Chapter One: Aunt's Tragic Secret

  I was content—truly and thoroughly so—being known as the oddest woman in the empire. Unmarried, unfettered, and blissfully free to do as I pleased, when I pleased. I came and went as I wished, my movements unchained by expectation, my choices unburdened by obligation. Under the protection of my brother, I enjoyed a freedom that few women of my standing could even dream of. As long as I brought no shame upon the Hua Cn, I could live as I chose. And I chose well.

  I pursued all that I loved, so long as it did not dishonor our name. I immersed myself in the study of medicine, ignored the tedious demands of banquets and social niceties, rode wild horses beyond the city walls, and wandered the quiet wilderness outside Xi’an. In those quiet moments—among herbs, wind, and silence—I found peace. I was happy.

  But I was not blind to my brother’s worry.

  Though I occupied the ninth floor of the Pagoda, Daisheng kept residence on the eighth, and through the hush of night, I often heard him—working te, meeting ministers, raising his voice in argument. I would sit by my window, listening as the hours passed, watching the moonlight arc across the sky. I don’t know if Daisheng ever realized I was listening. Perhaps he did. But neither of us ever spoke of it. We shared many unspoken truths. As siblings, we carried a fortress of secrets between us, and among them was one we guarded most closely—our aunt.

  To the world, Lady Mingn was in quiet seclusion, cloistered away in mourning after tragedy. They said she was too heartbroken to rejoin society. And in truth, she had lost everything that day. But the reality was far more devastating.

  Xie Haoyu, a man obsessed with our aunt, razed Xi’an when she refused his offer of marriage. The city burned because of her defiance—and because of his madness. He found us in the aftermath, and only Daisheng, Aunt Mingn, and I knew the truth of how he met his end. That secret, too, lived between us.

  But Aunt Mingn’s ruin was not limited to loss and grief. It was deeper, darker—a wound upon her mind and soul. In the chaos of that day, she struck her head, and when she awoke, she was no longer the same. She screamed incoherently, was gripped by fear and delusion. She struck out in rage and despair. There were nights she wept so hard, she could not breathe.

  Learning medicine was no luxury. It became a necessity. Aunt hurt herself during her fits. She shed out at others. And after the fall of the Fox Hills, she could no longer bear to be touched. Maids came and went—many fleeing after suffering injuries, some departing with silence bought by generous coin and sealed by oaths.

  You might see one of them now, in the heart of the market: a woman with a scarred face, running a prosperous apothecary. Her injury came from an encounter with Aunt Mingn. My brother compensated her handsomely. He did so for many others. What else could we do? The Medica’s Asylum was our only other option, and I would not consign Aunt to such a fate. Not after all she had endured.

  So I remained. I devoted myself to the Medica, to her care, and to living quietly—hoping to lighten the burdens my brother bore. Yet I knew one burden grew heavier with time: my unmarried status. I often heard the hushed voices of his ministers pushing the topic. They cloaked it in strategy, peace-making, diplomacy. But I knew it was a threat to Daisheng’s authority. He brushed them aside for years, but tely, I could hear the tension in his voice.

  In truth, I had no objection to marriage. I would have let Daisheng choose for me if it would ease his worries. But whenever I imagined leaving, my eyes turned toward Aunt’s courtyard.

  What husband would understand? Who would be patient? If I left, Aunt might spiral further. She depended on my visits, even in her confused state. Bringing an outsider near her could spark another violent episode, or worse, drive her deeper into her despair.

  One night, as I sat beneath the moon again, I heard the familiar cmor of raised voices.

  “Your Highness… Her Highness can no longer dey. I know Lady Mingn’s illness weighs on her, but she may not have a choice. The Emperor himself is under pressure to secure a peace-making marriage.”

  A sharp crack echoed through the floorboards as Daisheng smmed his fist down.

  “Then it won’t be Jinxiu that rebels first—it’ll be Qianhu,” he snapped. “Let that old man meddle in my family’s affairs again. The st time he did, my aunt was driven mad and his son nearly wiped out our entire cn!”

  I winced. His voice was fierce, his pain still raw.

  Every night I heard this same argument repy. And each time, my brother stood firm: no daughter of the Hua Cn should be offered for diplomacy. Our titles were tokens, handed down by an empire that had taken too much from us already. They were ornamental—nothing more.

  Still, I pitied him. He carried the weight of too many lives, too many choices. I had hoped that by remaining in Qianhu and tending to the Medica, I could ease his burdens, not add to them.

  That night, I crept to his floor, the voices still audible. They were louder than before, more heated. “Daisheng?” I called softly.

  Silence fell like a curtain. The eyes of his advisors turned toward me, and Daisheng stood quickly, the exhaustion melting briefly into a tired, affectionate smile. “You should be resting,” he murmured, reaching for my hands and patting them gently.

  I looked past him, meeting the eyes of those who had come to the Medica this week to plead with me. I had turned them all away. Politics repulsed me—the lies, the betrayals, the endless games.

  But I knew something had to give.

  “I think we should listen to them,” I said at st. “My only wish is to stay in Qianhu. If we dey, Grandfather will send me to Jinxiu—and I cannot bear to go.”

  Daisheng stiffened. I could see the storm behind his eyes. He didn’t want to surrender me to any family.

  “I don’t wish to marry nobility,” I continued, “and certainly not anyone with lofty ambitions. A military man is fine—someone who will allow me to return home when needed, to continue caring for Aunt Mingn, and to serve the city through my work.”

  His grip on my hands tightened. “Then we will consult and decide. But the choice will be yours. If you are ever unhappy, I will seek a divorce on your behalf and bring you home.”

  He made it sound so simple, as though marriage could be unraveled without consequence. But we both knew better. If children were born, if hearts were entangled, it would never be so clean.

  I nodded and turned to go. “Now go back upstairs and rest,” he said gently. “I heard Aunt was more votile than usual today.”

  I obeyed.

  As I ascended the stairs, I allowed myself one small hope: that I might marry a man of integrity. Even if love never grew between us, I hoped there would be honesty, trust, and respect. That we might live a calm, peaceful life—that his ambitions would never disrupt the harmony of our home.

  I did not dare ask for more.

  paksimmy13