Chapter Two: A Promise Made Softly

  In the days that followed, two names circled my brother’s council chamber like restless ghosts. He poured over every scroll and ancestral record, consulting advisors, generals, and the stars if he thought they’d offer crity. But no matter how many names were listed, evaluated, and discarded, two remained: Zhu Zhaoming, and the man whose name could no longer be spoken.

  Daisheng struggled, not with the quantity of suitors, but with the quality. He sought someone who could meet mystandards—those I stubbornly clung to—and his own. The man had to be of my generation, of good character, and hold just enough military influence to shield me without drawing dangerous attention from the capital’s hawks.

  Bloodlines were irrelevant. In the military, merit forged nobility. Some of the most decorated generals began life as peasants, or worse—sves bought for silver, who cwed their way into freedom and officialdom through sheer will and war-born genius. Titles meant little compared to legacy, and legacy, in our world, was carved by fire and blood.

  I never cared for military men—not in the way noblewomen were expected to in terms of marriage. But they were practical as husbands. In their households, the rigid customs of the court were held with less fervor. I knew I’d be forced to leave the Medica; no man would tolerate his wife tending the bodies of others, especially men. But if I could still visit Aunt Mingn… if I could just see her daily… I would surrender that life.

  The first name was Zhu Zhaoming. An orphan of the War of the Three Rivers, he began as a kitchen boy in the Hua Army. Rumors said the old Lord General, Zhu Zhaoyun, scoured every battlefield and orphanage in Qianhu to find his bloodline, chasing whispers of a boy descended from his sister’s line. He found Zhaoming elbow-deep in cabbage and grease, and after testing, praying, and bleeding coin, the truth emerged.

  He was a descendant of the Bck Dragon.

  The old general adopted him and made him heir. The problem that arose ter? He had already reached the peak of what the court could offer. Only one promotion remained: royal consort.

  No in-ws. No ambitious retives. No simmering household wars. Each investigation resulted in a more favorable outcome in the eyes of my brother.

  For centuries the Zhu Cn served the Hua Cn, they rallied, served and died together. Thousands of years of mutual bloodshed bound us. Zhu Zhaoming made sense.

  The second name was not permitted to linger. The moment Han Taejin’s name was spoken, Daisheng shattered a teacup in his palm. The advisor who uttered it was dragged out, screaming. The edict was clear two decades earlier: Never speak that name within the Pagoda again.

  The man had been Daisheng’s closest friend once. Now he was a ghost, exiled to Geiseung Fortress to rot in a frozen graveyard of loyalty and betrayal.

  When the Zhu Army returned to Xi’an, the city erupted in celebration. I stayed home, under the Wisteria tree, brushing the petals from Aunt Mingn’s hair as she sat swaying gently in the breeze.

  Though barely seven centuries old, Aunt Mingn’s hair was as white as the blossoms above us. Deep circles marked her eyes, carving sorrow into her face even in sleep. She smiled faintly, peacefully. But the moment shattered.

  “Dailu,” she whispered. Her voice shook. Her eyes gssed over. “My mind—it doesn’t work right.”

  I froze.

  She struck her own head with her fist. “I hear screaming. I see fire. Always. Always.” Her voice cracked with agony. “It’s unbearable. Make it stop. Please. I’ll be good—”

  Then she dropped to her knees. Before I could move, she smmed her forehead against the stone path. Blood spilled like wine, thick and red, and she looked up at me with a deranged smile.

  “Aunt—!” I reached for her.

  Her hands snapped forward like a snake, closing around my throat.

  I gasped—no air. My lungs burned as I fell back, choking under the grip of a woman I loved more than life itself. She screamed in my face, a shriek of terror and fury and grief, and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

  I had seen her fits before. Never had I been the center of them.

  Shouting erupted—heavy boots, bodies rushing. Then relief.

  Strong arms wrenched Aunt Mingn away from me as I coughed violently, clutching my throat. Daisheng’s voice roared through the courtyard like thunder.

  “Restrain her! Lock her doors—she is not to rise without my command!”

  But my only thought was for her.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I rasped, and my brother gave me a look between pity and rage.

  “Worry about your damn self for once!” he snapped. “She’ll be fine—you, I’m not so sure.”

  He helped me to my feet, throwing his cloak over my shoulders.

  “I think… I think this is her blood,” I murmured, touching my cheek. “I need to—”

  “The maids will handle it,” he said gently, but firmly. “Come. She didn’t know what she was doing. Let it go, Dailu.”

  The man who had pulled Aunt off me stood nearby, silent. A stranger. Tall. Steady. His face unreadable beneath the bloodstained sleeves of his uniform. His eyes, though—his eyes didn’t leave me.

  “We’ll make introductions after Susu examines you,” Daisheng said briskly, leading me up the spiraling tower stairs.

  “I’m not dying,” I muttered.

  “You are my baby sister,” he said without humor. “Your health, your happiness, your safety—these are the only things I care about. Stop compining.”

  The ninth floor was once an astronomical observatory, wide and open. Now, it was mine. It had a clear view of the construction beyond the courtyards, where borers toiled night and day to erect a second Pagoda for my future marriage. A cage being built in real time.

  Susu cleaned and checked me, brewed a tea for my throat, and Daisheng insisted I rest. There would be no meetings, no introductions. Tomorrow.

  But fate, as always, is unbothered by appointments.

  _

  Daisheng walked through the jubint city streets with his closest friend beside him. Lanterns swayed above their heads. Drums pounded from distant corners. Children tossed petals at soldiers and shouted songs of glory. The return of the Zhu Army had turned the city into a festival.

  “Is something troubling you?” Zhaoming asked quietly as he sidestepped a street performer.

  Daisheng gave a weary chuckle. “If you throw a dart, wherever it nds you’ll find a problem weighing on me.”

  He paused, then added, “Lately, it’s my sister. And that bsted old man I have the misfortune of calling grandfather.”

  He despised the Emperor. Held him responsible for his parents’ deaths, the destruction of their cn, the weight of endless tributes and impossible taxes. Daisheng had spent his reign undoing the rot left behind. If not for his imperial blood and the tragedy of his mother’s death, his reforms would have had him executed long ago.

  “Baiju will never stop interfering. Not until they wring us dry,” Daisheng muttered. “If they push further, I’ll rebel. And Jinxiu will join me.”

  Zhaoming didn’t speak—but Daisheng felt his silent support.

  “I don’t trust the Emperor to keep his word. I fear he’ll send my little star to Jinxiu as a peace-bride. It won’t stop the war—not with rebellion spreading in the Southern Corridor and Li Wenxu rising in favor.”

  Zhaoming asked, “What will you do?”

  Daisheng paused at a vendor’s stall of carved jade pendants. “She agreed to marry. And after thorough searching… you’re the most suitable choice.”

  Zhaoming blinked. “You haven’t spoken to her yet?”

  “I wanted to speak to you first,” Daisheng replied. “She doesn’t ask for much. All she wants is to see Aunt Mingn each day, to live a quiet life. I can’t give her that. But maybe you can give her peace.”

  Zhaoming started to speak a name—but stopped when Daisheng shot him a gre.

  “He failed her once,” Daisheng said bitterly. “Let that be the end of it. So. Will you marry her?”

  Zhaoming’s voice was quiet. “You know how I feel about her.”

  Daisheng gave a small smile. Of course he knew. Back when they were children—before Zhaoming had a title, before the war, before the deaths—Dailu had been kind to the orphaned boy in the encampment. But her heart had been young, fixed on someone else.

  “She doesn’t need grand gestures or romance. She needs someone steady. And that’s you.”

  Zhaoming hesitated. Daisheng sighed, then added more softly, “You’re the only one I trust with my sister, if one day I am gone you will guide her through the storm.”

  A soft chuckle escaped the General.

  “I’ll marry her,” he said at st. “Not because of politics. Not for your sake. But because I’ve never once stopped thinking of her. I will honor her, protect her, and raise heirs worthy of both the Zhu and Hua names. In this life, I will remain monogamous and take no other wife, nor will I take a concubine. All my children will be born from this one wife.” Zhaoming paused, daring to risk uttering that forbidden name.

  “And if Han Taejin hears of it and soils himself—well, so be it.”

  Daisheng ughed, cpping his friend on the back as they stood beneath the full moon on Primrose Bridge. “Then it’s settled.”

  paksimmy13