banished to the frontier garrisons of Lingnan. My aunts were registered as official slaves and led away to serve in the households of minor officials. Soon, the great, echoing hall was empty, save for the three of us, the children of the household.
A portly official with a drooping mustache looked down at my brother, tapping a ledger with his finger. "He has a clever face," he mused to a nearby guard. "Perhaps this one would make a good eunuch for the palace?"
A sound, half-growl, half-gasp, escaped my throat. I tried to rise, to shield Yuan'Er with my body, but a guard was already moving. The thick rattan cane he carried whistled through the air and struck my back with a crack. I barely flinched. The warm current of my Qi, the last of my inheritance, flared along my spine. The cane, unable to bend my body, broke against it. It splintered in two, the pieces clattering on the stone. The guard stared at the broken cane, then at me, confused. The portly official raised an eyebrow in surprise. Scowling, the guard inspected the broken surface of the cane, scratched his head and turned to fetch a new one.
The official simply shrugged. "He's too old, anyway," he said, his interest already fading. With a flick of his brush, he sealed my brother's fate. "Northern garrison labor battalion. Take him." Yuan'Er was pulled to his feet. He only turned his head and met my gaze for a final moment. Then he was gone.
The official's brush moved again. "The Eldest Daughter. Assignment: Left JiaoFangSi. Congratulations, it is a prestigious posting." He then looked down at my seven-year-old sister, who was trembling beside me. "The younger daughter, Assignment: Right JiaoFangSi, pending further evaluation. If she grows up anything like her sister, she will be promoted."
The Left Jiaofangsi was not a place of iron bars, but of high walls. I was brought before a woman in plain, dark robes, her hair pulled back so severely it stretched the skin at her temples. Her face was a landscape of disciplined lines, her eyes missing nothing. This was a Teaching Mother.
Without a word, she gestured, and I was led to a bathhouse. The tub was filled with shockingly cold water that stole my breath. Two servants scrubbed me with rough cloths until my skin was raw. Afterwards, the Teaching Mother returned. She ran a practiced hand over my body, checking for blemishes or scars. She pried open my mouth, her fingers probing to inspect my teeth. Shame and fury were a hot tide rising within me, but I held my body still, my gaze fixed on a crack in the far wall. This was a shell, I told myself, a vessel they could inspect and command. My mind, my will, my father's daughter they would never touch. I would endure this and one day, our family would be free.
Something, not quite pity, but perhaps a weary recognition, passed across her features. "You must not keep such false hopes, little one," she said as she caressed my face, her voice soft but firm, the words falling on me like dirt on a coffin. I was dressed in a rough, scratchy hemp tunic. The seams were thick, the color a dull, institutional grey. It bore a small, stitched emblem, the mark of the Jiaofangsi. I was not given shoes.
"You would henceforth be called QiongHua. A pretty name for a pretty face. Work hard, and you would rise through the ranks." She paused, her gaze dropping to my feet. "But first, you had to learn humility."
I was led to a long, narrow room. Dozens of simple straw beds lined the walls, each with a small wooden chest at its foot. In the corner sat a large, lidded chamber pot. A dozen other girls were inside, mending clothes or polishing instruments. Most were younger than I, some no older than Mei'Er had been. They wore the same grey tunic, but all wore simple straw sandals.
"QiongHua would be joining you," The Teaching Mother announced to the room. "She was your youngest sister now. Teach her well."
As the "youngest sister," the newest arrival, the most menial tasks fell to me. Chief among them was emptying the chamber pot each morning. The first time I lifted the heavy ceramic vessel, the stench made me recoil, my stomach heaving. I had never conceived of such a task in my life, and the walk to the manure pit behind the kitchens felt like a mile.
The other girls watched me, their whispers and concealed smiles told me that my former life meant nothing here. Only one girl, Xing Hua, perhaps fourteen, with eyes that still held a spark of light would sit on the edge of her bed beside mine. We rarely spoke. In the suffocating silence of the Jiaofangsi, it was more comfortable that way.
We were fed twice a day. A thin, watery gruel of millet, and a small bowl of sour, pickled vegetables.
After a moon of menial labour, our formal training began. The days were partitioned into new disciplines, starting with music. A schedule as constant as the sun. I was given a pipa. The lessons were taught by older women in faded silks, their faces painted with the ghosts of a beauty that had long since passed. They were retired courtesans from Pingkangli, the famous pleasure quarter, their movements still holding a languid grace.
I found the intricate fingerings and complex melodies simple to master. The discipline required was familiar, an echo of my calligraphy lessons with Master Lin. My fingers came to produce a precise, hollow sound.
"You play like a corpse," one of the tutors, a woman named Lady Bai, remarked one afternoon, stopping me mid-song. "There is no artistry in your sound, only precision. There is no feeling." She looked at me, her gaze lingering on my face, and let out a long, weary sigh. "What a waste. Had you been brought to Pingkangli, men would have composed poetry just to witness you frown. They would have spent fortunes to earn a single smile. You would have had a choice." She picked up her own pipa and played the same melody, but hers wept and sang and yearned. "Here," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "You are a valuable gift, to one day appease someone important."
I danced like a corpse, too. The sweeping gestures and flowing sleeve work were a haunting echo of my sword forms. I moved with more grace than the other girls, my body's memory of the jian lending a fluid strength to my steps. I wore sweeping silks, and spun in exotic dresses that revealed my midriff and shoulders.
I saw girls flinch and cry out as a sharp bamboo rod struck their thighs for a missed step or their palms for a tearful outburst. Justice would find me. I only had to endure until it did.
Beyond music and dance, we were taught the art of self-effacement. How to stand with our heads bowed just so. How to pour wine without a single tremor. How to kneel, how to serve, how to make our presence felt only as a pleasing shadow.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
My bows were not deep enough. My gaze was not lowered enough. My subservience was seen through every time. Here, I was beaten more than in all the other lessons combined. The rattan cane became a familiar pain across my palms and the backs of my legs, until my body finally learned to follow the motions without the consent of my mind.
Through it all, I watched Xing Hua. She had no talent for the pipa and danced without grace. She was often the one crying out from the sting of the bamboo rod.
One day, without warning, a stern-faced Teaching Mother entered our quarters and read out six names, including my own and Xing Hua's. We were quietly ushered out, down a cold, unfamiliar corridor, and into a small room with a single oil lamp casting long, dancing shadows. In the center was a bare stone slab, raised to waist height. Several Teaching Mothers waited for us inside. We were made to kneel in a line, our eyes fixed on the floor. One by one, a girl would be selected and led to the slab.
Then my name was called. I was pulled to my feet and guided to the slab. "Lie on your back," a voice commanded. I complied, the stone shockingly cold against my thin tunic. Instantly, three of the women held me down, pressing on my shoulders and legs with unyielding force. A fourth leaned in close, her breath smelling of stale tea. "You... have a pretty face," she appraised. "Do not move, or one character becomes two." I felt the tip of something sharp and cold press into the delicate skin just behind my ear where it met against my head.
The first needle pierced my skin, a sting so fine I barely felt it, but I could hear the faint click of the instrument. The second was louder, a scraping sound against my own bones. The third burned like a hot coal being pressed into my flesh. My jaw ached from the force of gritting my teeth.
Justice would come. The pain stopped. A soft, sympathetic voice spoke, "Now you will never forget who you are."
They forced Xing Hua onto the slab, and she shrieked a shriek that echoed off walls. It never stopped, not even when I heard the sickening, repeated thwack of a bamboo rod striking her flesh.
When we were finally herded back into our quarters, the other girls kept their distance, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. I sat on my bed, the spot behind my ear throbbing with a dull, burning ache. I looked at Xing Hua. She was curled into a ball on her mattress, her body shaking with silent sobs. I could see it clearly in the dim light: a character, tattooed in deep, indelible blue clear and large on her neck, just behind her ear. The skin around it was angry, swollen, and red. The character was '官' (guān). State property. Quietly, she buried her head in her knees.
"Yours said '奴' (nú)," she whispered, her voice so soft it was barely a breath.
I reached up, my trembling fingers tracing the swollen, tender skin. I could feel the raised edges of the strokes. It was a part of me. For a moment, it felt as if the world was falling away, that my very flesh was not my own. A wave of disgust, so profound it made me want to claw at my own skin, rose within me.
I fought it. This was temporary. This mark was only ink and pain. Justice would surely come, and it would wash away more than a mark on my skin.
In the center of the room, where we usually practiced our dance forms, stood the heavy wooden punishment slab. A body was tied to it, face down.
"A shame," the lead Teaching Mother announced to the silent assembly of girls, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. "She could not take basic discipline. Alas, we never would have thought this punishment was too far for one so stubborn."
It was Xing Hua. Her face was turned to the side, her eyes now glassy.
The Teaching Mother's sympathetic voice cut through my thoughts. "This was what happened to those who tried to escape." I could still hear it, then, the memory of the sounds from moments before, sounds I had tried to block out. The dull, rhythmic thud of heavy staves on her back, and a sound like a branch snapping, sharp and final. The cracking of bone.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The bed beside me yawned empty. There would be no justice… …But me.
In the deep shadows of the dormitory, I made my way to the doorway. Through the central crack between the heavy wooden doors, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the thick wooden bar securing us from the outside. A cage within a cage.
I closed my eyes and felt within myself, seeking the serene, centered calm my master had once taught me to find. I found only a furnace. I drew a deep, steadying breath, pulling warmth from my dantian. It spread from that single point in my belly like a wave of liquid fire, surging through the meridians of my body.
The dull, grey world I had been living in sharpened, and vivid color bled back into existence, painting the edges of the darkness. The Qi flowed, hot and powerful, pooling in my right arm. I exhaled.
With a crack like thunder, my palm strike connected with the door. The entire door was torn from its iron hinges and sent flying four paces out into the courtyard, crashing against the flagstones. Before the echo of the impact faded, I was through the opening and dashing towards the high outer walls of the Jiaofangsi.
Dark figures in black silk uniforms descended upon me, converging from every direction, wardens roused by the disturbance.
The first tried to grab me from the front, his hands reaching for my shoulders. His motion was practiced but he didn’t expect me to be trained.
My hand reflexively clamped down on his wrist, I pulled him off-balance, turned, and stretched his arm out across before shattering his elbow with a sharp palm strike that bent his arm the wrong way. He let out a high, piercing scream and crumpled to the ground.
The second man reached me an instant later, and he froze in surprise when he saw his ally fall. Without breaking stride, I channeled Qi to my left foot and planted a leaping side kick into his knee. There was a sharp, wet crack as his leg bent sideways and he collapsed to the floor with a strangled cry.
The other wardens hesitated and slowed their approach, now cautious. I bolted for the nearest section of the wall, a ten-foot barrier of packed earth and stone. I gathered my Qi, pushing it down into the soles of my feet and lifting most of it upwards to lighten my body, and I leaped. I felt lighter than I’ve ever felt as if I was floating through the air.
The wall had a slight triangular slant from its stone and earth construction. My foot found purchase on the nearly vertical surface, and I propelled myself upwards again in a second bound, my fingers hooking over the top edge. Driving my qi to my fingertips, I lifted myself up above the wall and landed atop it. A piercing pain shot through the thick, calloused sole of my foot. In the moonlight, I glimpsed a line of jagged pottery shards, cemented into the top of the wall as a cruel deterrent.
Behind me, a horn bellowed, its deep, mournful cry shattering the recently fallen night. Without a second thought, I leaped off the wall and slid into the labyrinthine darkness of Chang'an.
I landed hard, tumbling across rough stone, the impact scraping my arms and shoulders. I scrambled to my feet. My memory guided me. I'd been to Chang'an, my father had brought us to the home of Censor Wang, his trusted colleague. I raced towards the direction I recalled his manor to be. After a frantic, breathless run, I saw it. The familiar, fortress-like walls rose up in the moonlight. My heart filled with a desperate, burning hope.
It was too early for hope. A shadow detached itself from the top of the wall, landing before me with the silent grace of a cat. It was a woman, clad in dark robes and a sword hung from her back. I recognized the stern, familiar face. "Auntie Ying!" I stammered, my breath catching in my throat. A woman who once bounced me on her knee. "It's Kai'er! Chen Kai'er! Please, you must help me!"
Auntie Ying shook her head slowly, her voice soft but firm. "Leave, child. There is nothing that can be done here." Tears welled up in my eyes as, with a heavy sigh, she drew the shining blade from the scabbard on her back. "Please," I choked out, the single word a desperate, ragged plea as I felt the hope in my chest turn to ash. "You shouldn't have run," she said without malice.
I turned and ran and she didn't give chase. There was nowhere for me to go. The sounds of the city guard, a clamor of many voices and the heavy, rhythmic pounding of booted footsteps, grew louder, catching up to me. I kept running but slowly the fire inside started to fade.
I took a sharp turn, then another, plunging deeper into a network of narrow, winding alleyways. The voices behind me got closer, echoing off the high walls. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw them, three bailiffs, their faces grim in the moonlight, their curved daos already drawn and gleaming. I was slowing, my breath becoming ragged and they were catching up.
My foot slipped on slick stone. The momentary lapse was all they needed. The first bailiff lunged, his dao held high, swinging down in a vicious chop. He was unskilled. I stepped back just inside the blade's arc, my hand shooting out to grab his descending forearm pulling it down and to the side. With my other hand, I delivered a sharp, hard-edged strike to his wrist. He recoiled with a yell of pain, the dao flipping through the air. I let him retreat and turned to keep running. The blade flew past the next turn and clattered loudly in the middle of an intersection of narrow paths.
My lungs burned. A wave of dizziness washed over me as my strength began to fail. I turned one last corner, seeking any shadow to hide in, took three steps, and stopped dead. It was a dead end. The alley was not deep, and it was already occupied. A tall man in a cheap scholar's linens and a smaller boy in similar robes stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock. The man instinctively pulled the boy behind him.
There was no time to react. The bailiffs had caught up. The three men, one clutching his injured wrist, the other two with their blades held ready, blocked the mouth of the alley, trapping us all.
"Don't let her escape!"
Is it difficult to juggle this second POV?
