Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Sir, are you sure about this?" I was met with the neutral voice of the doctor attending me.

I looked up. Even that action caused me pain, despite the cocktail of opioids I was currently on.

"Yes. I am." I was reasonably sure I formed the words more or less intelligibly, but judging from the way the doctor's eyes tightened at the corner, I clearly sounded like I was in a lot of pain.

To be fair to him, I was.

I had sickle cell disease. On its own, it might not have been as bad as it could have been, but I also had a whole host of other unfortunate genetic disorders. The doctor's had told my parents that I wasn't likely to live past the age of 15.

My parents were both wealthy and harboured a dislike of children — especially children that wouldn't be useful in the future. They dumped me in the long-term ward of the hospital and left me there, ever since I was a year old.

I grew up in the care of clinical and cold nurses and doctors, with the occasional tutor when I wasn't in too much pain. I lived to 15, and I lived past it.

When I turned 20, the already terrible pain took a turn for the worse. I couldn't sleep until I was on so much opioid that it could kill a normal adult. I couldn't eat, could barely speak. My lungs were failing. The projections said I was on my way to an excruciating death.

I didn't mind the dying part. What I did mind was the part where it would be excruciating.

The good part was that I was in Switzerland. Moved there 2 years ago for this exact reason. Famed for its medical treatment and humane methods, as well as the freedom of choice for the patients.

When I turned 25, I decided that enough was enough. I asked for the euthanasia.

I didn't have anyone that would contest my words, and even if I did, it wasn't likely that I would listen to them. The little inheritance that I had was to be donated to the facility that had undertaken my care. I had nothing else to lose.

"An increase of opioids will be gradually injected into your bloodstream. By the time you go to sleep, you will die."

"Thank you," I rasped out calmly.

The doctor inclined his head. "Certainly," he agreed. He picked up his things and left, and I settled back.

I woke up with a gasp. The last thing I remembered distinctly (and even that was somewhat foggy, as if my brain wasn't working as perfectly as it should have) was agreeing to the euthanasia with the hope that I would finally be able to rest. I had been around for 10 more years than I was expected to, and all it had culminated was me being in a shitload of pain. Death seemed pretty good after 10 years of what could be defined as agonizing pain.

So I wasn't expecting to be awake at all. I flailed a weak limb.

Uhh.

Why did my arm feel like jello?

Speaking of which, my eyes were clamped and blurry. Now that I listened, I could make out soft voices.

"–auspicious–"

"Congratulations—boy—last–"

I did not like the sound of that. I listened harder.

"–name?"

"Wan Lin."

And with that, I passed out again.

I woke up again to incredibly blurry eyes, the faintest beginnings of a headache, and a very weak body. Apart from that, I was in no pain.

It was simply inconceivable to me. Never had I been in 'no pain'. I had been so high that I couldn't really feel the pain (before my teen years), but that didn't count.

I would consider that to be the most important thing about circumstances if it wasn't for the fact that I was very clearly in a different place, different body, and judging by the language, different time. 

The room I was in was politely opulent. Nice without being flashy, bold but subdued. Tasteful wealth. Nothing like a hospital bed or a clinical room. My body was weak and soft and young. Concentrating fiercely, I managed to wave a hand. It was chubby, and I had little control over it. I smacked myself in the face.

Immediately, I wanted to cry. It was only through surprise at the feeling that I managed to keep my mouth shut. 

Okay, so that cleared things up. I was a baby.

Was I in my younger body? Had I time traveled to the past? Would I be forced to go through treatments and pain all over again, like a never ending loop from Hell?

At that, I really thought I was going to start crying (forget a tiny smack to the face — torture for another 20 years? Forget it!) until my brain reminded me of something else. The language.

As an invalid, I had nothing better to do with my time than amuse myself. When I wasn't in pain, I liked to read and listen to podcasts. I also had tutors, when I wasn't in agonizing pain. These tutors came from my parents, and not from any official government education plan, so that meant my education could be considered a bit odd by almost any other person.

The nurses didn't care, and the doctors knew to keep their mouths shut. If I liked it, well, that was all to it. I was going to die soon enough.

Anyway, my sperm and egg donors were eccentric, to put it mildly. They chose very strange subjects that were simply necessary for me to be taught, and ignored most other usual subjects. If it wasn't for my unnatural awareness as a child, I probably would be severely lacking in maths and science.

One such subject that they focused on was languages. Not necessarily a strange subject — but the way they fixated on it was certainly strange. 

Chinese parents were weird like that.

Anyway, I knew enough to tell the differences between modern and traditional speech — especially in Chinese. This? It was ancient. Beyond ancient, actually.

Like, imperial China type of ancient.

That alone was what stopped me from going into a panic attack (and probably freaking out anyone else in the vicinity). I hadn't gone back to my past. I went back to–? When? Ancient China?

There goes wifi. And advanced medicine. I was a boy, right? Could I be a doctor? I had nothing against women being doctors, except that Ancient China was misogynistic — at best. All ancient civilizations were.

Meh. I would have to wait and see. I yawned, going a little fuzzy. Was it nap time? My head hurt; my baby brain wasn't spectacular when it came to something so complicated.

… Actually, it was a fucking miracle I was able to think at all.

I shouldn't be able to form properly coherent thoughts until I was 2. I certainly shouldn't be able to remember my past life (was that what it was?) when I was an infant. A newborn, quite literally. How strange.

Clearly, something was at play here.

And here came the headache. I got it. Time to stop thinking and start sleeping.

Yawning again, I closed my eyes. Babies were supposed to sleep a lot, right? I would use that to my advantage.

The next time I woke up properly (and by that, I meant that I stayed fully conscious and aware for more than 5 minutes), I was in someone's arms. I blinked blearily at the person. Okay. Hello random person.

The person (my eyesight was too bad to make out gender) gave a soft cooing noise. Then they started to talk. "Ah, a-Lin, of all the babies Wan-fūrén¹ gave to Wan-gōng², you are the prettiest. And that is no small matter!"

So my family name was Wan. I frowned inwardly. Now, there were a few different ways to write Wan, judging from the way it was pronounced, but… 

The closest way I could figure it to be was 10,000³. A very rare last name — at least in modern times. For some reason, I didn't think it was any less rare this time around.

And a-Lin⁴? Well, fair, I was a baby, so the prefix was sort of expected. Lin… forest maybe⁵? Eh. Somebody would let it spill eventually. And judging by the fancy surroundings, I would begin learning my characters young. By then, I would know whether it was best to show myself as a 'prodigy' (no longer acting like an immature baby) or not (being bored to death).

"a-Lin sure is thinking hard, hm?" The person above me said. "Ah, it's okay. Let's get you cleaned up and get you smelling sweet and clean."

What followed next was a methodical cleaning and dressing, into an exquisitely made baby robe of pale blue silk. That thing must be worth a fortune. How rich was my family? How much were they favored? If this was old, imperial China (with a twist, knowing my shitty luck), they either had to have a lot of their own resources or be favored by the huáng dì⁶. A lot.

A squirm of unease worked its way through my stomach. Politics. Never a good sign, especially in an absolute monarchy.

And–

Shit. I just realized. Suffixes were different this time around, weren't they? Nowadays (in the modern era… man, this was trippy), fūrén had pretty much fallen out of most situations except in formal contexts. To translate a woman's name that's derived from the surname of their husbands. And as a title.

But in imperial China… 

Wasn't fūrén used to mean Madam? Like, a high-ranking wife⁷? Of the huáng dì?

Oh. Oh shit, I was in trouble.

I was taken out of the room by the person, and held carefully in their hands. Like an offering. Who was I going to be presented to?

I gulped.

The hallway was even nicer than my room, if that was possible, and as the woman kept on moving, the hallways got nicer and nicer.

Of course, my eyesight wasn't exactly accurate, but it had gotten much better. How much time had passed?

The person stopped in front of rich mahogany doors. I squirmed slightly in their arms, and they glanced down, adjusting me slightly. The doors opened a mommomentent later, and I was carted off into the unknown.

"Chen-qīzi⁸. So you have brought the child." The voice that spoke was calm and languorous. The sort of person that I would take great pleasure in insulting, face to face. Alas, I was but a tiny baby of uncertain rank in the absolute monarchy of imperial China (what dynasty, I did not know and suspected was far more complicated than it seemed) and thus could not.

"Yes, Wan-gōng." The woman — Chen-qīzi — did a gentle bow that made my tummy swoop.

Wait. Wait. Wan-gōng? That was my father. Oh, wonderful. 

"Bring the child here."

Chen-qīzi moved forward, until she was in front of a large, well-decorated desk. She shifted me around in her arms until she had me directly facing the man — my father. We stared at each other.

Once again, my eyesight sucked, so I couldn't make out every detail perfectly, but what I could see was enough. He was handsome. Broad shoulders that filled out dark grey robes, a firm chin and sharp jawline, white skin, and a wealth of black hair, twisted back in a severe hairstyle, and pinned to the top of his head. His eyes were the most startling, however — icy grey, like a glacier. He looked like one too — someone that would be difficult to get a rise out of. 

There went my plan of riling him up. In fact, I was starting to think it would be smarter to stay out of his way. 

Common sense had never stopped me before, but perhaps… recalculating wouldn't be amiss.

"The child takes after his mother," the statement that was made by Wan-gōng sounded neither approving nor disapproving.

"The child has this high gōng's eyes," Chen-qīzi offered. 

Now I wanted to see myself in a mirror.

"Hn." Wan-gōng said flatly. "Perhaps Chen-qīzi would be better off focusing on her heritage… 2nd generation, no?⁹"

Around me, Chen-qīzi's arms trembled slightly. 

Wow. What a dick. Liáng xīn bèi gǒu chī le¹⁰, that guy was a fucking asshole. Maybe she had overstepped, but definitely not to that amount. Not enough to warrant such a harsh rebuke.

"T-this lowly one thanks Wan-gōng for his most gracious advice," Chen-qīzi whispered. 

"Good. Is the child healthy?"

"Yes, Wan-gōng."

"Age."

"The child is 8 days of age."

"Sex?"

"Male, Wan-gōng."

"Good. Dismissed. I have no wish to see either of you until the 100 days celebration."

Chen-qīzi bowed again, and stepped back. I watched, as she stepped backwards, as Wan-gōng picked back up his brush and bent over some papers again. Looking at him now, he looked like he was made out of stone. Nǐ hái shì rén ma¹¹… he was supposed to be my father.

My future was not looking bright.

Chen-qīzi came to be a regular part of my life.

From her daily occurrence in my life, as well as her duties, I figured that she was both my wet nurse and nanny. She also talked a lot, something I would normally be irritated by, if it wasn't for the fact that she had very good gossip and was an excellent source of information.

That's how I figured out a lot of my information.

My name was Wan Lin. Wan spelt with the yī¹² radical to mean 10,000 (like I'd thought) and Lin spelt with the yǔ¹³ radical and the lín¹⁴ component to mean continued rain. 10,000 days(?) of rain. Clearly, I was born during a monsoon. That put my birthday as anywhere from May to July. 

My parents were Wan Yingshi (my rén zhā¹⁵ father) and Wan Yuqian (my mother… whom I had nothing to say about simply because we've never met… which said a lot about her, actually). We lived 2 lǐ¹⁶ away from the grand palace of the huáng dì, and my family was apparently part of the imperial court.

My father was heavily favored by the huáng dì's second cousin, Zhu-dà gōngjué¹⁷, and thus had a high ranking position in the huáng dì's court. So my family was rich, noble, and important. This would be pretty cool for me, if it wasn't for the fact that I didn't have much importance.

I had 4 elder brothers, and 2 elder sisters. I was the 7th child. Thanks to the homophones¹⁸, this could be considered a good or bad thing. I had shitty luck.

Anyway, that was my family. The huáng dì had 3 children from the huáng hòu¹⁹. The huáng tàizǐ²⁰ was a calm, steady child of 10 years. Then there was the second son, the huáng zǐ²¹, who was decidedly more impulsive (and from the careful way that Chen-qīzi said it, I had the feeling she was being very kind with the description), and was bright and reckless, at 6 years old. 

Then there was the youngest child of the imperial family, a little girl of 2 years. The little gōngzhǔ²² was spoiled and beloved amongst the entire palace. Judging from her (Chen-qīzi's) expression (thank gods for improving eyesight), she was a terror. 

A rather young family.

The huáng dì was also unusual in the fact that he didn't have many pín²³ — only a scanty 2. This apparently caused a lot of gossip and scrutiny on them. A lot of women were not exactly happy with the fact — there was a lot of talk about what made those two so special. I felt sorry for the pín. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And those women fancied themselves scorned.

Apart from Chen-qīzi, nobody was around, and nobody came to visit me. Chen-qīzi slept in a chamber off to my room, and interacted with me to talk to me, feed me, and change me. She was nice, but she didn't do anything except the bare necessities.

Clearly, I was not an important part of the household. 

I didn't really mind — I was fully developed already, so my psyche wouldn't take any damage from the treatment. Days passed quickly, the way molasses slipped from an open container with terrifying speed (and yes, I'm speaking from personal experience… all of those authors that called molasses 'slow' and 'thick' were either fucking liars or have never had the experience of upending an entire bottle of the stuff next to clean white sheets), and before I knew it, it was my 100 days celebration.

I was dressed beautifully by Chen-qīzi in robes of dark grey and pale blue silk. I guess those were my family colors. And I saw myself for the first time.

I had dark brown hair that glinted in the light, hair that was pulled back into a tiny complex braid that made my head want to ache just to look at it. My eyes looked just like Wan-gōng's, grey and icy. I understood what he meant now, that I took after my mother.

Not that I knew what she looked like, but I looked almost nothing like him, except for the eyes.

Which was fair. I didn't want to look like that shuǐhuò²⁴ anyway. Hopefully my mother wouldn't be as terrible. I wasn't holding my breath.

"There! Even Wan-gōng would be satisfied," Chen-qīzi muttered the last part under her breath as she inspected me critically in the mirror. Satisfied, she nodded. "Time to go now."

She held me securely in her arms, shooting me a quick smile before her face turned rigidly polite, and we were out. I looked about with more interest, this time.

It had been quite a while since I had been out, and now that I was three months old, I had better motor skills. As we walked, I got a sense of the layout. The house was apparently divided into wings — I could tell, because the color on the hallways changed.

The wing I was in was painted a mild shade of blue, and as we exited, the halls got brighter and brighter, with oil sets on the walls and portraits of people. I stared at the portraits with interest. Relatives?

After some more walking, we entered a large, fancy room — like a ballroom, almost. I watched my surroundings with huge eyes. Maybe I was a little excited, but I had never been anywhere before! Give me a break!

There was the rustle of clothing, and footsteps coming closer to me. Chen-qīzi bowed. "Wan-fūrén," she said carefully.

My mother?

"Give me the child," the cool voice came.

"Wan-fūrén, perhaps–"

"Are you getting deaf now, as well as stupid? Give me the child. You are dismissed for the evening, until I call for you." The cool voice grew even sharper.

Oh. Okay. A lǎo yāo pó²⁵, got it.

Yeesh, everyone in my family sucked so far.

"Of course, Wan-fūrén," Chen-qīzi bowed and I was handed over. I contemplated throwing up on the woman, but I decided that would just embarrass me more than her. 

I watched forlornly as Chen-qīzi left. Goodbye, Chen-qīzi. You will be missed.

Wan-fūrén held me too tightly, her arms like a vice-grip around my fragile body. I wheezed, trying to suck in air. Gods, no wonder Chen-qīzi was so reluctant to leave me with her. This woman didn't know how to hold a baby — at all.

"You have the child?" The vaguely familiar voice of Wan-gōng asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Let the celebration begin, then." 

The celebration… was terrifying. I wanted to sleep, but I was too afraid that I would end up dead if I didn't pay attention, so I forced myself to stay awake. I was handed from person to person like a rag doll, and not a single one of them knew how to hold a child.

Most of them just came to talk politics, and praise Wan-fūrén on another successful pregnancy ("and another boy!" One annoying lǎo tóuzi²⁶ said with such a self pleased look that I wanted to be sick all over him — misogyny in imperial China disgusted me). I was not impressed.

I didn't get anything to eat, either. Clearly, they had no idea about what to do with babies.

In short, I had been prodded and poked and eyed, was now currently starving, and irritated beyond measure. I wanted to throw a tantrum. Before I did that, however, I was whisked away by a servant ("Take care of his needs," Wan-fūrén had sniffed) to a small room off to the side. To my pleasure, there was Chen-qīzi.

I immediately bestowed upon her a smile. She had been trying to get me to smile for a while now, and she deserved it now. Bless the woman. Ignoring her cooing as she fed me (food at last), I ruminated on what was going to happen next. Would I be sent out there again? Who would I 'meet' next? Can I take a nap?

"How much longer?" Chen-qīzi said indifferently to the servant.

"For the honorable Wan-gōngzǐ²⁷, a single kè²⁸ is all that's required, qīzi." The servant saluted within my peripheral vision.

Chen-qīzi pursed her lips, but said nothing. Instead, she handed me back to the servant. "Very well."

The servant bowed deeply, and I was taken back out. One kè. I could do that.

Okay, so I couldn't do that.

I stared up with as much dismay as my tiny baby body could manage. I had been placed in a crib off to the side. While I was waiting for time to run out, I was promptly accosted by children.

Well, some children, some teens. Judging by their looks (all it took was a single glance), they were related to me. My siblings.

The oldest was a teen of about 14, tall with black hair and black eyes. It went in that order (12, 10, 8, 6, 4) until there was me. The 10 year old, a rather pretty girl with a sneer on her face, poked a finger over the crib railings to prod at my cheeks. "Doesn't look like much to me." She promptly poked me again, this time much harder.

At that, I figured that I deserved to throw a fit. I screwed up my face, tapping into my inner-baby. The oldest immediately sensed the incoming danger, and backed off quickly. "Baohua, you bèndàn²⁹! Look what you've done! Now he's going to cry!"

Smart kid.

I fucking wailed.

Every single head turned to where they stood, bent over me. Baohua froze in her tracks.

Through teary eyes, I could see the figure of Wan-fūrén making her way over with dangerous, dark eyes.

"Oh no." The 12 year old boy moaned. "Baohua... why did you have to get us all in trouble?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Baohua immediately denied, and was treated to dull, unimpressed stares.

"Children." The way Wan-fūrén said 'children' was the way someone might say 'filthy shit on the road'. "I think it's time for you all to retire."

"Yes, mǔqīn³⁰," they all said at once, wincing as I continued to cry. They rushed away quickly, and I was met with the cold face of Wan-fūrén staring over the bassinet. I hiccuped pitifully.

She twisted her mouth in a sharp motion, like she sucked a lemon. Then she turned and made an impatient gesture towards a servant. The servant rushed over, picked my still sniffling body up, and rushed away.

Chen-qīzi was sitting on a chair when we came in, and looked up sharply when she heard us. "Why is Wan-gōngzǐ crying?" She demanded.

"This slave³¹ is aware that the most honorable children of Wan-gōng came to meet this gōngzǐ." The tone of the servant was carefully neutral.

"... Dismissed."

"As it pleases qīzi," the servant agreed. I was handed over, and the servant took his leave.

"Hush now," Chen-qīzi murmured. "It's time for bed, isn't it?" She continued to whisper comforting nothings, as she hurried us away from the celebration. Back in my room, I was fed again, and finally, I could sleep.

What a fucking day.

The next few months were quiet. Once again, I didn't have any contact with anybody except for Chen-qīzi. I didn't care as much this time. After being around my so-called family, I found that I much liked the way things were without them.

There were improvements, however. I learned to walk (and shit, it was a pain in the fucking ass… no wonder people don't remember their formative years!) and thus got more freedom from Chen-qīzi.

I was also given a wonderful gift: toys.

I know, I know. Not much of a gift for someone who's arguably mentally 26. But for someone who's emotionally 10 months old, it was a gift from the heavens. As much as I was reluctant to admit it, the fact was that I had been bored out of my mind.

There's only so much plotting and theorizing someone can do before their brains melt out of their ears. And being a baby, while interesting at first, turns dull very quickly.

So the toys were a godsend.

I got rattles and whistles, bamboo drums and finger cymbals, and other such musical instruments that made a delightful racket (though I was always careful never to push Chen-qīzi over the edge… to the edge, however, was fair play. She deserved it anyway). I got yo-yo's (though they called them kōng zhong³²) with holes drilled into them to make whistling, musical noises, and half a dozen silk kites, all in different colors. Bamboo dragonflies, 7-piece puzzles, and puppets and figurines were all added to my hoard.

But the toy I adored the most were the blocks. I collected them by the dozen. When the toys first started coming in, I made sure to show special preference towards the blocks whenever Chen-qīzi was within eyeshot. As a result, I got them.

The majority had little drawings carved within the wood, and were painted exotic colors. I didn't care. I got outrageous pleasure in stacking them up, making little castles (much to Chen-qīzi's puzzled awe) and houses, turning them into entire towns and villages.

This only drew Chen-qīzi's interest more. "Wan-gōngzǐ," she called me one day. Ever since my 100 days celebration, she would always call me either 'Wan-gōngzǐ' (most of the time) or 'Lin-gōngzǐ' (when I was being particularly cute). No more a-Lin. 

Now that they knew that I was to survive, it would be rude for someone from Chen-qīzi's station to refer to me affectionately. I would deny to my last breath, but I missed the familiarity (not that much… experience had taught me it was safer not to trust anyone but myself. The distance was good. It was just my emotions being stupid).

"Wan-gōngzǐ," she repeated herself, "what's this? What is Wan-gōngzǐ making?"

She always asked me that same question. Partly to get me to make babbling noises, and partly to test me. Times like those always made me remember that while she might be fond of me (and I couldn't help but doubt it… more likely, I was nothing more than a stepping stone and a potential source of information for her to climb up the ranks), she was under the direct purview of Wan-gōng and Wan-fūrén. Not me. She reported my actions back to them, something I was very aware of, ever since 2 months ago.

~

"Sleep time," Chen-qīzi said to me in a cutesy sort of voice.

I yawned in agreement. Yes, I agreed with that.

After putting me down to sleep (my crib had been traded out for a bigger bed with railings along the sides of the bed), she carefully extinguished the candle.

Waiting a few minutes, she scurried out of the room. However, instead of going to her own personal chamber, she went outside of the room. I sat up slightly, curiosity warring with sleepiness.

"Chen-qīzi. Report." That was the voice of Wan-gōng.

Needless to say, curiosity won. I scorched over to the side of the bed closest to the door.

"This lowly one has observed the following things about Wan-gōngzǐ," Chen-qīzi began, and proceeded to spew a list of all my habits. Even things I thought that I had kept relatively hidden, like my tendency to zone out to plot, were noted and told to Wan-gōng. Hell, the toys I favored and the amount of times I took a shit was told as well!

I felt — bad. You know the feeling when someone you thought you could trust ends up reporting your personal information to someone else? Yeah, that sort of bad.

Wan-gōng started talking about manipulating me to be 'perfect' and 'trials to make sure I developed appropriately', but I was too pissed off to care.

Fuck.

Fuck Chen-qīzi, and fuck myself for thinking that I could trust her. How could I have been so stupid? This was imperial China, where the politics were cutthroat, and the people even more so.

I took in deep breaths, my skin feeling tight and hot. Okay. Okay, I could fix this. I had never shown anything too unusual, so apart from what she had snitched about, I was safe. I would just have to be more careful. This experience had shown me I couldn't trust anybody — not even the woman who had fed me and taken care of me when my parents (both sets) could care less about me.

I bit my blanket savagely, my eyes feeling unusually prickly and wet. Whatever. Who needed other people anyway?

~

"Wan-gōngzǐ," she tried again, her sweet voice fading ever-so-slightly to reveal irritation at my lack of attention.

At that I looked up at her coolly. Recently, I had also found out the devastating effect that my looks had, especially my eyes. As I grew older, my eyes only grew colder and more translucent, almost. More so than Wan-gōng's anyway, to the point that when I was tired or lax, they turned milky, and when I was irritated or mad, they turned almost silver-white. 

It was alarming to witness on an adult. On a child? It was downright unnerving.

Sure enough, being faced with my odd eyes and blank face, she shuddered and backed off. Smiling tightly, she saluted. "But of course, Wan-gōngzǐ must have his surprises," she tittered.

I turned back to my blocks. I liked the intimidation factor, but it also made me feel sort of uneasy. My stomach churned at the thought of making people scared of me. Sure, when I didn't like them or they were assholes, it was one thing. But my eyes would probably (read: definitely) upset almost everyone.

Whatever. Not like I could change it. Unless I hid them someway...

I continued stacking up my blocks. Maybe later, I would make an attempt at an orchestra. Just for Chen-qīzi. Standing a few chǐ³³ away, she shuddered minutely, much to my satisfaction.

My first birthday (although I was considered to be 2 years old, which was — well, fine. I always wanted to live longer anyway) was just as grand as my 100 day celebration. 

I was sat on a fancy chair in front of a raised dais. In front of me were several dozen guests, mingling and politicking and generally being nuisances. I barely stifled a yawn. What was the point of this? Hopefully I would at least get to eat something good.

After about a shí³⁴ of this, I was finally asked to perform my task, like a good little monkey. In front of me, half a dozen objects were spread.

… was this zhuāzhōu³⁵?

Wan-fūrén gave me an expectant look. Wan-gōng looked as cold as stone as usual. Now that I'd purposefully started adjusting my actions, he didn't have as good a read on me anymore, and he disliked it. I stared at him for a long moment, watching as he twitched marginally. My eyes really did a number on people.

I turned back to the table in front of me.

I could hear quiet murmurs of interest from all the guests.

"–one?"

"–Wan-gōng's child surely–"

"–no?"

I took stock of the objects. There was a book, a seal, an abacus, a wooden sword with seal script that I couldn't read on it, a brush with ink, and a shallot³⁶.

Huh.

Normally, this was used to give future indication of what a child would be, but it didn't really mean much. At least in modern times. I had a suspicion that it meant a lot more in imperial China.

Okay. As far as I knew, the book meant scholar, the seal meant an official (working in the court or something), the abacus meant stuff to do with money and numbers, the sword probably meant law enforcement or adventure (most likely adventure, thanks to the weird script), the brush and ink meant scribe or writer, and the shallot was just overall intelligence.

Right away, the abacus and seal was out. I had no interest in either. So I reached forward in the sudden silence, and pushed them to the side. Whispers erupted.

"–clever child–?"

"–knows–"

"–scholar or cultivator?"

At that last murmur, my focus increased. Cultivator? Like — qi magic bullshit? That seemed…

Actually, that was perfect. If I became a cultivator, I would be as free as was likely for me to be. I reached out, and plucked the sword. Holding it, I waved it around experimentally.

The hall erupted into appreciative laughs and quiet mutters, and my job here was done. I was removed from the fancy seat by Wan-fūrén, who then ordered a servant to feed me.

As soon as I was given the plate of food (this time, I was eating alone, off to the side where nobody could poke or prod at me… looks like Wan-fūrén learned her lesson the first time), I escaped.

Eating while I walked (and delighting in my bad table manners), I cheerfully marched out of the hall with no one to stop me. It was time to explore — I had never been around the house before. The only places I had been in were my 'room' and the fancy hall that they used to throw celebrations. It was long past due for me to get around and about a bit.

After I finished with my food, I placed the plate in a corner, where it would sure to be seen by the servants but obscure enough not to be seen by any guests. I had my fair share of pride too.

Then I ran outside.

It was surprisingly easy. There was a door placed off to the side, and it was partially open. Most likely because of the many people that had been coming and going. It was easy enough to push the door open some more, and escape outside.

Once outside, I took a deep breath. It was beautiful.

As a patient perpetually stuck to a hospital bed, I had very little chances to go outside. In the 25 years of my first life, I had gone outside perhaps 5 times — and all of those times were before the age of 15, when my condition hadn't been so bad. I could barely remember it.

So being stuck inside again, just because of my stupid baby body — it was frustrating. 

I came out into a garden. It was beautifully done, and everywhere was damp and shining with dew. That's right, I was born during monsoon season. Now I knew for sure when I had been born. Mid-June, just at the peak of the rainy season in China. 

Wiggling my toes in the black and (surprisingly) solid boots that Chen-qīzi had put on me, I took a careful step out. Then another one. Then another, and another, and another. I was free. A breathless laugh bubbled over my lips, the first proper sound I had ever made in my second life. Laughter on my birthday — what an auspicious occasion.

FOOTNOTES

1. Madam (夫人). Traditionally used to refer to a lady of high rank (in many different forms…), the term has fallen into disuse since the late 20th century except in formal contexts. You may be familiar with this term — Madam Yu is known as Yu-fūrén. return to text

2. It means lord (lit. duke; 公). In imperial times, it was a title of nobility meaning duke. return to text

3. Wan, meaning 'ten thousand' (万), is an extremely rare last name in modern China. That's why he's so confused right now. return to text

4. The prefix 'a' (阿) is an affectionate diminutive that is placed in front of one character from the person’s personal name. Used in informal situations. Also used to refer to someone from a lower class/servant. return to text

5. The most common usage of 'Lin' is as a last name, meaning 'forest' (林). It can of course be spelt different ways. return to text

6. Emperor, or 'huáng dì' was the title of the Chinese head of state of China from the Qin dynasty in 221 BC until the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911. The first emperor of Qin (Qin Shi Huang) combined the two characters huang (皇 "august, magnificent") and di (帝 "God, Royal Ancestor") from the mythological tradition and the Xia and Shang dynasties to form the new, grander title 'huáng dì'. return to text

7. Imperial Madams, ranking below Empress, aren't often distinguished in English from imperial Concubines, the next lower rank, but these were also titles of significance within the imperial household, and Imperial Madams might be translated as Consorts with the intention of distinguishing them from Empresses. The Rites of Zhou states that Emperors are entitled to the following simultaneous spouses:

1 Empress (皇后)
3 Madames or Consorts (夫人)
9 Imperial Concubines (嬪)
27 Shifus (世婦)
81 Imperial Wives (御妻)

As you may have guessed, Madams are kind of a Big Deal. Another reason why he's freaking out right now.
return to text

8. qīzi (七子) was a rank that's directly translated to mean 'lady'. It was most commonly used as part of the ranking system for imperial consorts (aka a rank in the harem of the Emperor) back in imperial China. However, certain favored women could gain that rank (and certain higher and lower ones) without actually being part of the harem. return to text

9. Ancestors and family lines are a big deal in Chinese society, in part heavily influenced by Confucianism ideals. In the huáng dì's court, the longer your family had served the court, the higher the respect that they would have. Those that have low generations of service were looked down upon — to curry favor in a simple way. Wan-gōng was being an asshole by saying that Chen-qīzi's heritage is so lowly that she only came to the court 2 generations ago (her parents first came to the court), and it's surprising that she has such a 'high' status. In short, he's accusing her of doing sexual favors and being a bootlicker to get so high in court, and also warning her not to try and curry favor from him.
return to text

10. Liáng xīn bèi gǒu chī le (良心被狗吃了): meaning, 'conscience eaten by a dog'. It's a Chinese slang meaning someone that's capable of great cruelty because they don't have a conscience (lit. the one they had was eaten by a dog). return to text

11. Nǐ hái shì rén ma (你还是人吗): a person is so mean/cruel that they are not human. (lit.: "are you still human"). return to text

12. yī (一): meaning one. return to text

13. yǔ (雨): meaning rain. return to text

14. lín (林): meaning forest. return to text

15. rén zhā (人渣): lit. scum. Someone who is as useless and unwanted as garbage. return to text

16. lǐ (里): known as the Chinese mile, it is a traditional Chinese unit of distance. Has a standardized length of a half-kilometer (500 meters). return to text

17. dà gōngjué (大公爵) is an imperial Chinese title of nobility that means Grand Duke. return to text

18. 7 is pronounced as qī (七). However, there are also homophones to it. The word qí (齐) means togetherness and harmony. But qī (欺) means cheating. return to text

19. huáng hòu (皇后) is the Empress. return to text

20. huáng tàizǐ (皇太子) is the Crown Prince. return to text

21. huáng zǐ (皇子), lit. Son of the Emperor. Male children of the Emperor and Empress would be given this title. return to text

22. gōngzhǔ (公主), lit. Princess. Female children of the Emperor and Empress would be given this title. return to text

23. pín (嬪), lit. virtuous woman. It was the title of the imperial concubines. return to text

24. lit. junk. return to text

25. lǎo yāo pó (老妖婆): evil old witch. return to text

26. lǎo tóuzi (老头子): lit. old head. It's usage is somewhat alighting to old men; has the same expression as 'old geezer' in English. return to text

27. From 'gōng (公) meaning duke, and zǐ (子) meaning boy/young man. Gōngzǐ is used as 'Young Master'. return to text

28. kè (刻). One kè was usually defined as 1⁄100 of a day. Each kè is equal to 0.24 hours, 14.4 minutes, or 14 minutes 24 seconds. return to text

29. bèndàn (笨蛋): dummy, fool, idiot. lit. dumb egg. return to text

30. mǔqīn (母親): formal term for mom. lit. mother. return to text

31. núcai (奴才), meaning 'this slave'. This term is used by servants and even low-level officials who are not literally slaves, especially in later dynasties. return to text

32. kōng zhong (空钟): Chinese yo-yo's, lit. air bell. return to text

33. chǐ (尺): a traditional Chinese unit of length. Often translated as the "Chinese foot". Its present value is standardized at around one-third metre (1 ft 1 in), although the exact standards vary. return to text

34. shí (时) was 1⁄12 of the time between one midnight and the next, making it roughly double the modern hour. tl;dr: a dual hour/two hours. return to text

35. zhuāzhōu (抓週); lit. "pick" and "anniversary", meaning "one-year-old catch". A Chinese ritual held at a child's first birthday party, when the child is 1 year old by Chinese Lunar Calendar. The parents put various objects before the child. Parents will often put objects that symbolize career choices or personality traits. The child's choice is used to forecast its future. return to text

36. A shallot means intelligence. Shallot and intelligence both share the same pronunciation in Mandarin. return to text

Chapter Text

Regrettably, I could not stay outside for long. Soon enough, someone would find out that I was missing and then it would be a shit storm of epic proportions — one that I had no wishes to get acquainted with.

With a tired sigh, I turned to go and trudge back in. I began to squirm my way through the door when I heard it — the distinct sound of a child crying.

… And that's a nope for me.

I have nothing against children personally. Everyone was a child once. But children are illogical to the point of driving me fucking crazy. 

They want something?

Well, it's up to you to figure out what they want, when they want it, and why exactly it's so important that they must have it.

…

Perhaps I may still be a little traumatized from the one week stay I was forced to do in the pediatric ward, due to power shortages. The pediatric ward had plenty of free beds, and the ward that I was supposed to stay in, a general ward, had been the target of a severe power outage. 

On the plus side, not only had my ears become desensitized to the sound of yelling children (gods and ancestors, it was a hospital, shouldn't they be quiet?!), but I was also not the only person to suffer alone.

But in short, it went something like this: crying children equals trauma flashbacks.

So I turned, ready to go back inside, when the wails increased in volume. I twitched violently. Did nobody hear that? Why did nobody come to soothe the screaming infant?

Even Chen-qīzi, at her worst, was never so remiss to not comfort me on the rare occasions I cried.

I shifted uncomfortably.

I really had to go back inside. But…

The screams reached a decibel that I wasn't even aware existed. I wilted. Woe is me, for I am a bleeding heart, and I fucking hate it.

With a long-suffering sigh, I marched back out. It was starting to rain all over again, this time a light drizzle. I was not fooled. I had lived in China for the better part of 20 years. Even if the majority of that time was spent indoors, I knew exactly what the rainy season looked like.

It would soon be a steady downpour. I shivered slightly, pulling my arms around my body. It was slightly windy, and my long, billowing sleeves whipped about in a frenzy of brilliant blue and gold silk. Twisting my lips into what was technically a scowl (but I'm afraid it looked more like a pout), I moved forward steadily.

This was so stupid. Why was I doing this? Who would be out here in the steadily increasing rain, instead of inside the manor?

Only those of a high enough rank could even pass the barriers. Something I found out from eavesdropping on Chen-qīzi talking to a visiting qīzi who had come to teach my youngest sister — 6 year old Chunlan — etiquette and basic calligraphy. I frowned. As far as I knew, no children were brought to these events unless they were a) being punished, b) coming for a political reason, or c) both.

And the kid that was crying (because yes the kid was still bawling) was definitely on the younger side. A toddler.

Interest piqued, I picked up my pace. Clearing my throat awkwardly, I tried to speak. It was my first time doing so, but judging by the massive tantrum the kid was throwing, they likely wouldn't even notice.

"Hello?" I coughed out. It was warbly and babyish, but the toddler stopped crying.

"Who are you?" The tone was imperious and haughty. "Come here and show yourself," the kid added.

My eyebrows flew up my forehead. Well, no one could deny the impressive vocabulary, I noted dryly. I shifted closer anyway. In the dimming light of the sunset, and the sparkling rain, I could make out the face of a little girl.

Not just any little girl, though. The girl had her silky hair braided into a complicated hairstyle, and done up with strings of gems and pearls. Her robes, while styled to look casual, were subtly expensive. Very expensive. As expensive as the current celebratory robes I had on, if not more so, except that hers seemed like it was an everyday thing.

She had a proud little face, rounded with enormous amounts of baby fat, but did nothing to detract the cold and haughty (but still fearful) look in her jade-green eyes. I cocked my head curiously, raising a long sleeve to hide the slight twist of my lips. 

My mask wasn't perfect yet.

"What's your name?" Her voice became less teary and more curious. 

"Wan Lin." I bowed deeply to detract from the shortness of my words. It was hard talking as a baby, okay?

"Help me up, Wan Lin." She thrust her hands up from where she was sitting on the wet grass. Well, that robe wasn't going to be the same. I stepped forward, and pulled her up. Her hands were soft and lotioned and a little bruised.

She must have fallen. 

If she was as spoiled as she acted, she'd probably never fallen before. No wonder she had been crying up a storm to rival the current downpour.

With a little bit of a struggle, she managed to get up. I took a step back and tilted my head up to look at her. Sitting on the grass, she seemed small, but now that I looked at her properly, it was clear that she was older than me — by at least two years.

She stared at me expectantly. I stared back and said nothing. I didn't know what she wanted me to say.

Once again, my eyes had the same effect on her like they did everyone else. She turned her face to the side and huffed. "Since you helped me up… you may know my name."

Wow. I should be so honored, huh? Xiǎo tù zǎizi¹! Who was that kid?

"This one would be grateful." I managed out. Stupid baby tongue! I must sound like some idiot shǎ zi².

"Why do you talk in such a way?" She asked with curiosity.

… 

Excellent, my point was just proven.

"This one has two years." I said as stiff as possible.

She looked surprised. "I thought you were older," she admitted. 

I chose to take that as a compliment. I stayed silent as her eyes roved over me. She inspected the detail of my robes and hair, then nodded, seemingly reaffirming that yes, I was high-ranking enough to talk to her.

"I am Wanmei, child of huáng dì bìxià³, and da-gōngzhǔ," she said grandly, and I blanched. How the hell did the gōngzhǔ get here?

I saluted stiffly. "This most inferior one is honored by this honorable gōngzhǔ's notice."

She frowned. "Don't speak like that. Everyone else can, but you have to keep using the regular qiāncí⁴, instead."

I nearly choked on my tongue. That was the way I would speak to anybody of my status or slightly higher. To speak to the gōngzhǔ in such a way?

My hesitation was clearly seen, because she stomped her foot on the ground. "You have to, otherwise I shall get my servants to whip you!"

A-ha. There it was.

I saluted again. "This one will adhere to the gōngzhǔ's wishes." Once again, a little garbled but clear enough to understand.

She nodded, self-satisfied in the way that only a bratty, extremely important 4-year-old could be. "Good." She smiled, pleased. I wondered if I had just made a friend in the huáng dì's child.

Then she spoke up again. "Now show me your rooms. I will sleep on your bed for the night." She paused, then added graciously, "You may sleep on the floor next to me, instead of out of the room altogether."

…

If this was a friendship, it would be the strangest one that I would ever encounter. I bowed. "This one thanks gōngzhǔ for her kindness."

Then we made our way inside, out of the rain.

Surprisingly, nobody noticed my absence. I was both relieved and irritated by it. These people really shouldn't be trusted with children. But at least nobody would be nitpicking my every move… once I got rid of Chen-qīzi, that was. 

It would be easy enough to commandeer. I had already started taking careful note of her actions. Nobody expected such things from a child, after all. Most children could barely speak at this age. My only challenge was controlling my muscles long enough to get the words out, and after all the mumbling (usually of English curse words) I did, it was not exactly easy, but nowhere as difficult as most children would find it to be.

The gōngzhǔ and I walked up the stairs, and I showed her my room, pushing the door open for her. She stepped inside, and I followed her, closing the door behind us.

She looked around in clear curiosity. I looked around too, seeing what she was seeing. A canopy bed, with the canopies made of pale blue and darker blue silks and linens, taking up the majority of the space. A seating area off to the side, and a beautifully carved chest that contained all my toys next to it. A tiny bookshelf (that I wanted to expand and grow) opposite of the door. 

"It's small," she decided, "but it is decorated well. It will do. Where are your servants? I must change."

Hm.

"This one only has a qīzi, and she is otherwise occupied." And you wouldn't like her anyway. The more my baby brain matured, the clearer I could see through her silly manipulations. Even though I still stood by Wan-gōng being too harsh when he spoke of her generation, I could admit that the part about warning her off of currying favor was true. 

For the gōngzhǔ, who was being trained to see through spies, she would see what Chen-qīzi was up to immediately. She was spoilt, not stupid. And as much as I disliked Chen-qīzi for betraying the trust I had in her as my only parental figure in this life, I also didn't want to see her dead because she was greedy and offended the wrong person.

The gōngzhǔ frowned, then huffed. "Fine. But you shall help me," she ordered.

I saluted. "As gōngzhǔ commands." I paused. She would need new robes to wear. Nothing in my closet measured up to what she was currently wearing, and would likely be too small for her. "Does gōngzhǔ have a change of clothes?"

She stopped, realizing the same issue that I came upon. She scowled dangerously. "No."

I stared at her for a moment. "Let this one ring for a servant."

"Are they well-trained? I don't wish for a bumbling fool." 

"This one can assure that they are discrete."

"... discrete?" She seemed reluctant to ask. I realized that the word was probably too big for her to know — despite her impressive vocabulary, she was only 4 years old. A lot of it had come from training, but there were some words that you just picked up without direct influence.

So I acted as if it wasn't unusual for someone of her standing not to know anything (which was so fucking stupid — she was 4!). No big deal. "They will stay quiet, will not talk and," I had to swallow for a moment (talking was really hard with such weak muscle control), "they know their place."

The gōngzhǔ nodded. "Call them. Then after, stop talking." She ordered.

I stared blankly at her. Then I realized that she had probably guessed that I was unused to talking so much and so formally, and wanted to spare me the trouble. Of course, judging by her steadily reddening face, she didn't want to be seen as kind.

For one so well trained, the gōngzhǔ had a surprisingly thin face.

I bowed, and I hurried out to flag a servant.

Like I promised, the servant is efficient and humble. Honestly, I wouldn't mind having them to be my personal servant — it would likely save them from any bullying (because I couldn't tell their gender, and if I couldn't tell, it was likely intentional. While this was Fantasy Imperial China, gender roles were still more stringent than a rock mountain), and they had a spark of cleverness in their eyes that promised good things.

I would search down the servant afterwards, and place them with me. I would probably get rid of Chen-qīzi shortly afterwards — enough time for a little harassment would do wonders to get her permanently lowered, and if I'm lucky, disgraced. Of course, like I said, I have shitty luck so that isn't likely to happen, but getting rid of her would be great.

We were both quickly cleaned, warmed, and redressed. I slept on the floor on a thick pallet the servant had brought in for me (without even having to ask for it… that servant was getting their pay raised. As soon as I could find out what they preferred to be called) next to the canopy bed, where the gōngzhǔ slept.

The servant had also recognized the gōngzhǔ, but apart from deep bows and fully deprecating speech, they made no mention of it. Which made the gōngzhǔ look reluctantly impressed. Apparently, she wasn't used to people not shouting it from the rooftops.

Once the servant was gone, I could see the gōngzhǔ's shoulders slump, breaking her almost-perfect posture. "I will sleep," she announced. "Once I lie down, you can as well."

I opened my mouth, thought better of it when she gave me a warning look, and saluted. She threw herself onto the bed, curling up underneath the blankets. The beds in Imperial China were supposed to be quite firm and hard, but for someone who slept on a hospital bed, there wasn't much difference.

Once she was comfortable, I knelt down to sleep as well. The gōngzhǔ was a remarkably fast sleeper. Now that I thought of it, I couldn't help but wonder where her guards were. Surely she had to be guarded — she had even mentioned having a servant with her at all times. I could see that servant nowhere.

I frowned. How did she get from the palace to the manors, where the noble families live? Sure, it was only 2 lǐ away, but for a 4-year-old, that wasn't going to be an easy journey. Had she just walked out of the palace one day?

If so, the guards sucked.

But more likely was that she had gone out with someone and wandered off part way. I stared at my bedroom door in bemusement. Who was supposed to be looking after her? Actually, where was Chen-qīzi? Yes, I knew she was busy, but she really should be here by now. 

I turned to peer up, where the form of the gōngzhǔ was sprawled out on the bed. I really should have asked her more questions, my terrible muscle strength be damned. 

The wind howled outside, and the rain pounded against the window. It was going to be a long night.

Surprisingly, by the time the sun came up the next day, bathing the room in streaks of golden orange, we were still alive and intact.

I stood up, staring carefully and the still sleeping gōngzhǔ. She snored.

Chen-qīzi hadn't come back. I would have noticed if she had. Wriggling out of the blankets, I wandered towards the washing basin. Cleaning up and dressing myself, I sat down by my toy chest to wait for the gōngzhǔ to wake up.

The gōngzhǔ waking up was a fascinating thing. I know — it made me sound like a creep, but it was true. Maybe I just wasn't used to the different ways people slept, but this was a masterpiece all on its own.

First, she would stretch out — languid and sleepy, like a favored cat. Then she would curl back up again, and start snoring. This would be repeated three times. Then she started rubbing her face against the cushion, and started kicking out her feet. One–two–three, and the blankets would fly off willy-nilly.

She froze like a statue and was still for several minutes. Then she jerked awake with a gasp. And yawned, very very deeply.

I was more entertained than I had been in a while.

She stared blankly at me, and stared back. Then she frowned. "Did the servant dress you?" She demanded.

"This one dressed himself, gōngzhǔ." I saluted her from where I was sitting. 

The gōngzhǔ frowned. "That's common."

"As the gōngzhǔ says, it is true," I admitted freely. "But this one has few options."

"Has your qīzi not come back yet?" She asked severely.

"This one's qīzi has not."

"She will be found, whipped, and dismissed," the words were spoken irritably. I couldn't blame her. Where was Chen-qīzi?

A gentle knock came on the door. "Come in," the gōngzhǔ said.

In came the same servant that had helped us clean up and dress last night. They bowed deeply. "This slave apologizes for impertinence to these high masters, but…" they paused, then continued. "This useless one presumed that assistance may be wanted."

We stared at them in surprise. "Yes," the gōngzhǔ said. "Come here and dress me."

While the servant was dressing her, I tried to put the pieces together. Finally, I spoke up. "This one asks where this gōngzhǔ's retinue is."

The gōngzhǔ did not answer for a moment. Then she spoke up. "I wanted to go to the market." 

I kept quiet, staying patient.

"So I told a maid to take me. When we got there, the maid left me behind — she forgot about me. She had a lover, and she just forgot about me." The gōngzhǔ's voice grew enraged, and I knew that if the maid was ever caught and found (and there was no doubt that she would be), it would be straight to her death. I had no pity for the maid, however. How did you just forget about the huáng dì's only gōngzhǔ? That was idiocy at its finest.

"So I made my way back to the palace. But," she looked a little sheepish, "the route led me wrongly. A-and a rock tripped me, and I ended up at this manor."

She got lost, and when she tried to find her way back, she fell over a rock (explaining her slightly bruised hands) in the manor. Which was why she was crying.

Well, things made a lot more sense now. "This one believes that gōngzhǔ should get back to the noble palace, before an alarm is sounded."

She harrumphed, clearly not pleased at being told what to do, but she could clearly see the logic in that. "Fine. The food is better in the palace anyway." Of course, she wouldn't admit it.

Children.

Bai Que followed the instructions with perfect precision.

They had been born to a mother and father that were both servants. Their whole life, they had been expected to be a servant as well. And they were good at it.

They used to get a lot of praise for being obedient and listening carefully. Of course, that was until they said that they weren't a woman or a man.

They left that particular household shortly after the news had travelled.

They had bounced from family to family (usually leaving when they had been kicked out for a flimsy reason, or when the abuse got too bad) until they ended up with the noble Wan family. The servants here were relatively quiet and stuck to themselves, so apart from some minor hazing, they fit in quite well.

The problem was with the qīzi that were brought in for basic lessons and caretaking over the children. Bai Que hated Chen-qīzi the most. While she acted warm and kind, everybody knew her true nature. People called her gǒutuǐzi-qīzi⁵, and Bai Que had to admit it was true.

Lately, people had started getting increasingly annoyed with her. Certain rumors were making their way around — painting ugly actions and a disgusting facade.

She had to have sold out a number of people to have climbed that high, and so quickly. Everybody knew that — her parents were just a single step above servants, and had died of mysterious conditions (people said that Chen-qīzi wanted to hide evidence of her low-born status), so for her to become a qīzi in such a short amount of time… Bai Que thought that such dedication would be admirable, if it wasn't for the despicable deeds that Chen-qīzi had allegedly done.

Late last night, it was discovered that all of her belongings and a few expensive things had gone missing. She had run away — Chen-qīzi was a snake at heart. She knew which way the tides were turning, and had sought to escape.

Because of this, there was a gap in certain roles where she had inserted herself, and as only a few shí had passed, all of the servants were still scrambling to fill in the gaps.

Everybody was distracted — so much so, that they forgot about the youngest Wan.

To be honest, Bai Que had also forgotten about the youngest Wan. They had extra duties piled into them, which had chased every thought but that of work straight out of their mind.

They had been hurrying off to go to bed when they heard the call.

"Servant," the voice was young and reminded Bai Que of the small children that they had occasionally taken care of. They turned, and were met with the sight of the youngest Wan.

Wan Lin had been born mid-July, during the time the rains were the hardest. It was his zǔmǔ⁶ that had named him with those characters — the same zǔmǔ that had lived only long enough to hold them in her arms a week later. 

Right from the bat, whispers had traveled. He was no ordinary baby. Unlike all the other Wan children that had screamed and cried and were well aware of the station they were afforded, Wan Lin was nothing like that.

He was quiet. So quiet, that when he was born, the midwife had thought he was stillborn. If it wasn't for the fact that he sneezed, and later yawned, he would have been pronounced dead.

When he was hungry or needed changing, he howled a single note before falling silent. It was peaceful, all of the servants agreed, but alarming.

Chen-qīzi had immediately wormed her way into his life, trying to be seen as a protector and someone he would feel gratitude to. It was disgusting to witness. But what made it amusing was the fact that Wan Lin was a genius.

Not like the geniuses that most other noble families within the imperial court proclaimed their children to be, but a real genius.

Wan Lin's eyes, the servants whispered, were like staring at the moon and stars. As he grew older, they became paler and paler, until they were nearly white — a drastic effect that did nothing to detract from his unusually pretty looks. He would grow up to be very good looking.

Those eyes also seemed to be able to stare straight into your brain and read minds, the servants added. They privately called him dú xīn zhě⁷, and because of that, they mostly avoided him. The only reassurance was that Chen-qīzi, previously so eager to place herself next to Wan-gōngzǐ, was now thoroughly unnerved, and grew paler and paler the longer she spent next to him. 

More and more outrageous rumors had floated around about him — saying he could speak the language of the gods, that he was a bàn shén⁸, etc.

Bai Que had firmly resolved not to believe a single word of it.

That resolve shattered the moment they saw him. Dressed beautifully, with dark grey robes trailing around him, and those eyes that glittered unnaturally in the dimming light — Bai Que believed, even for a few moments, that he was a child born from a godly blessing.

Then he repeated himself with unusual patience. "Servant."

That was enough to snap them out of their silly thoughts, and get straight to work in assisting him. Rest could wait — bàn shén-gōngzǐ called for them, and they would answer.

Bai Que prided themself on being professional and a good servant. However, even their composure was broken at the sight of the gōngzhǔ. Who didn't know the gōngzhǔ amongst the servants?

Her beauty was well known, even at such a young age, and so were her haughty manners and demands.

Keeping their mouth shut, as was clearly expected, had never been so hard before. Unable to resist, they went back in the morning — they could make something up, surely.

It ended up that there was no need to make something up, because the gōngzhǔ didn't have a retinue (and how was it that Wan Lin was able to speak so well, and understand so much, at such a young age?) and Wan-gōngzǐ also had nobody to wait on him.

With Chen-qīzi gone (and Bai Que was resigned to be the one who broke the news to him — even if what they said was true, that he wasn't fond of her, being told that his qīzi was a thief and a filthy person would surely be a shock to him), he had nobody to wait on him. And so, Bai Que was put in for the role.

They were to do what was commanded of them — even if it included getting an appropriate carriage ready and taking them to the palace. This wasn't what they signed up for when they came to the Wan family, but Bai Que couldn't admit that they regretted it either.

The servant further proved their usefulness by getting us ready and hitching up a nice carriage for us to travel with. It would be a short ride, but at least we would be comfortable.

"What is your name?" I asked them.

"This slave is Bai Que, gōngzǐ."

"Bai Que," I repeated carefully. I nodded, summarily dismissing them.

"Why did you ask for the servant's name?" The gōngzhǔ asked, confused.

"This one wants the servant."

"Oh, your own personal servant. Well, the servant seems capable," she acknowledged, which was most likely the highest compliment that Bai Que would get out of her.

I nodded.

The ride was quiet. I mostly stayed glued to the window, drinking in the surroundings. Each manor was on half a lǐ of land. The more you were favored, the closer you were to the imperial palace. The noble manors surrounded the back outskirts of the palace with a radius of 9 lǐ. The first 2 lǐ was usually reserved for extended family and honored guests, as well as any form of entertainment the huáng dì wanted to keep around. The Wan's were just out of that range.

I may have underestimated just how much the Wan family was favored.

The palace soon pulled up ahead, and we disembarked. Bai Que put little steps from the carriage, so we could walk on ahead.

A pair of guards stepped forward. "What is your business here?"

The gōngzhǔ cleared her throat. Loudly.

It was surprisingly polite for her.

Their eyes went to her. I could see the exact moment they recognized who she was, because they were soon doubling over in 50 degree bows. "Honorable gōngzhǔ," the one on the left made out, "these useless ones were made unaware that we were to be graced with your noble presence."

She scowled. On her baby body, it looked more like an angry pout, but the guards trembled anyway.

"Yes. I was abandoned at a market like a common mongrel," her words were like whips, and the guards flinched with each hit. "Find the maid that is responsible for this, and have her whipped with–" she turned to me, surprising all of us. "At what time did you find me outside?"

"This one found gōngzhǔ at xū⁹," I answered her.

She nodded. "I went out at the central hour¹⁰ of yǒu¹¹. Half a shí outside, alone!" 

I barely withheld a wince. The guards didn't even try to hide it. That was incredible stupidity. If I didn't know better, I'd think the maid had done it on purpose to kill her.

…

"May this one speak?" I said quickly.

The gōngzhǔ frowned at me, eyes narrowed. Finally, she nodded graciously. "Speak."

"How is it that gōngzhǔ knows it was carelessness and not purposeful?"

My words were like miniature atomic bombs. The gōngzhǔ gaped. Clearly, she had never dealt with that sort of thing. It made sense — still a child, and was to be protected. It wasn't likely that she would learn of assassination attempts until she was at least past her tenth year.

The guards turned ashy-pale. They were well aware of the impact of assassination attempts. Even if they didn't succeed.

"It was a clumsy attempt but — would gōngzhǔ say that the maid most likely expected you to stay where she left you?" I asked as delicately as I could. "Or ask people around gōngzhǔ that could — lead gōngzhǔ around?"

She opened and closed her mouth. "Yes," she whispered. "I remember — she led me to such a deep part of the market. I wasn't expecting that, but I didn't think it was unusual. And there were so many people around in the corners. I felt like they were watching me sometimes. That why I – why I missed the path so quickly. Because I was trying to avoid them."

Dead silence. Then the guards jumped into action. Before I knew what was happening, the three of us were ushered inside the safety of the palace walls by one guard, and the other guard running to start the alarm. 

The gōngzhǔ and I stared at each other. Then she burst into tears. I turned to Bai Que, who was doing their best to become one with the wall.

Ah, fuck. 

One shí later, we were let out of lockdown. The lockdown was mostly spent trying to entertain the gōngzhǔ, who, after her her crying fit, demanded to be distracted.

I did my best.

She was not impressed.

Children. I wasn't that bad!

I turned to Bai Que. "What's happening?"

"The guards have uncovered the plan and found the maid. The accused are in court right now," Bai Que explained. 

I nodded. "Good." The gōngzhǔ sniffled, bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

Bai Que looked like they were about to melt back into the wall at the promise of any more tears. I would join them, to be fair. I needed a distraction. "Neither of us have eaten." I said as blandly as possible.

Bai Que immediately sweeps into a deep bow, and flees, looking very grateful at the excuse to leave. Unfortunately, I had no such excuse, so I turned back to the gōngzhǔ. "This one humbly requests that gōngzhǔ stops crying," I said bluntly. "This one is gaining a headache from it."

A faintly strangled noise comes from the door where half a dozen guards are stationed, and the gōngzhǔ stares at me like I've just done a headstand. "What?" She looks insulted.

Better insulted than crying. "This one said–"

"I heard what you said!" She said, offended. "How dare you?"

"... Tell gōngzhǔ of this one's impending headache?"

A louder strangled noise comes from the guards, followed by a faint choking noises.

She scowled at me, and threw a block at my head. I let it hit. "Ow," I said politely.

"Stupid boy!" Her lips were twitching, like she was desperately trying to suppress a smile.

"Of course gōngzhǔ," I agreed cheerfully. Mission accomplished.

FOOTNOTES

1. xiǎo tù zǎizi (小兔崽子): lit. little rabbit kitten. It refers to someone young. Its usage is rather like such expressions as "little brat" in English. return to text

2. shǎ zi (傻子): blockhead. return to text

3. A governing emperor was to be referred to simply as Huángdì Bìxià (皇帝陛下, Majesty|His/Her Majesty the Emperor) or Dāngjīn Huángshàng (当今皇上; 當今皇上, The Present Emperor Above) when spoken about in the third person. return to text

4. qiāncí (謙辭): lit. humble vocabulary. Conveys a sense of self-deprecation and humility for the speaker. return to text

5. gǒutuǐzi (狗腿子): lit. someone's dog. A suck-up. return to text

6. zǔmǔ (祖母): formal term for father's mother (paternal grandmother). return to text

7. Dú xīn zhě (读心者): mind reader. return to text

8. Bàn shén (半神): demi-god. return to text

9. xū (戌): 1900-2100. There were two standards to measure the time in a solar day. Times during daylight were measured in the Shí-kè standard, and at night were measured using the Jīng-diǎn standard. This means that everything was split into two. return to text

10. Each shí was divided into two, with the first half of each shí called the initial hour (初) and the second called the central hour (正). In this case, by going out during the central hour of yǒu, in our modern time standards, she went out at 1800. return to text

11. yǒu (酉): 1700-1900. return to text

Chapter Text

I glanced out of the window. It was almost xū. I had spent the entirety of the day with the gōngzhǔ. It was an interesting experience — after seeing the overwhelming wealth she was spoiled with, I finally understood why she called my own room 'small'. I still liked it just fine, but whatever made her happy.

While the lockdown was officially over, unofficially, nobody wanted to let us out of the rooms. The idea that someone had tried to assassinate the gōngzhǔ and nobody had picked up on it except for a 2 year old — scary.

So, despite my irritation, I didn't say anything.

The gōngzhǔ had tutors and teachers, but none of them came today (much to her clear pleasure and my exasperation) because everyone was being vetted once again. Not even the qīzi came.

My eyes shifted from the window to where Bai Que was standing against the wall. "nú¹-Que," I called, and they jumped to attention.

"How may this slave serve Wan-gōngzǐ?" They asked hopefully, looking as bored as I was feeling.

"What happened to my qīzi?" The moment those words came out of my mouth, I knew that something had gone wrong. It was easy enough to tell from the panicked look Bai Que shot me.

They were rather young, actually — not quite a teenager, but also younger than I had been when I chose to die.

… How odd.

"This slave is not aware of the full details," they tried to deflect. 

I wanted to raise an unimpressed eyebrow, but I was afraid that doing so was a little too far out of my reach. My muscles built a lot faster than I was expecting (and maybe it was because I already knew what they were supposed to do — I just had to work at it) but a single eyebrow up was too complex for me right now. So I settled for crossing my arms over my chest. 

I stared at them blandly. "Tell me what you know."

They started sweating. "As far as this slave is aware, Chen-qīzi was said to have terminated her contract with the honorable Wan family."

I could put together the details. "So, her past came to light and she ran away," I summarized flatly, ignoring the jerks of shock from almost everyone in the room. Was it too advanced for a two year old to manage? Maybe, but I wasn't about to act like an actual 2 year old. Fastest way to get pissed off.

Bai Que's face went through a fascinating process, in which they tried to figure out how the hell I had managed to put the pieces together. I rolled my eyes and put them (and all the eavesdropping courtiers, servants, and guards) out of their misery. "What else would you expect?" I said irritably. "She's the second generation, but has managed to become a qīzi. Nobody goes up the ranks that fast — unless you did many things that would not be considered polite. It doesn't matter anyway," I waved it away. "You will be my personal servant," I ordered Bai Que.

"As the honorable gōngzǐ wishes, this lowly slave shall be this gōngzǐ's personal servant," Bai Que agreed obediently.

I nodded. "Good."

"But you still need a qīzi," the gōngzhǔ said suddenly. She had been watching the proceedings with a fascinated look. Now, she had snapped back to herself. "You can't have only a servant. You need someone to teach you courtly matters."

"This one thought that there were tutors for that," I said, confused.

She huffed imperiously. "What would they know but scholarly and martial things? No, you need someone from the court."

"This one does not think there is any need," I tried.

"Yes there is! I will find you someone," the gōngzhǔ barreled over my protests with a determined expression. "At worst, you shall share my lessons with me."

A courtier over to the side gave a horrified gasp. "Most honorable and beautiful dà-gōngzhǔ! This useless bó² would dare not presume to tell the fragrant gōngzhǔ what it is she wishes to do–"

"Then why are you?" She snapped, and he blanched.

I watched as the courtiers previously flocking around him shifted and drew away. They no longer wanted to associate themselves with him, and I marveled at the incredible power that the high ranks held. Court politics were fascinating. In the novels, only cultivation sect politics were talked about, and that was mostly to highlight how messy and circular (in argument) they were. Court politics were nothing like that. More danger, for one, and a far more interesting layout.

The gōngzhǔ gave one more withering stare to the bó who had been stupid enough to try and dissuade the gōngzhǔ (and I was starting to realize just how she managed to gain such a reputation), then turned to me. "Why do you have to go anyway?" She continued. "You should stay in the palace with me."

The sent a wave of murmuring through the entourage that the gōngzhǔ had on her at all times. She didn't even bat an eye — it was normal for her. I tried my best to ignore them as well. "This one has family?" I offered.

"It's not like you have any care for them, or they have any care for you," she huffed. "They couldn't even give you a decent qīzi!"

"This one is the seventh child and fifth son of the family," I told her. "This one's importance is… minimal."

"All the better for you to come with me. They can afford you, anyway, and it's not like it won't be a boost for them if they're as greedy as everyone else in here." I nearly choked at the careless snub. 

But really, what was stopping me? The gōngzhǔ wanted me here, and even though she seemed to be the fickle sort, she also seemed to be rather lonely. She had nobody within two years of her age, and only had a bunch of adults trailing after her and giving her whatever she wanted to curry favor. 

And it's not like I wanted to particularly stay with my family either. I didn't even know the names of all of my siblings, which just showed how distant we were. I never had any visits from them apart from the obligatory celebrations, and they were all busy with their lives. My oldest brother, the heir, was already 16 and an adult. He would be married in another few years.

They didn't need me, and I didn't need them.

"If it is what gōngzhǔ wants, this one would be pleased to agree." I decided, and the gōngzhǔ beamed.

"Good!" She said cheerfully, pitching her voice higher over the eruption her words and my agreement caused. She turned to a nearby servant. "Inform the necessary people about the changes."

Maybe I didn't think this one through, because standing in front of me was Wan-gōng with an expression that could be called dumbfounded fury on any other person, with his hand bruising my wrist.

"I said unhand him!" The gōngzhǔ screamed. She was not happy at being told no.

I should probably explain how we got here. The gōngzhǔ had ordered that everyone become aware of the proceedings, but she was only 4. No true politics involved in this. She wasn't particularly specific about this, nor did she strike a terrifying figure. When she said to make the necessary people aware, she didn't say how, or by what means, or who the 'necessary' people even were.

And the court was filled with many petty bastards that: a) loathed me for being so close to the gōngzhǔ when their own children would never even get a second look, and b) would take any chance to climb higher on the status ladder by undermining my family.

You could probably figure how that went down. I could, and I wasn't even there for the majority of it. After the admittedly startling announcement, we were whisked away to another part of the palace (but which still counted as the gōngzhǔ's rooms. Yeah, I didn't understand it either).

About half a shí into it, I started noticing how uneasy the majority of the courtiers were. I didn't think anything of it. With such a startling proclamation, I expected unease. I didn't know why more people hadn't protested.

We changed locations again.

That's when I knew something was up. The gōngzhǔ didn't seem particularly fussed, but there was no way that such quick switches were normal. To make things more suspicious, we seemed to be losing more and more of the entourage. Maybe they were just busy, but I doubted that.

Finally, the gōngzhǔ herself noticed what was happening. "These aren't my rooms. Where are you taking us?"

What followed next was a lot of talking in which nobody actually explained anything. I stared at Bai Que, and was met with a confused look back. They didn't know what was going on either. 

Eventually, we ended up in a fancy room. "A reception room," the gōngzhǔ said. "I don't wish to receive anybody."

"Answering the most honorable gōngzhǔ, these are the necessary people that have been made aware of the… arrangement that the noble gōngzhǔ has made." It was another random courtier that answered her this time. A pretty but bland woman, who's only notable feature was the cold look in her eyes — a cold look that was only heightened when she said the word 'arrangements'.

I started to feel nervous. Sure, I had a lifetime's worth of memories, but… This body was tiny. My emotions were young. I was 75% child and 25% adult, and that distinction was blurring everyday, the more I settled into my body and my role in this new world.

I didn't know what it meant. It wasn't the time to think of it either, but I was aware enough to know that if somebody came, my chances of being able to defend myself were slim to none.

I barely stopped myself from shifting. 

There was sudden yelling, and the gōngzhǔ turned to her guards to demand what was going on. I kept my eyes fixed on the door.

The doors were pushed open with a sharp snap by the guard outside the room. Wan-gōng strolled in. He looked like a living storm — a tightly contained hurricane of icy wind, complete with the most politely pissed off expression I had ever seen. I would be impressed, if I wasn't worried about what he wanted.

His eyes fell on me, and they blazed with fury.

I was in trouble. Maybe it was the fact that I had snuck out, or the fact that I had met up with someone of such a high status, or maybe it was the fact that I existed and gave him trouble at all — maybe all of the three. The fact still remained that I was in trouble, the sort of trouble that made the very primal parts of my brain screech 'run away!' at me.

"Ah." I said out loud, and watched as Wan-gōng's pissed off smile got even more pissed off.

He walked forward with steps that sounded like strikes of lightning against the floor. The guards next to the gōngzhǔ shifted minutely. Clearly, they were also recognizing him as a threat.

To everybody's surprise but my own, he lunged at me. I shrank back automatically, but he didn't reach to hit me — just to clamp my wrist with an iron grip. I meant it quite literally. His hands were cold and felt like metal shackles. I inwardly despaired.

"What are you doing!" The gōngzhǔ demanded.

Wan-gōng was pissed, but not so pissed as to commit political suicide by ignoring who was widely considered to be the huáng dì's favorite child. He managed a somewhat more-real smile. "Ah — this lowly one begs forgiveness from the honorable gōngzhǔ."

"That's not what I asked!" She yelled. "What are you, stupid?"

Wan-gōng looked deeply uncomfortable, startled, and a little insulted. "This humble one will take this child out of–"

"Unhand him." The tone was cold. If it wasn't for the fact that I could see that it came from a 4 year old, I would have thought it to be the words of someone much older. I watched in fascination, fear forgotten for now. It was like watching a soap opera.

"Honorable gōngzhǔ–!"

"I said unhand him!" 

That was what led us to where we were now. I felt a strange warmth growing in the pit of my stomach. It was good, but it also made me want to claw my skin off.

Was this genuine fondness?

Yuck. Emotions. I don't like them.

Wan-gōng froze, then bowed. "As the noble gōngzhǔ commands." He let his bruising grip on my wrist free, and quicker than he could blink, I tucked my arm away from him. Wan-gōng barely suppressed a scowl.

The gōngzhǔ's chest was heaving, eyes shiny with the promise of tears and a tantrum. Before it could get that far, there was the click of footsteps in the chamber. Wan-gōng turned his head, and suddenly blanched. I turned as well. Anything or anybody that could make him turn that color so fast was in my good books.

The newcomer was tall for his age, at about 12 or 13. Glossy dark hair pinned back in a hairpiece that was fit for the huáng dì, clear eyes, and firm lips made him look like an immortalized wuxia soldier come to life. But more importantly, the newcomer was wearing xìnghuáng³ colored robes. I blanched as well. Maybe this wasn't such a good thing.

The huáng tàizǐ stared at the mess in the reception room for a long minute. Then he spoke. "How odd is it," he mused seemingly idly, "that when I look for my dearest mèi⁴," and cue everyone turning whiter at the reminder that the gōngzhǔ was also heavily favored by the huáng tàizǐ, "who has been subject to an assassination attempt," and boy did I not want to be the guards right now, "that I can't find her in the safety of her rooms, as she should be. Would you like to explain that?"

And he settled down on a vacant chair, legs crossed and chin tilted coldly, waiting for us to speak.

Things were resolved quite quickly after that.

"Who are you to dare come in here like this? Have you forgotten yourself — to come here in such a way, without so much as an invitation?" The huáng tàizǐ had the same temper and manner of speaking (the one that said, 'you-are-inferior' and 'you-are-not-worth-the-air-you-breath') as the gōngzhǔ. I could see where she got it from, judging by her intensely focused (and admittedly cute) expression her face as she stared up at her dà-xiōng⁵.

Wan-gōng tried to explain himself. It did not go well. "Answering the most auspicious and honorable huáng tàizǐ, this unintelligent one simply thought–"

"Unintelligent is right! Storming into the palace when an assassination attempt has taken place — you dishonor my family's favor. To even get a reception — oh, perhaps not entirely your fault alone," and here he sent such a blistering glance to the guards and courtiers around that several of them looked like they were going to cry, "but still stupid enough to say that you had a hand in it."

I was impressed. Like, really impressed.

"This lowly one's useless child–"

"The child has proven to be more useful in a day than you have been in a year! The child has saved my mèi's life twice over, has given her a place to stay, and has brought her back home! Child," and he turned to me and I felt the force of a dragon behind his jade eyes, "how old are you?"

"Answering the most honorable and noble huáng tàizǐ, this inferior one has two years of age," I said awkwardly, and watched as every head turned to stare at me.

"Well, it has been said that even a child would be better than you — and it has proven to be so," the huáng tàizǐ said, quickly getting over his shock. "You are dismissed… Wan-hóu⁶." 

That was brutal. With one swoop, the huáng tàizǐ removed his high status and replaced it with a lower one, thus making him very unfavorable in the eyes of the imperial family. There was no doubt that he would gain gōng status again (because he actually was clever… just not clever enough to not go storming into the palace and flaunt his status around), but that wasn't the point. 

The point was that, with it happening in such a public place, there would be witnesses that would know what happened, and those witnesses would spread it onto the rumor mill. Like a flame to kindling — he would likely never raise over this for the rest of his life (because there would always be a sly, offended courtier or several dozen to remind him), and it was likely that his heir would have a hard time overcoming it either. I would feel bad for the rest of the kids, but I didn't really know them. Dubious morality and select, specific loyalty was my jam.

Mouth firmly shut and pride smarting like hell, Wan-gōng… oops, Wan-hóu, bowed deeply and said nothing. The huáng tàizǐ turned to the rest of the people with a gimlet stare.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, four guards (or rather, two rěnzhě⁷, because I didn't notice them at all) stepped forward and flanked both myself and the gōngzhǔ. I stared up in surprise.

They both bowed to us respectively. "This way," one of them murmured, and we were led out of the reception room shortly before a disgraceful shouting match occurred.

The gōngzhǔ was all smiles again by the time we reached yet another part of her rooms. "Dà-xiōng took care of it," she announced happily. "Now you can stay with me!"

"This one does not think it's all that simple," I said dryly, because there was no way that me staying didn't have big fucking repercussions — especially after that public scene. If it wasn't for the fact that me leaving after that wouldn't cause even more issues, I would have left and apologized for the trouble. But it would, so I get to stay.

"Of course it is," the gōngzhǔ said, looking at me like I had said something particularly stupid. I stared back, then I sighed and said nothing else. Times like this I remembered that she was a spoiled four year old. The four year old was a better conversationalist than almost anyone else here, so I didn't mind (and she was kind of funny at times), but it was something to keep in mind.

"Now, come here and play with me," she ordered, pointing to an extravagantly decorated trunk that was twice the size of my body.

That was the end of the conversation, because we were promptly occupied with the toys. I still kept an eye on the rěnzhě, in case they were the sort that were easily bribed and would move us about at the whims of an official. They definitely noticed me paying attention to them, but they didn't say anything, except to keep within line of my sight. They probably understood my apprehension regarding them, and promptly cemented themselves as the most reasonable people I had met in my whole life.

Because I was paying attention to them, however, I also noticed when they noticed the presence of someone approaching. It was very slight, but for someone who had been trained to read the body language of doctors and nurses to determine how poorly off I really was (because they never fucking told me straight out, goddammit), and someone who'd had a qīzi born from the loins of a viper, it was noticeable enough.

I paused in my playing. Sensing my loss of attention, the gōngzhǔ also stopped, a pout on her lips. "Why–"

She was cut off when the person approaching turned out to be the huáng tàizǐ. She lit up like the Christmas lights I used to see outside of my hospital bedrooms. "Dà-xiōng!"

Ah. Of course. Who else would it be?

"Mèi," his voice was warm in a way that gave me hives. I liked the environment at court precisely because it didn't allow for much display of emotions. Was this something that my therapist would have scolded me about? Yes. Did I care? Nope.

"Introduce dà-xiōng to your friend here," he didn't even pause at the word 'friend', and once again, I was reluctantly impressed. 

"Dà-xiōng, this is my friend," and I could hear her preen, even if I hadn't turned around to see it, "and his name is Wan Lin!"

"Ah," the huáng tàizǐ said. There was a pause. Then, "By any chance, were you born at the height of the monsoons?"

Fucking twelve year olds.

"Answering the honorable huáng tàizǐ, this lowly one was," I admitted. 

He laughed.

Fucking twelve year olds.

"Come," he said. "Turn. I am not the huáng dì bìxià. You may look upon me." 

I couldn't disobey a direct order (for that was what it was, even if his tone was still fucking soft), no matter how much I wanted to. I turned and met him face on.

He had one hand gently placed upon the gōngzhǔ's hair, as she happily clutched onto his robes. It was an absolutely disgusting display of domesticity. (Why could I never have that?)

He looked upon me with curious eyes. "I want to know, truly, how old you are."

I inwardly scowled. What, did the baby fat not do enough for your belief? "This lowly one has two years on him."

The huáng tàizǐ looked over at the gōngzhǔ, as if to confirm, which annoyed me further. He had a strange look in his eyes when he looked at me again. Disbelieving, fascinated, and something else I couldn't identify. "You're remarkably verbose for your age," he explained.

Well, of course I was! I–

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

Of course. Of course he wouldn't believe me because I spoke like somebody five times my age. Weren't toddlers supposed to use the cutesy speech and stuff? I had… forgotten about that.

"This lowly one thanks the honorable huáng tàizǐ for his compliment," I said flatly, with my best dead fish eyes.

If anything, he only seemed delighted. "You may use the regular qiāncí," he said with a charming smile that did nothing for me (and yes, absolutely nothing for my heartrate or endorphins or– who the fuck was I fooling? Of course it did, because emotions Sucked™).

I inwardly wilted like a piece of lettuce left out in the hot sun. What was it with important children and them pseudo-adopting me? What was I, an unusually intelligent and particularly cute pet for them to keep and squabble over?

(I would wake up over a decade later, and curse my past self for thinking those thoughts.)

"This one will abide by huáng tàizǐ's wishes." 

He beamed. "Excellent! Your rooms will be made up immediately."

I had no idea what expression I had on my face, but it was enough for the rěnzhě to give me a look of such amusement that I wanted to throw a tantrum.

Fucking! Spoiled! Rich! Brats! 

They were fucking lucky they were cute and important.

It was easy enough to settle at the palace. Sure, it was more of a viper's nest than Koi Tower could ever hope to be, but as children, we were protected from the worst of it and definitely sheltered. It explained a few things too.

I was to be afforded many privileges. I would have lessons and tutors as well, in the Six Arts⁸ (of course) and in anything else I wanted. I still had that goal of being a cultivator in mind, although it would undoubtedly become far more difficult, now that I was the gōngzhǔ's friend (she said it first, not me). 

(I'm ignoring the night we first met, that doesn't count–)

Anyway. Lessons. 

I was already bored out of my mind, so the chance to actually learn something relevant to this time was great. That wasn't the problem.

What was the problem, however, was dumbing myself down. 

Look, I was not used to being around people. There was Chen-qīzi (who already thought that I was weird as fuck) and that was it. None of my family members regularly hung around me. The servants very politely avoided me like the fucking plague. I was very much alone, and left to my own devices. And it wasn't like I could remember anything before the age of four in my past life. So I didn't have anyone to compare against.

Sure, I knew I was acting advanced for a child of my age, but — how advanced? I did not know, and since I was so bored, I did not give a fuck.

That was a problem now, because everytime I opened my mouth, I was treated to stares like I was some sort of bàn shén come to life. It was annoying. No wonder so many people in MDZS ended up fucked — with that pressure, plus shitty ass parents, there really was no hope for them, was there?

I tended to keep my mouth shut, unless a tutor was being particularly obnoxious in treating me like a pathetic infant. Then I drove them to the brink of madness and watched to see if they would come back from it.

"You need to stop making your lǎoshī⁹ cry, a-Lin," huáng tàizǐ said to me after one particularly annoying lesson. A qīzi that had jumped on a teaching job in order to get closer to the imperial family (like so many of her type before), even if it was teaching the gōngzhǔ's precocious little friend. And like everyone before her, that came with greed in their eyes, she grew to regret it bitterly.

It took me a single shí to reduce her into tears.

"This one will humbly request that they come with stronger will of character," I said, blander than Gusu Lan food. "This one will, of course, keep his comments to himself and treat his teachers with the appropriate respect," I added when the huáng tàizǐ's eye twitched.

It looked like it took all his etiquette training and courtly willpower not to sigh. "How gracious of a-Lin," he said, dryer than the Sahara. "In the future, huáng tàizǐ will ensure that the lǎoshī come better prepared." He patted my head twice, and dismissed me.

Since my etiquette lessons were done for the day, I had some time to kill before calligraphy lessons. I did not like calligraphy lessons. Sure, I knew how to write. I also knew how to make characters neat and clear enough to be read. But any fanciness out of the necessary practicality? 

Ha. You wish.

My calligraphy teacher had started to look depressed whenever he looked at me.

Mathematics was easy. I was way more advanced than they would expect me to be, so I was let off easy. The stuff that I might actually find hard was solely reserved to scholars who dedicated their entire lives to mathematics. Chinese high school and general education math courses had nothing on the stuff I was learning now — and I had skipped a dozen books of learning.

Rites were basically an advanced form of basic etiquette. I would only start learning that stuff when I graduated from basic etiquette. If it wasn't for the fact that I actually wanted to learn it, I would have gone through way more teachers than I already had. They were just weak-willed.

Before I got so sick that I had to be permanently stuck in the hospital (before I turned 13), I got the chance to go to a middle school. My math teacher could make the huáng dì cry, and I would bet my fucking life on that.

Look. I get it. It's hard learning to teach, okay? Schools were fucked up because the students that became teachers were fucked up from the system. But some people were just not meant to be teachers, and the qīzi I went through like tissue paper were included in that statement.

I was still too young to learn archery and equestrianism in any full capacity. The closest I got to were toy bows with rubber arrows, and being allowed to pet the most docile ponies in the stables. I didn't really care either way. What I was most looking forward to was my martial classes and getting weapons.

Weapons were great. I wanted as many as I could fit onto my person. It didn't even have to be swords. Look, poisoned hairpins were a thing that were totally underutilized. Earrings that could turn into garottes! I was going to make the rěnzhě look like children playing dress up (and that would be no small feat, but if nothing else, I am a stubborn petty little bastard that has access to Stuff. Nothing can stop me now).

Which was why, after I terrorized my latest teacher, I made the daily trek from the palace rooms (accompanied by two rěnzhě. We had an agreement that I didn't tell anyone they existed, because they had some magical bullshit that made people unable to see them unless someone else told them, and they would show me how to use a knife. Mutually beneficial relationship. Symbiosis. Yay.) to the sparring fields.

Unsurprisingly, the huáng dì had cultivators underneath him. Some of them were spies, some of them were just existing, some of them were last born kids that wanted to go out and stretch their wings in exchange for giving the huáng dì a heads-up about any weird shit that might happen. If you couldn't tell, I was aspiring to fit into the last category. 

Unfortunately, there was a huge ass fence blocking my way. Like always, I tried to melt it with my gaze. The rěnzhě to the left of me coughed politely.

I knew when to admit defeat. "This one asks to be picked up." I stretched out my stubby baby arms and tried not to look petulant. 

The rěnzhě very politely did not laugh as anybody else (I'm looking at you, gōngzhǔ and huáng tàizǐ) would have done.

I cleared the fence and I made my way over. The shīfù there gave me a dead fish stare. I gave him one back. I won, as always, and was allowed to stay.

Everybody knew that I would just worm my way back in like a particularly endearing little parasite.

I had made no secret of my fondness for the martial arts. Most of the disciples here were just aiming to be regular (if not highly trained and lethal) people. Soldiers, archers, rěnzhě — that sort of thing. For every few hundred of them, perhaps, there was a cultivator.

Most of them kept to themselves (because people feared what they didn't know and magic had no rules) but I had managed to find one or two, and trail them like a persistent shadow until they gave in and showed me some stuff. Because I was a kind person, I ignored the commiserating looks that the rěnzhě and the cultivators traded over my head (note: cultivators can see rěnzhě when nobody else can because of talismans and inherent magical bullshit. Further study required).

But that wasn't what I was here for now. I already knew that golden cores took a long time to form (something I knew from my past life and also something I knew from the cultivators I had nagged), so apart from a daily two hours of meditation, it wasn't my main focus.

My main focus was the actual fighting itself. It was hard. My limbs were short and chubby, and I was tiny. But I loved it. Like I said — in my past life, I was in a shit fuck of pain, to the point where I went for euthanasia because I (with my crazy high pain tolerance and a concentration of opioids) literally couldn't stand it anymore. To be able to move without feeling pain except for scrapes or bruises… It was incredible.

And it would only become better when I actually became a cultivator. 

So I worked my ass off everyday, reveled in the pain, and cheerfully ignored the people around me muttering that I was crazy.

I still had plenty of time to play, however. The gōngzhǔ was mischievous on the best of days and a terror on the worst. I was living out my previously lost childhood vicariously through her, and I very much enjoyed it. To the outside world, I was the quiet, mostly-polite, and terrifyingly clever prodigy friend that the gōngzhǔ had picked up, and one of the few people actually capable of reining her in without being court-martialed. To the gōngzhǔ, I was the one that supplied the majority of the plans and supplies to her pranks. It worked perfectly.

It also did a lot to curb her more possessive and jealous tendencies. By being there in spirit by the things I had gotten especially for her, she didn't mind me wandering off by myself. I liked the kid, quite a bit, but I was so used to being alone. 26 years of being alone didn't curb a few months of being surrounded by people.

Which was why, after all the necessary fuss and lessons were over, I would make my way to one of the blissfully quiet and isolated rooms, and just take the chance to breathe. I might not deserve this second chance, and I might not actually belong to this world, but the fact was that I was still here. And really, that was all to it.

FOOTNOTES

1. nú (奴): lit. slave. Prefix for servants and slaves. return to text

2. bó (伯): earl/count/countess. return to text

3. xìnghuáng (杏黃): apricot yellow. As recorded in Huángcháo lǐ qì tú shì (皇朝禮器圖示: Illustrations of Imperial Ritual Paraphernalia), mínghuáng (明黃: bright yellow) could be only used for the court robes and dragon robes of the emperor and the empress, the court robe and mang robes for crowned princes should be xìnghuáng 杏黃 (apricot yellow) and those for other princes should be jīnhuáng (金黃: golden yellow). return to text

4. mèi (妹): more formal address for younger sister. return to text

5. xiōng (兄): formal way of saying elder brother. return to text

6. hóu (侯): Marquess/Marquis/Margrave (a feudal-era title, militaristic in nature, almost like Marquis but not quite). Lower than duke but higher than count. return to text

7. rěnzhě (忍者): ninja. return to text

8. The Six Arts (liù yì: 六藝) formed the basis of education in Ancient Chinese culture. They were: rites, archery, music, equestrianism/chariotry, calligraphy, and mathematics. return to text

9. lǎoshī (老师): teacher. Generic to any field or study. return to text

Chapter Text

"You're running away," Wanmei-gōngzhǔ said flatly. "Yes you are, and don't you try to deny it."

I blinked back innocently. This did not fool her — we had been best friends for an upward of eight years, and she knew all of my wily ways and tricks. "This one wasn't planning to."

I could see her eyebrow twitch in mild annoyance.

Eight years of living together really made people close. When I was six and she was eight, she had given me permission to use her name — something that only family was reserved to. I didn't cry, but my allergies did act up, much to both of our flustered embarrassment. The huáng tàizǐ followed not soon after.

Eight years of training, learning, and playing (though the last one had become increasingly rare) — and most importantly, eight years of staying clear of the huáng dì and the huáng hòu. The first few years, it was fine. Most people didn't think I would honestly stay this long before the gōngzhǔ got irritated at me or I offended someone. And then when it became clear that I was a permanent fixture, training and lessons kicked up a notch, and there was no more to it.

Unluckily for me, I had my 10th birthday this year. 10 was the official age that sufficiently rich and noble children could be presented to the huáng dì. Young and cute enough to get away with any minor mistakes, but old enough not to fuck up too badly or be a total bore.

The thing was, as Wanmei-gōngzhǔ's… royal friend or whatever, especially one that had been living and being around her daily, I should have been introduced to the huáng dì much earlier. Even Wanmei-gōngzhǔ knew that much. But she was a child (and still was one), and so it mostly escaped her head that hey, she should probably present her best friend to her helicopter dad of a huáng dì. 

Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ knew better, but he was also the heir, and thus very busy. He'd had his twentieth birthday just two months ago. He had been taking on more and more duties and responsibilities, and didn't have as much time to spend with us or pay too much attention to trifling things. So it had passed without mention, until he had absentmindedly mentioned it within Wanmei-gōngzhǔ's earshot.

Like a dog with a bone, she had jumped onto it. It would be funny if it wasn't me that was going to be suffering. 

"Why not?" She tried to be reasonable. "You're going to have to do it. There's absolutely no doubt about that. So it's better to do it before you're forced into it."

Unfortunately, she was quite good at being reasonable.

"This one acknowledges that gōngzhǔ makes a good point," I agreed. That's how you treated children, right? You praised them when they did something good, and punished them when they didn't. The carrot and stick method.

She tried not to look pleased by the praise. Everybody praised her, but she was very clever, and well aware that they did it to stay on her good side. Apart from the occasional elderly scholar who didn't give a fuck about politics except for when it furthered their research, she knew that most of the praise was false. For some reason, she had latched onto me in that regard — a pseudo parental figure, since I naturally had more common sense than everyone here.

"Yes, yes," she brushed it off. "And you don't need to be so formal, I've told you. You're basically family. You don't have to call me gōngzhǔ."

I sighed. It was sweet but… "This one is very fond of gōngzhǔ, but certain formalities must be kept in their place. And the imperial palace and courts are such places."

She frowned. I wondered if she would still insist, but then she nodded; I had taught her well. "Okay," she conceded. "But why don't you want to see fùqīn? The huáng dì is very kind, I promise."

To his favorite child, perhaps. It was well-known that Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ and Wanmei-gōngzhǔ were the huáng dì's favorite children. Rongsui-huáng zǐ, second born, very much had the middle child syndrome, if such a thing existed in this time.

I would feel bad for him, if it wasn't for the fact that he disliked me. By quite a bit. I had no idea why, and when I asked around, nobody knew or they refused to tell me. Even Bai Que would just shake their head and mutter something about it being 'complicated' and not my fault, before switching the subject. Short of marching up to the huáng zǐ and asking him why he didn't like me, I was stuck. It was not a fun feeling.

"Perhaps," I said in answer to Wanmei-gōngzhǔ. I didn't really believe her, and she knew that.

She pouted. "You can't get away with it," she warned me, only half-joking. "You'll meet the huáng dì soon!"

I smiled genially. Inside my mind, I smirked. You can fucking try.

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ, of course, took my refusal as a personal challenge. She nagged me endlessly. Everywhere I turned, she was there. "a-Lin, you should go!" 

"It's better to go on good terms instead of being forced!"

"It will be an honor!"

If I didn't have an adult's perspective on the world, this would have likely worked. As it was, I was very close to giving in just so that she would shut up. Spite kept me going.

I would stare at her with my best dead fish eyes (something she hated, and was only exacerbated by the brilliance of my unusual eyes), smile flatly, and give an excuse filled with so much bullshit that by the end of it, she would be seconds away from smacking me. My rěnzhě found it hilarious.

We stood at a stalemate all through the summer, and well into autumn. Finally, Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ found out about our little friendly spat, and intervened.

"Alright, why are there rumors of you two floating around the palace?" He grabbed both of us and sat us down in his private study.

I stared at him innocently. "This one was under the impression that the respected courtiers were doing their job as usual." AKA: the courtiers were always nosy little gossips, so much so that it was basically their jobs, and I didn't see what had changed.

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ had to turn away very quickly in order not to burst into laughter. Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh out loud or scold me.

"a-Lin," he sighed. "Please."

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ spoke up. "He hasn't been presented to the huáng dì yet."

Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ looked horrified. "What?" He said, aghast. "He hasn't been — a-Lin! You should have been presented months ago!"

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ gave me a smug look, and I grimaced inwardly. Well, shit. I was stuck now. I stared at him blandly in response, and said nothing. Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ's eyebrow twitched before he calmed himself. I tended to bring that response out in everyone, even in those that had been trained to have blank slates for a face since infancy. 

"Well, there's nothing to it. I don't know what reasons you have for avoiding it, but it will be done. I don't care what you say, it can't be avoided. It's a miracle that huáng dì hasn't noticed." Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ said firmly.

I knew when I was beat. I bowed shortly in my seat. "As the huáng tàizǐ commands, it shall be done." That didn't mean I wouldn't be a polite little shit about it.

At the added formality, Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ frowned reproachfully at me. I stared back. If he was going to make me do something I didn't want, then he could suffer a bit too. Wanmei-gōngzhǔ shifted in her seat, purposefully bringing out attention to her. "Don't be mean to dà-xiōng, a-Lin. Sometimes he deserves it–"

"Wanmei," he hissed.

"But not this time," she continued blithely. 

I nodded in agreement. That was fair. 

"We're all in agreement, then. I'll get an audience with the huáng dì. Your presentation will probably be in another two weeks. Once the date is confirmed, the tailors will need to be seen and…" he kept on talking about the minute details, and I politely tuned the majority of it out.

To be honest, I knew that this was an argument I wouldn't lose, right from the start. My main objective was to act within the confines of the expectations that they had for me. Truthfully, all I wanted to do was stall. The presentation was inevitable. The date was not. I had achieved what I wanted, so I could lose with grace.

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ yawns. Very loudly, and very pointedly, stopping Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ in his tracks. "Thanks, dà-xiōng. See you later!" And in a whirlwind of impudent smiles and perfumed silks, she left.

Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ stares at me, dumbfounded. I get up as well, giving him a sympathetic look and bow. "This one thanks huáng tàizǐ for his arrangements."

"You're welcome," he said automatically. Then he sighed. "Keep an eye on my mèi, won't you?"

"As always," I promised, and was summarily dismissed.

Once I was outside the study, once again flanked by my rěnzhě, I made my way to Wanmei-gōngzhǔ's rooms. My rooms were in a different wing from hers, of course, but were decently close by. Just half a lǐ away. And considering how big the palace was, that was practically next door.

In front of her rooms, the guards bowed and stepped aside to let me in. By now, they would always let me in. After the fifth time one of them went to check with the gōngzhǔ, she had snapped and said that I was always to be allowed entrance or else she would get a servant to whip them. It was an old threat, but no less effective.

I found her sitting cross-legged on a thick cushion, staring at a page of mathematics with a glum expression. Wanmei-gōngzhǔ did not like mathematics.

She looked over when she heard my footsteps, and she brightened. "Ah, a-Lin! I knew you would come and save me from work," she smiled in delight.

I couldn't help but smile back. She was just like that. She almost reminded me of Wei Wuxian, except she was much less obnoxious, actually thought about the consequences of her actions, and knew how to respect boundaries. "This one would be pleased to help gōngzhǔ with her work."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Pooh! There's lots more things to do than a simple page of mathematics!"

I raised a single eyebrow. She looked back at me. I didn't have to say anything before she cleared her throat. "But of course, they can be done after this page is finished. Take a seat!"

Suppressing a snort, I sat down. I knew that I would end up doing most of the work, but I didn't mind.

I liked going to the tailors. Not only was watching them hand-stitch cloth fascinating, they also let me sit with apprentices and do some work myself. I always inwardly gloated whenever I saw my handiwork on a random courtier.

This time, it was for a very different reason. To get my presentation robes ready. After I had been unofficially removed from the Wan family (not officially, because that would be idiocy), I no longer wore their colors as much. The pale blues and dark greys they favored were no longer anything I had a part in.

Instead, I had an entirely different color combination. One of the main tailors had gotten sick of seeing me in the standard dark navy robes, and had written up an entirely new set of court robes for me. When I was training, I of course used dark training robes. But for court robes, I now had an assortment of neutral colors.

That wouldn't do for a presentation, however. Swathes of fabric flew over my head, as I was pincushioned within an inch of my life. "May this one speak?" I asked.

"No!" The resounding answer came from every flustered tailor around me. I sighed, forcefully did not allow my shoulders to sag, and kept my mouth shut.

Over my head, I could hear considerations like the timing, weather, stars, and season being taken into place. I listened for as much of it I could, but once it started getting to Master level stuff, I lost comprehension.

I tried not to fidget.

After two hours, I was redressed and shoved out, loud arguments sounding right before the heavy doors closed. 

I hated it already.

The entirety of the week was filled with preparations. What hairstyle I would have, what adornments I could wear, how I would be shown — all things that needed to be considered very thoroughly. It was all I could do to keep the calm facade I normally had and not scream into my pillows at night.

It was harder than it seemed.

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ laughed in my face every time she saw me ushered from place to place. She'd had her presentation two years earlier, not to the huáng dì, but to the official court. She was just gloating now.

In response, I casually mentioned her 'increased' interest in mathematics (her excuse for refusing to come with me to the increasingly chaotic tailoring appointments) within earshot of her teacher. The betrayed look she sent me over the stacks of booklets had never been sweeter.

By the time the day came around, I was permanently wound up. On the outside, I looked like a calm pond, but inwardly, I was screaming. 

"Calm down," Wanmei-gōngzhǔ said casually, watching with interest as Bai Que and two other servants dressed me, "it'll go fine."

Easy for her to say! I wasn't daddy-dearest's precious daughter. I was the boy that she was close to, and if living at court taught me anything (apart from a mastery of politics and how to make someone cry with a smile), it was that Wanmei-gōngzhǔ was thoroughly spoilt and beloved by her father.

The maid that had tried to have her kidnapped (it turned out that it wasn't an assassination attempt after all, but an attempt at ransom) could attest to that. Or she would, if she hadn't been fed alive to the huáng dì's hunting dogs before being burned.

Look, being alive wasn't what I had signed up for, but now that I was, I could attest that I was quite fond of it. I didn't want to die now, of all times.

"This one is perfectly calm," I insisted. 

Wanmei-gōngzhǔ laughed at me, stroking the fur of her pet lion-dog¹. The dog yawned on her lap. "I'm sure," she grinned mischievously.

"Lin-gōngzǐ, these lowly slaves are finished." Bai Que spoke up. They had grown taller and looked much healthier, now that they were being treated with far more care and respect. You could say a lot of things about the court, but you couldn't deny that the servants there were treated well. Treat a servant well, and they don't go blabbing secrets — something that most nobles straight up refuses to learn. It made sense why so many of them were ruined.

They always referred to me by my míng² instead of my xìngshì³ at my insistence. Wanmei-gōngzhǔ and Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ did as well. Everybody else called me by my xìngshì.

I nodded my head towards them; I had heard. With a bow, the servants left. Wanmei-gōngzhǔ looked me over and her eyes widened. "Oh," she said. There was a pause, and then, "a-Lin looks very nice."

I tilted my head, turning to look in the mirror. The robes were very fine — I was dressed in a shade of rich, rich brown-red, rich enough to flatter my golden skin and copper-tinted brown hair, and light enough to be daring for my age. It was accented with brilliant shades of copper and snow white, shown in the edges and linings of the robes and under robes.

"This one thanks gōngzhǔ." I said, turning back to glance at her. I said nothing about the pause. Perhaps she was altering the truth slightly, but at the very least I looked presentable. And that was the most important thing.

The door opens, and a high-ranking servant bows. "This slave will bring Wan-gōngzǐ to the reception chambers."

It was time. My heart jackrabbited up into my throat. "Very well," I managed, not trusting myself to say anything else. 

"Once you're done, help me with my mathematics please!" Wanmei-gōngzhǔ called behind us. I inwardly snorted. I knew what she was trying to do, but her reassurance (that I would be back) helped.

The servant led me to a part of the palace I had never been in before. The royal quarters. As the paintings and details started getting more intricate and dragon-themed, a frisson of unease formed in my stomach. Why would I be taken to the royal quarters? Sure the huáng dì's reception chambers weren't there?

I eyed the quiet form of the servant leading the way. I would not get answers from them.

The servant opened a side door, and ushered me inside. "The huáng dì will meet with Wan-gōngzǐ at his time."

With another bow (and I was starting to doubt the validity of them being a servant), they turned and left, footsteps fading away. I allowed myself a single moment of weakness (a deep breath in and out) before I smoothed over, sharp edges becoming bland and head tilted respectfully down.

I stood there patiently, counting the minutes ticking by in my head, and keeping all of my senses aware. Then, behind me came a new person.

I didn't let on that I noticed them.

"So this is Wan Lin."

I knew in that instant that the huáng dì was talking to me.

I couldn't see the huáng dì, of course, but through my near-obsessive cultivation and training, I had developed the beginnings of a golden core. Nothing concrete — not until another three years, or so, but still something enough to tell it was there. One of the perks of having a golden core (or at least a baby one) was that even when my senses were blocked off, I could still sense and make out the environment around me — faint and vague impressions that I could use to pseudo-see.

Right now, even though my gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, I could make out an impression of imposing robes, broad shoulders and sharp angles. Oh, I was so fucked if he took offense to me. Outside the room, more and more guards settled. The only way out would be at his saying.

The huáng dì trailed around me. I could smell his perfume — delicate flowers and heavier amber. Probably something so expensive that I could never hope to even look at.

He settled in front of me. Staring at the floor, I could see the complex sweep of his robes — light gold and bright, daring red. The thread I recognized as one of the ones that the Master tailors placed under lock and key in the most secure chamber of the tailoring rooms. Somehow, I wasn't surprised. According to the chattering of the junior apprentices, the thread was spun from the petals of pure gold peonies and the best silkworms. The Jin Sect had nothing on them, even with their Sparks-Amidst-Snow peonies. 

Long fingers reached out and I squeezed my eyes shut, as they took a hold of my chin and tugged my head upwards. "You may open your eyes," he murmured.

Reluctantly but immediately, my eyes flew open and slid to the side, avoiding his figure.

"So this is dà-gōngzhǔ's friend," he said almost absently. "Zhen would have thought that he would be more impressive in stature… but then, look at the eyes," he continued, almost like he was talking to himself. I knew better.

He let go of my chin, allowing me to drop my gaze back down. "Tell zhen," a finger prodded at my cheeks and jaw, "what is your zì⁴?"

"Answering huáng shàng⁵ bìxià," I said clearly, "this lowly servant has not a zì."

It was something I was a bit sour about, actually. Usually, I would get one on my tenth birthday (in the court; cultivators usually got theirs on their thirteenth birthday from what I learned from the palace cultivators), but thanks to my estrangement from my family, I did not. Instead I found out that I was officially cut off from any legal inheritance and struck out of the family altogether. Not the smartest idea I would expect from Wan-gōng (because he did manage to get his title again), but one that he could afford, and one that he could hide amidst the hubbub of the eldest son (now 24) becoming the head of the family.

Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ was not happy when he found out, and neither was Wanmei-gōngzhǔ, but it was what it was. And they understood that. I was not worth making that much of a fuss for, and I understood that. But it also meant that I didn't have a courtesy name.

"Hm. That's right… there was issue with Wan-gōng," he said absently. There was silence for a few long minutes, making my uneasiness grow, and then he abruptly switched the subject. Which really just made things worse, actually.

"What is it that you want?" Well, that was as clear as mud.

"This lowly servant wishes to please the noble gōngzhǔ," I settled on, because it was true. I had gotten oddly attached to her, and I really just wanted to make her happy (within reason). It was a bit strange, honestly, but I chalked it up to just my general issues and left it at that.

"Ah, so rumors of you having a silver tongue were not false," he hummed, then chuckled. It was a pleasant sound, but made me break out in a cold sweat underneath my robes.

"Very well, Fangxi. You are dismissed." 

Two hours after my presentation/interrogation I found myself curled up in a heap underneath my blankets. I understood nothing of that interaction, and had no idea of what the huáng dì gleaned from me. And to be honest, I didn't really want to know anything about what he'd thought of me.

The huáng dì made my skin crawl the way an animal shudders in fear at its inevitable end.

At the very least, he had been amused by me. And he didn't kick me out or forbid me to ever interact with the gōngzhǔ again, so I would take that as a plus.

Also, he'd given me a courtesy name.

I… didn't know what to do with it. I mean, of course I would use it. Despite the fact that he terrified me, it was a great honor. A courtesy name from huáng dì? That was the stuff of dreams.

But I didn't know why he had given it to me. (Or why he had given me such a flattering one, either). Fangxi. To begin daybreak. The start of something good and bright.

That was a hell of a lot to live up to.

I would do it regardless.

Burying my face in the mattress, I stifled a groan. Trust the huáng dì to fuck with my head in every way possible. The sound of knocking came from my main door, and then the doors were thrown open and light footsteps ran into the sitting room. Wanmei-gōngzhǔ.

I should get up, and act properly. I had never once acted undignified in her presence, and I wasn't about to start. Maybe it was unhealthy, striving to be seen as perfect by everyone around me, but who was going to call me out on it? Nobody, that's who.

So I sat up, tidied up my bed slightly, brushed back my hair and straightened my robes. I wasn't there long enough to get creases, and anything else could be dismissed as training.

I pushed open my bedroom door and entered the sitting room, where Wanmei-gōngzhǔ was vibrating. Of course, she was very imperial and formal about it, but that didn't deny the fact that she was vibrating.

Her eyes lit on me the moment my bedroom door clicked shut behind me. "Wan Lin!"

Should I?

Yes. Yes, I should.

"Fangxi." I corrected her mildly.

There was a stunned silence as she processed that. "Fangxi?" She repeated blankly. "Like a courtesy name? Why–?" 

I could see the exact lightbulb moment and she jumped up with a tiny scream. "Wan Fangxi! You — you have your zì!"

I nodded. "This one has gotten his zì," I agreed.

She beamed. "Oh, that's wonderful! But — Wan-gōng gave you–?"

I slowly shook my head. She stared at me, stupefied. "Then who? The only person you visited today that could have given you a zì was–" her eyes turned into moons. "You don't mean — the huáng dì gave you your zì."

"At the end of this one's presentation, this one was bestowed the zì of Fangxi."

From the rěnzhě, I could see incredulity and awe. Awe? Was it so unusual to be given a courtesy name by the huáng dì? Judging from the gōngzhǔ's face, it was.

Huh.

I guess it was one of those things that I would do my best not to think of, then.

That was my intention anyway.

However, things go very differently in real life. By the end of the day, everybody and their mother knew that precocious Wan Lin, cast off son of Wan-gōng, gōngzhǔ's friend, had been given his zì by the huáng dì.

Everybody stared and pointed. It was beyond frustrating.

The next day, when I went to the training grounds, training went poorly. Not because they didn't know the sequence, but because everybody was so busy staring and whispering about me that they tripped over their feet and crashed into each other. To make matters worse, a 'servant' came and announced within earshot of everyone that the huáng dì had decreed that my wish of being a cultivator would be officially granted, and led me personally to where the cultivator classes took place.

A place that had been banned from normal purview.

Rumors went crazy. Training kicked up, and eyes were on me, wondering if I would make it or not. Being favored by the huáng dì had its blessings and curses, and this was included in the latter. 

The only people that acted even relatively normal were Wanmei-gōngzhǔ, Lingyin-huáng tàizǐ, and Bai Que. Even my rěnzhě gave me the occasional awed and thoughtful looks.

Amusingly enough, Wan-gōng tried to add me back into the family register. Now that I had my courtesy name, I had more freedom of choice — and sent a very finely worded letter of refusal. From the servant's gossip I got from Bai Que, he had broken his chopsticks when he had read it at the dinner table.

In my head, I had laughed myself sick over it.

Time passed quickly, despite all the annoyances. When I turned thirteen, I gained my golden core. Unusually early, and more whispers abounded. There was talk of sending me out for a few years to gain experience.

I wasn't against it. I was of the opinion it would be interesting, and if I was to ever live up to my courtesy name, I would have to get involved in the plot of the novel. I didn't know anything about the timeline, except that the Sunshot Campaign had definitely not started and it was peacetime. Going out would give me a good chance to get aware of the world.

Surprisingly enough, Wanmei-gōngzhǔ encouraged it. "Oh, don't look so surprised," she protested when she noticed my raised eyebrows at her agreement with what my instructor said. "I'm plenty supportive, aren't I?"

"This one knows it is bad to tell lies."

"You little–! Fangxi, your tongue gets sharper and more clever by the day," she groused. "But I know that while you would stay if I wanted you to, it's better for you to go out. Your lǎoshī mentioned sending you to — what was the place?"

"Cloud Recesses," I answered her.

"Yes, that place. Somewhere for cultivators to learn, right? You'll probably outstrip all of them, but it's good for you to actually interact with someone your age," she nodded sagely. At 15, she believed she had the world's answers at her fingertips.

I stared at her judgmentally. "As gōngzhǔ says, of course."

She twitched. "Annoying," she muttered spitefully. "But for your information, I heard dà-xiōng fretting about it to your lǎoshī." She smirked suddenly. "They said that while you were 'outrageously polite' when you weren't riling up your fellow students, you were 'antisocial'."

I barely suppressed a scowl, giving her my best dirty look. She snickered. "Eh, even your lǎoshī have noticed! So you see, it really is desperate. But you have to send me letters and visit every six months, okay?"

Her voice sounded a little uncertain and hopeful. I smiled at her. "Of course," I promised.

Six months after my thirteenth birthday, I set off. With me I had my spiritual weapons, made by the best cultivation smithies that the palace could find. My sword, Zhaoxing, was strapped to my side in its sheath. My dagger was strapped to my left forearm, I had my bow on my back, and my qiankun pouch on my belt. 

I left quietly, early the next morning — just before dawn. I said goodbye to Wanmei-gōngzhǔ, gave Bai Que my best wishes (they now had full employment at the palace), and disappeared into the distance.

I didn't mind being alone. Quite the opposite, actually. But after living in the palace for so long, it was a bit unusual not to sense the hovering of people around. I was completely alone. 

The first day, I walked past the road. Technically I could fly on Zhaoxing, but that was a fast way to attract attention and I didn't want that. So I walked. I kept to the more isolated areas of the road, because being around people close to the palace would be asking for someone to follow me. I kept that up for the rest of the week until I was sure that I was completely alone.

Then I plunged into the woods properly.

Things got interesting then. During my first night in the forest, I climbed up a tree. Despite my additional luggage, it was easy enough to make my way up the tree like a sticky octopus — if octopi were land-dwelling animals. Then I unstrapped my bow from my back, and holding it in my hands, waited. I had all the essentials in my qiankun pouch except for food.

There was a rustle in the underbrush. Turning carefully, I waited for whatever it was to come out. If there was one thing my archery teacher had drilled into my head, it was the importance of knowing what I was hitting. I couldn't just shoot and hope for the best. I had to see it. So I waited.

More rustling. I drew back my arrow, string taut with tension. Out came the drifting form of a yaogui.

Ah.

I swapped out my normal arrows for spiritual ones. Pulling back my arrow once more, I readied myself, then shot. The yaogui didn't even know what was happening before the arrow hit. It dissipated with a shriek, and I smiled. Well, at least there was one less monster to plague the neighboring villages. All that was left now was it's remaining link to life — a bloody hand, with my arrow stuck through it.

I reached once again for my regular arrows, intent on getting a meal, when crashing came through. "It came over here! I swear I saw it!"

Cultivators. Well, there went my meal. With the amount of racket they had been making, I sincerely doubted that there was any animal around within a half a lǐ radius.

With a grimace, I shifted, ready to leave, when the person burst through the growth, spitting out leaves and looking around wildly. The person wore grey and green of the Qinghe Nie sect, marking them as a disciple. I stared in fascination, momentarily distracted.

Two other disciples followed. "Jiahao," one moaned, "I think you must be imagining things. There's nothing here!"

The now-named Jiahao flushed. "But I did! I saw something!"

The other one raised a hand. "Shut up, idiots! Look!" Their eyes turned and saw my glistening arrow stuck in a corpse-like hand.

"Another cultivator?" Jiahao gasped.

"Why would a cultivator come here?" The whiny one asked.

"For once, Yating makes a good point," the one that had told them all to shut up said.

"Guiying!" Yating whined.

"Who's here?" Jiahao called.

Guiying scoffed. "Who would be? The cultivator has probably already left."

"That would mean leaving such a fine arrow behind," Jiahao pointed out with surprising sensibility.

I took that as my cue, and jumped down from my tree. As one, every head swung towards me and every sword was unsheathed.

They stared at me and I stared back.

Jiahao was the first to lower his sword. "Who are you?"

"Jiahao!" They both hissed at him. I stared at them, bemused. They had a very interesting dynamic. Was it just them, or did all cultivators argue so freely like this — and in front of strangers? You would never catch anybody at court even dreaming of doing something like that.

"This one's name is Wan Fangxi," I decided to help out Jiahao, who was shrinking back under the combined glares of the other two.

"Oh — no need to speak so formally," Yating immediately said. "We're not — we're just disciples."

… I wasn't speaking formally — at least not any more than would be polite in meeting a total stranger at court. Was this culture shock? Were the cultures between the imperial court and the cultivator sects so different?

"Look! He–she–wait–" Jiahao's brain shorted out. Guiying whacked him.

"He," I said helpfully. I wasn't offended — it was considered impressive in certain parts of court to be able to be seen as either male or female. Of course, that only applied if it was a high-ranking noble and only if the gender was known beforehand. Classicism and homophobia at its finest.

"Right! He's harmless! And he helped out with the night hunt too." Jiahao grinned widely. Were all cultivators so trusting or was he just weird that way?

But no, the other two were slowly nodding in agreement as well. "Sorry for the rudeness," Guiying apologized straightforwardly.

If they called that rude, I didn't want to know what they considered to be nice. Weren't sect politics supposed to be really nasty? Weren't rogue cultivators looked down upon? What was happening here?

I kept my presence of mind just enough to remember my manners with a bow. "No need to apologize," I managed.

The three of them introduced themselves and told me what they were doing. They were part of a larger group of disciples that had gone out on a supervised nighthunt — it would be another year before they were allowed out on their own.

"So, you're a rogue cultivator?" Li Yating asked with interest.

"This one does not belong to a sect, if that is what Li Yating means," I offered.

"How many times do we have to tell you not to be formal? Really, we aren't special." Li Yating said in exasperation.

"That's for sure," Yang Guiying muttered in agreement.

"This one is not being formal," I argued back. "This Fangxi is using ordinary qiāncí!"

"And I'm telling you, the only time people use qiāncí is talking to elders and stuck up sect heirs and leaders," Li Yating argued back.

"Haha, okay guys! Let's just agree to disagree, okay?" Wu Jiahao grinned nervously.

"As Wu-shidi says," I acquiesced.

"Shidi?" Yang Guiying wonders. "When did you start training?"

I gave her a strange look. "As soon as this one could walk without exhaustion. This one has always expressed a desire for cultivation."

They all stare at me blankly. "I thought you were a rogue cultivator." Li Yating repeated.

I sighed. "Simply because this one does not belong to a sect doesn't mean this one is rogue."

"Then what are you doing?" Yang Guiying asked skeptically.

"Traveling," I said simply.

The three of them exchanged puzzled looks, but in the end Wu Jiahao shrugged. "Well, alright. Hey, there's our group ahead! Xu-shijie is in charge of us."

I looked to where she was pointing. I saw a tall woman, with biceps wider than my thighs and a beautiful face, leaning against a tree. 

"Come on," Li Yating grabbed onto my arm and proceeded to drag me towards where their shijie was. "Xu-shijie!"

Xu-shijie turned to meet us, and I watched as her eyebrows raised in a delicate arch that belied her sturdy structure. "Wu Jiahao. What have you done now?"

He wilted. "It wasn't my fault," he sulked.

"This time." Xu-shijie said dryly. She turned to me, and I immediately bowed appropriately. Not too deep, because judging from a single glance at her posture and training, she had no noble blood so I didn't have to fuss too much about the exactness of the angle. Not too high either, because she was most definitely my shijie at an estimated 20-plus years of age, and deserved my respect.

"This one apologizes for any inconvenience," I straightened to see her staring at me, puzzled.

"Damn, kid. No need to be so formal — you don't have to bow so deep," she laughed bemusedly, a faint flush on her cheeks.

"See?" Li Yating hissed at me. He turned to Xu-shijie. "He keeps on using formal language! Isn't it weird?"

Xu-shijie hummed thoughtfully, eyes assessing. "It isn't common amongst cultivators," she admitted, "because the power plays aren't as intense. Only in a formal environment — but then, kid, what's your name?"

"Wan Fangxi," I answered.

"Hm. Wan Fangxi, you have noble origins, correct?"

I nodded, and the disciples shared puzzled looks. "Like — non-cultivator nobility? I don't know much about it," Yang Guiying said. 

"They're far more formal than we are," Xu-shijie took the opportunity to turn this into a learning opportunity. "Which is probably why Wan Fangxi thinks he's not being particularly formal, and why you think he's being extremely formal."

"This one agrees," I said slowly. "This one — this Fangxi only used the appropriate amount of respect needed for greeting a stranger at a cultivation level. This one finds these disciples to be very casual," I admitted. 

Wu Jiahao wrinkled his nose. "That's — that's kinda weird," he decided.

I tilted my head in acquiescence. "Perhaps to Wu-shidi," I agreed.

"Anyway, kid, what are you doing out here alone?" Xu-shijie asked gruffly, suddenly looking worried.

I smiled. "Thanking shijie for her concern, but this one is fine."

"He says he's traveling," Li Yating piped in.

"Like journeyman training?" Xu-shijie said doubtfully, but seemed less worried. "Well, that's fair. You're around — what, sixteen maybe?"

"This one has thirteen years."

"You seem so much older," Yang Guiying marveled.

Xu-shijie frowned. "Well it isn't my place to speak of it, especially since you have your own sword. What are you planning to do?"

"This one does not have a destination in mind but to travel," I admitted freely.

Xu-shijie was silent for a long time, thoughts playing over her face. The disciples watch her in interest. They're so open; something I can't help but marvel at.

"Come to Qinghe Nie with us," she decides.

FOOTNOTES

1. Lion-dogs refer to Pekingese dogs. Originally, they were bred as companions to the imperial family; only the imperial family could own one. According to legend, they were lions shrunk to a miniature size by Buddha, hence the name. Also, they could be hidden in sleeves and were pretty fierce guard dogs. return to text

2. míng (名): first name. return to text

3. xìngshì (姓氏): last name. return to text

4. zì (字): courtesy name. return to text

5. The literal term for emperor is 'huáng dì'. When addressing the Emperor, however, anyone that spoke to him is to refer to him as bìxià (陛下, lit. the "Bottom of the Steps"), corresponding to one of three addresses:

Huáng Shàng (皇上, lit. Radiant Highness)
Shèng Shàng (圣上; 聖上, lit. Holy Highness)
Tiānzǐ (天子, lit. "Son of Heaven"). return to text