The late spring morning of the Tianbao era often arrived with a pale, apricot-colored light filtering through the paper window lattice. I woke precisely with the fifth drum, and my personal maidservant, Ting’er, was already kneeling by the silkscreen, ready to begin the lengthy, deliberate process of preparing me.

  I allowed her to help me wash and dress, a ritual performed with the silent efficiency practiced since our childhood. Ting’er was diligent, smoothing my robes of fine silk and jade-green damask, fastening the subtle gold accents in my hair. I offered a quiet word of thanks.

  I reminded myself it would one day be my responsibility to find her a proper marriage, after I myself had found my own.

  My schedule was as fixed as the sun. Before the first meal, I moved to the study where my calligraphy tutor, Master Lin, awaited. For an hour, the world was reduced to the whisper of the sable brush on the fine Xuan paper and the sharp scent of the ink. We focused today on the running script, working to capture the fluid, dynamic energy within the structured characters.

  I appreciated the challenge. Yet, my mind, fueled by wonder, preferred my tutor's tales of distant provinces, where life was not confined by LuoYang's high manor walls.

  After the calligraphy lesson, the family gathered for the first meal. It was a formal, quiet affair. My father, Chen HuaRong, had his thoughts clearly already preoccupied with the official business of the Censorate. My siblings were quiet at the table, more obedient and respectful than I was when I was their age.

  After our meal, I retreated to my private courtyard for my daily cultivation. I sat on a smooth river stone beneath a flowering crabapple tree, closing my eyes and directing my breath. Slowly, I felt the warm, gentle current of Qi flowing through the meridians of my body, just as my master had taught. It brought a serene, centred calm.

  As the morning warmed and noon approached, the formality finally yielded to a moment of pure, unbridled joy. I exchanged my heavy robes for simple cotton and fetched my Jian, the straight sword my father had gifted me and taught me to use.

  Moving through the empty courtyard, the silver blade flashed like moonlight as I practiced the graceful forms he showed me, the sweep of the “White Ape Offers Fruit,” the piercing thrust of the “Dragon’s Spine.”

  It was a gentleman’s weapon, requiring grace and precise intention, and in this practice, I felt most fully myself, fluid, disciplined, and strong. I must have been beautiful as I performed the dance-like forms. Would my future husband, whoever he might be, understand or appreciate this strength?

  The sun was high now, casting sharp reflections off the surface of the decorative lake. I smoothed my simple cotton skirt and followed a winding stone path out to the central pavilion, where the Chief Inspector, my father, Chen HuaRong, was already waiting, the Go board laid out between two redwood benches.

  “Your running script was excellent today, Kai’Er,” he said, looking up from arranging the black stones. He had a way of seeing past the surface, acknowledging my work without demanding excessive praise.

  “Thank you, Father. Though Master Zhou believes my mind strays too easily to stories of adventure,” I replied, taking the bowl of white stones. “Perhaps I should practice the regular script for discipline.” He knew I only said that in jest and my smile confirmed it.

  He gave a genuine, weary smile. “The greatest discipline is not in the script you choose, but in the focus you apply to what is essential.” He placed his black stone, a solid, defensive opening.

  I preferred a more aggressive style, aiming for immediate territorial control, though years of patient tutors had taught me to temper this impulse. I met his opening with a flanking white stone, but as we played, I noticed his usual iron focus waver.

  “Father,” I said, laying down a stone that contained a quiet, but effective, threat to his corner. “Your mind is not on the board. Has the Chancellor cast a new shadow over the Censorate?”

  He sighed, picking up a black stone and turning it over between his thumb and index finger. “You are too sharp for your own good, child. Yes, the shadow of Chancellor Yang lengthens daily.” He placed the stone, completing a necessary, if uninspired, defense. “The Chancellor has found new support from a keen mind: a Hubu zhushi, a department of finance assistant named Song MinQing. He has been assigned to oversee the frontier grain supplies and he is sharp, not a fool, and I fear he will be a difficult man to investigate, or to trace the threads of corruption through.”

  I watched him. "Worry not, Father. You have always said that the truth is revealed through patience."

  “Patience is a luxury in Chang’an, or LuoYang now, Kai’Er. Integrity is dangerous,” he murmured, refocusing slightly to build a powerful wall around his center territory.

  The game continued, a silent war of wits that slowly turned in his favor. Despite my best efforts, my aggressive attacks were contained and neutralized by his steady, unyielding defenses. He won, surrounding my isolated white stones in the endgame. Our games could go either way, and I was proud of that fact; my father's skill was well known.

  “A gentleman’s victory,” I conceded as I gathered the defeated white stones back into my bowl.

  “A lesson that not every battle is won by the boldest thrust,” he replied. He then gently placed his hand over mine. “Tell me, my clever daughter, when you finally leave this house, will you miss these games, or the man who plays them?”

  My worry about my future evaporated instantly. “I shall miss you, Father. And I fear my future husband may not appreciate my unusual disciplines.”

  He smiled, a look of profound affection passing over his face. “I know you worry about being unwed at seventeen. But do not fear. I have yet to find a man worthy of my brightest daughter, a man who would respect the strength of your mind, and yes, the steel in your hands. I will not send you to a cage. We will find a fitting match. Perhaps you’d prefer the son of a general?” He squeezed my hand. “Now, go. Your younger siblings have been hoping for an hour of your time, and they deserve your focus more than the old matters of the court.”

  Relieved by his words, I stood and bowed. I left the pavilion, carrying the weight of his political fears alongside the warmth of his deep, protective love.

  Leaving the pavilion, I found my younger siblings, Chen Yuan and Chen Mei, in the quieter, secluded back courtyard, which was shaded by an old willow. Yuan, my brother, was eleven and already sharp-minded and reserved, much like Father. Mei was seven, bright-eyed, and full of the bubbling energy that only childhood curiosity permits.

  "Jie-jie!" Mei cried, dropping her handful of carved wooden tiles to run and hug my leg.

  “A gentleman does not interrupt his sister’s work,” Yuan noted formally, though the corners of his mouth betrayed a smile. He was struggling with a passage of new poetry assigned by his own tutor.

  I smoothed Mei's hair affectionately, the gesture tinged always with the quiet sadness that her birth had cost us our mother.

  I sat between them. Yuan needed help with a difficult puzzle, and I helped him break down the problem into smaller, manageable pieces, enjoying the moment his focused brow smoothed in understanding. Then, I turned to Mei, using wooden blocks to teach her new characters, praising her quick eye for recognizing the strokes.

  Watching Yuan, the designated heir to the Chen name, a flicker of envy did cross my mind: the freedom of pursuit that came with being a son. Yet, I was not lacking for love here, and I knew how deeply I would miss these quiet days when I finally had to leave the Chen household for good.

  Ting’er burst into the courtyard, running. Her face was pale, blotched with fear, and her chest heaved as she stumbled to a halt before me. Mei, startled by the noise, let out a small cry.

  “Da Xiaojie! Da Xiaojie, they… they broke the door!” Ting’er gasped, bracing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “Soldiers. From the Imperial Guard! They stormed in, demanding the Chief Inspector. Your father…”

  Integrity is a dangerous weapon.

  “What did Father say?” I demanded, my voice cutting through the panic, the discipline of my qigong training forcing my external calm. I placed a protective hand on Yuan’s shoulder, holding his gaze steady.

  Ting’er whispered the words, her eyes wide with terror. “He said… to find Censor Wang and Auntie Ying.” A terrible sign, since they now work in Chang’an.

  Suddenly, booming footsteps grew deafening, echoing off the flagstones. Instinct took over before conscious thought. My hand instinctively flew to my waist, grasping the hilt of the Jian that hung there.

  Jinwu Wei, soldiers of the fearsome Imperial Guard, clad in polished black armor, burst through the courtyard doorway, swords already drawn and gleaming.

  “Sword on the ground! Don’t do anything stupid!” the commander barked.

  Slowly, deliberately, I complied, letting the Jian slide from its sash, the scabbard clanging sharply on the courtyard stones.

  Yuan, pale but steady, shielded Mei as the soldiers roughly seized Ting’er and the other servants. We were marched into the Main Hall.

  The scene there was stark: Father stood alone, straight and unmoving in his Chief Inspector’s robes, surrounded by dozens of heavily armed guards. Facing him was a minor Censor he knew, a man whose face couldn’t hide the mixture of pity and official dread, holding a tightly wound imperial scroll.

  The Censor unfurled the scroll with theatrical deliberation, his voice cutting through the chaos like an executioner’s blade:

  “By Imperial Edict of the Son of Heaven, Eternal August One, Lord of Ten Thousand Years: Chen Huarong, formerly Regional Inspector of Henei Prefecture, stands convicted of the following crimes against the Dynasty and the August Throne:

  First: That he did knowingly and willfully embezzle from the Imperial Treasury the sum of five thousand taels of silver through fabricated land transactions, in violation of Article 283 of the Tang Code.

  Second: That he did falsify inspection records concerning grain shipments destined for the Youzhou garrison, endangering frontier defenses and the lives of ten thousand soldiers, in violation of Article 370.

  Third: That he did abuse his position of sacred trust to enrich himself while the soldiers of the realm starved, bringing dishonor upon the Imperial appointment he held. The Tribunal of justice has reviewed the evidence: Ledgers bearing his seal.

  The testimony of his own clerks. Deposits of inexplicable wealth. By the Infinite Mercy of the Son of Heaven, guided by the wisdom of the Censorate: The sentence of death by slow slicing is hereby commuted.

  Chen Huarong shall be exiled to the salt mines of Hainan, there to labor until death claims him. His properties are forfeit to the crown. His name is struck from the rolls of honor.”

  A collective gasp rose from my family. The Censor did not pause. He continued, his voice losing its forced solemnity, becoming chillingly routine as he continued:

  “By the principle of lianzuo, guilt by association: His wife and children, being polluted by association with his crimes, shall enter state servitude. The males shall join labor battalions. The females shall serve in the Jiaofang Division.”

  My world spun. The Jiaofang was the Music and Dance Bureau, a euphemism for the state-run pleasure houses. My sister and I were condemned to a fate worse than death.

  The Censor finished his reading: “Let this be a warning to all who would betray the sacred trust of office. Recorded this fifteenth day of the eighth month, fourth year of Tianbao.”

  The apologetic Censor handed the Edict scroll to the Jinwu Wei officer, his face pale. “Commander, I have performed my duty, but I must protest this excessive cruelty. Show some decency!”

  Liu, a squat man with cruel eyes, merely sneered. “You may keep your decorum, Censor. I have special, direct instructions from the Chancellor himself regarding the quick disposal of the Chief Inspector’s personal effects.” He then roughly shoved the Censor aside. Father was dragged away, his shoulders slumped but his head held high. The last thing I saw before being herded away was the Censor performing a deep, respectful bow to my Father's fading back.

  Yuan, Mei, and I, along with Ting’er and a few remaining house staff, were forced toward a small, windowless storeroom. “Strip,” Liu commanded. “State servants do not wear the silks of criminals.”

  My cheeks flushed crimson as I felt the humiliation. Under the glaring light of oil lamps and the openly lecherous gaze of the soldiers and their shining blades, we complied. The cool, unforgiving stone floor was cold under my bare feet. A guard tossed a pile of rough, undyed yellow hemp cloth at us. As I reached for a tunic, the guard darted out, attempting to grope my chest. My hand reflexively caught his wrist like a vise. He winced in surprise, then anger clouded his expression and he raised his other hand to strike, but Commander Liu intervened with a sharp, “Stop! Direct relatives are not to be harmed yet. They are destined for the Jiaofang.” He yanked the soldier back. "We do not want to risk the Chancellor's displeasure."

  The guard, frustrated, turned his venom toward the nearest victim. Ting’er, already ashen with terror, was seized by her hair and dragged, screaming, into the adjacent, darker room. Her cries were high, piercing, and continued for a time, intermixed with the laughs of the guards that followed into the room. The rest of the servants were quickly separated and shoved off to their darker fates.

  We were made to stand as thick, heavy wooden cangues were clamped around our necks. We were shoved out the service entrance and onto the main thoroughfare of LuoYang. The rough cobblestones were alien and painful to walk on. Passersby quickly scattered, faces averted in fear of the Jinwu Wei escort. Head bowed under the weight of the wood, I looked at Yuan and Mei in front of me, two small, terrified figures. I lifted my head, my eyes burning not with fear, but with a sudden, fierce resolve.

  “It will be alright,” I whispered, the words clear despite the constricting wood of the cangue. “Justice will come.”