*CHAPTER 1: THE QUESTION*
The kingdom of Xiānguó was ruled by Emperor Zhào Róng and Empress Xiàoyì, and on the surface, it was a kingdom of peace.
Silk roads ran like veins through the provinces, carrying tea from the south and furs from the north. Scholars debated poetry in teahouses that smelled of ink and sandalwood. Farmers brought their harvest to the capital markets without fear of bandits on the roads, because the Emperor's soldiers patrolled them. The Emperor was considered wise, the Empress gracious, and the court — from a distance — looked like a painting. Perfect. Balanced. Still.
But anyone who lived inside the capital, anyone who had a family name that mattered, knew the truth: peace in Xiānguó was a carefully balanced game. Families rose and fell not by swords, but by marriages, alliances, and whose name was spoken in the right ear at the right time. One wrong banquet seating, one daughter married to the wrong second son, and a family that had stood for a hundred years could find itself selling its ancestral house by winter.
_One wrong move. Father's favorite saying._
_Why does that sentence make my teeth ache?_
My mother came from the kind of family that did not play games. They ended them.
The Su family was a military family. Not the kind that bought titles with gold, but the kind that earned them with blood and then refused to talk about it at dinner. My grandfather, General Sū Weìguó, was the man who held the northern pass against the barbarian tribes for forty-seven days when the imperial army was too slow to move, with only eight thousand men and a winter that killed more soldiers than swords did. My grandmother, Lady Sū, had opened the Su family granaries to the people during the famine of my mother's childhood, when the court was still debating the cost. The Su name meant discipline. Loyalty. Sacrifice. And a kind of power that did not need to be announced, because people simply moved when a Su walked into a room.
_Su blood. I have Su blood._
_Why does that feel like a warning?_
My father's family was different.
The Han family had been merchants for generations. Rich, respectable merchants who owned warehouses in three provinces, whose ships came into the capital port heavy with spices and silk. My father, Hán ZhìXuān, was brilliant with numbers and better with people. He could make a rival feel like a friend over one cup of tea, and make that friend sign a contract that favored the Han family by sunset.
_Father can sell water to a drowning man._
_Why did I think that? That's mean. He's my father._
But merchants do not become Prime Ministers on their own. No matter how rich. No matter how clever.
He married my mother, Sū RuìXī, when he was twenty-five and she was nineteen. With her dowry, he expanded the Han trade routes into the west. With her father's quiet recommendation, he got his first minor post in the Ministry of Revenue. With her grandfather's old war comrades speaking for him in court — men who would do anything for General Su's daughter's husband — he rose. And rose. And rose.
Until one day, he was Prime Minister Hán ZhìXuān, and people stopped saying "the Su family's son-in-law" when they talked about him. They just said "the Prime Minister."
I think that was when the problems started. I think he started to believe he had climbed the mountain alone, and forgot who had given him the rope.
_The rope._
_Why am I picturing a rope? And a fall?_
_Stop it. You're being morbid._
---
I woke up gasping, sixteen years old and with no idea why my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.
_My chest. It hurts. Like something hit it. Hard._
There was no nightmare I could remember. No sound in the room. Just the morning light through the curtains and the terrible, animal feeling that something was wrong.
_Something's wrong. Something's already happened._
_…That doesn't make sense. How can something be wrong if it hasn't happened yet?_
I pressed a hand to my forehead. It was damp with sweat. "You're being ridiculous, JiāYì," I whispered to myself.
_Saying my own name feels… foreign. Like it belongs to someone else._
I sat up, swung my legs out of bed, and the world tore.
_Pain. In my ribs. For a second. Like I landed wrong._
_I didn't fall. I was in bed._
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a thought. It was like someone shoved a memory into my head that I hadn't lived yet.
_Memory. But not mine. It can't be mine. I've never—_
I saw the main hall downstairs, clear as if I was standing there. I saw my mother by the door in a dark traveling robe, two trunks behind her. I saw my father in his court robe, his sash crooked, looking tired. I heard him say, "Your mother and I are divorcing." I saw my brothers' faces — Chén blank, Lì agitated, Míng crying. I saw Hán MěiLíng standing behind Father, her hand on his arm, crying beautifully.
_Mother's jade bracelet. I saw it. She never takes it off. How would I know she's wearing it today?_
_Father's sash. Crooked to the left. He hates that. He always fixes it._
_Stop. This is too detailed. This is—_
And then I saw something else, fast and sharp like a knife: MěiLíng hugging Míng, whispering comfort to him, while her eyes — only for a second, when she thought no one was looking — were cold. Calculating. Not sad at all.
_No._
_That's not right. That's not her face._
_I know her face. I've known it for ten years. That's not—_
_…Why did my stomach just drop? Like I'm on a balcony. Like I'm—_
_Stop. There is no balcony._
The vision snapped off.
I was back in my bed, breathing hard, my hands gripping the sheets so tight my knuckles were white.
"What… what was that?" I whispered. My voice shook. "Am I going crazy?"
_Yes. Yes you are. Because normal people don't see things. And normal sisters don't have cold eyes._
_So either I'm crazy, or she is. And I know which one I want it to be._
My maid, Xiao Tao, came in with my washing water and stopped in the doorway. "Young miss! You're white as a sheet. Are you ill? Should I call the physician?"
"No," I said, too quickly. "No, I'm fine. Just… I woke up suddenly. I'm fine."
_Fine. I'm fine. My hands are shaking and my ribs ache and I just saw my family break, but I'm fine._
_Say it until it's true. That's what Father does._
She helped me dress, her hands efficient and worried. As she was pinning my hair, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd seen. It felt real. More real than a dream. But that was impossible. People don't see the future. I was just stressed. I was imagining things.
Wasn't I?
_The east wing. Why did I think of the east wing? No one goes there at night._
_It's empty. The lanterns sway. The railing is low._
_STOP. You've never been there at night. Stop inventing places you've never been._
---
The voices reached me before I reached the bottom of the stairs. Low. Tired. Final.
_I know that sound. I know that exact cadence._
_How? How do I know that?_
And I froze, because I recognized them.
It was exactly like the vision.
_No. No no no. Coincidence. It's just a coincidence. Father sounds tired a lot._
I stopped on the last step and looked into the main hall, and my stomach dropped because it was all there, just like I'd seen it.
My mother, Sū RuìXī, stood near the front doors. She wore a plain dark traveling robe, no embroidery, no jewelry except the simple jade bracelet she never took off. Her hair was in a severe knot. Two large trunks stood behind her, already packed and tied with rope. She did not look like a woman leaving her husband. She looked like a general leaving a battlefield she had decided was no longer worth holding.
_The jade. It's there. Exactly like I saw._
_My throat is closing. Why is my throat closing._
My father, Hán ZhìXuān, stood a few paces away in his full court robe, the Prime Minister's crane bright on his chest. The sash at his waist was slightly crooked, just like in the vision.
_To the left. Crooked to the left._
_I'm going to throw up._
My three brothers stood together near the staircase, a miserable little unit.
Hán Chén, my eldest brother, twenty years old and already with the bearing of a scholar-official, had his arms crossed tight over his chest. His face was carefully blank.
_My brother Chén. He's protecting his heart. He always does that before something bad._
_How do I know that. He's never—_
Hán Lì, eighteen, handsome and usually laughing, was pacing a short, agitated line on the rug, running a hand through his hair again and again.
_My brother Lì. He paces when he's scared. When did I learn that?_
Hán Míng, only twelve, stood pressed against Chén's side, his face blotchy, his lower lip trembling violently.
_My brother Míng. Don't cry. Please don't cry. I can't—_
_Why does his crying make my ribs hurt._
And Hán MěiLíng stood just behind Father, her hand resting lightly, possessively, on his forearm. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks wet. She looked small and breakable.
_Her hand. On his arm. Claiming him._
_No. Stop. That's not fair. She's upset. She's comforting him._
_Then why do I want to break her fingers._
It was all exactly right. Every detail.
A cold feeling spread through my chest. I saw this. Before it happened, I saw this.
_I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy._
_That means the other part was real too. The cold eyes._
_No. No no no._
I took the last step down. The floorboard creaked. Every head turned.
"JiāYì," Mother said. Just my name. But there was relief in it.
_Mother says my name like it's solid. Like I'm an anchor._
_Why do I feel like I've been drowning?_
"Good, you're awake," Father said, his tone business-like. "Come here. We will talk as a family."
_"As a family." The last time we were all "a family"._
_Last time? When was the first time?_
I walked forward slowly, my slippers silent on the polished floor, and stopped a few feet from them. My mind was screaming. How did I know? How did I see this?
"What's happening?" I asked, and I hated how small my voice sounded.
Father looked at Mother, then back at us. He exhaled. "Your mother and I are divorcing."
The words were the same. The tone was the same. Exactly like the vision.
_I knew. I KNEW. Before he said it. I knew the word "divorcing" was coming._
_This is not normal. This is not normal. This is not—_
Hán Míng made a choked, wounded noise and buried his face in Chén's sleeve.
"Why?" Lì demanded, stopping his pacing. "Father, just tell us why! You've been married seventeen years! We're a family!"
"It's not one thing, Lì," Father said, tired. "It's… we don't agree on what this family's priorities should be anymore. We haven't for a long time."
"That's not an answer!" Chén said, his voice flat and hard.
Father's jaw tightened. "Your mother believes I have forgotten the values of the Su family. Discipline. Duty to the people before duty to the court. Honor above advancement." He said the words like they tasted bad. "I believe… I believe she does not understand the compromises I have to make every single day to keep this family at the Prime Minister's level."
Mother finally spoke, her voice cool and clear. "You call it compromise, ZhìXuān. I call it forgetting who helped you stand up in the first place. You are embarrassed by my father's men when they come to the house in their uniforms. You ask me to dress softer, speak softer, for your banquets. You tell our sons that the military is a 'rough life' and they should aim for the civil exams, as if their grandfather's service is something to be ashamed of." She looked at him directly. "You have been managing this family's priorities, husband. You've just been managing them away from me."
_Mother's voice. It doesn't shake. It never shakes._
_Why do I feel safer hearing it? Like… like a wall. Like stone._
_Have I heard her like this before?_
The silence after she spoke was awful.
Then MěiLíng stepped forward, her voice trembling, tears spilling fresh down her cheeks. "Father, Mother, please don't fight like this. Please. It's hurting everyone. Especially the boys." She looked at Míng, who was now crying openly, and went to him, pulling him gently away from Chén and into her own arms, rubbing his back in slow circles. "It's alright, Míng. Shhh. I'm here. Jiejie's here."
_Jiejie. She said jiejie._
_Why does that word make my spine go cold._
_She's holding him. She's protecting him. That's good. That's what sisters do._
_Then why do I want to pull him away from her?_
Father watched her comfort Míng, and his whole face softened. He reached out and touched MěiLíng's hair briefly. "Thank you, Ling'er. Thank you for taking care of your brothers."
I watched his hand on her hair, and the air flickered again, just for me.
_No. No not again. I can't—_
I saw MěiLíng, weeks from now, sitting in Mother's chair at the dinner table, serving Father his favorite soup while he smiled at her. I saw my brothers, all three of them, leaning in to listen to something she was saying, laughing. I saw my own chair, at the end of the table, empty.
_My chair. Empty._
_Why is my chair empty. Where am I._
_Why does "empty" feel like "dead"._
And I saw her face, in that future moment, when she thought no one was looking at her — not sad, not loving. Cold. Pleased. Victorious.
_That face._
_I know that face._
_I've never seen that face. But I KNOW it._
_How do I know it. How do I—_
The vision vanished, and I felt cold all over.
The affection was fake. All those years, the hugs, the "jiejie" — it was fake. I just saw it.
_No. No that's not true. That can't be true. She cried when Xiao Tao's kitten died. She held me when I had fever._
_…Didn't she?_
_Why can't I remember her face when I had fever. Why can I only remember the cold eyes._
Father cleared his throat. "There is one more thing. You are all old enough to choose. You will decide who you want to live with. Your mother, or me. I will not force any of you."
_Choose. Choose between Su and Han. Between stone and silk._
_Why does "stone" feel like breathing. Why does "silk" feel like falling._
Hán Chén was the first to speak. He looked at Father, then at Mother, his expression unreadable. "I will stay with Father," he said, his voice steady. "My tutors are here. My exam preparations are here. The connections I need for the imperial exams are here, in the Prime Minister's household. It is the practical choice."
_My brother Chén. Always practical. Always logical._
_He doesn't know. He doesn't see her face. I can't— I can't warn him. I'd sound insane._
Father nodded. "A wise choice, Chén."
Hán Lì looked torn. He glanced at Mother, opened his mouth, closed it. Then he looked at MěiLíng, who was still holding Míng, and she gave him a small, watery, encouraging smile and a tiny nod. "I… I'll stay with Father too," Lì said, his voice rough. "I'm sorry, Mother. I just… I don't know how to live anywhere else."
_That nod. That tiny nod._
_Why did that feel like a trap closing._
_It's just a nod. It's just encouragement. Stop it._
Mother's face didn't change. "I understand, Lì."
Hán Míng pulled away from MěiLíng just enough to speak, his face blotchy and wet. "I want to stay with Father. And Ling jiejie." He looked at MěiLíng like she was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning. "You promised you'd take care of me."
_My brother Míng. He's so small. He needs someone._
_Why does my heart say "not her". Why does my heart say "she won't"._
_She will. She's good. She's kind. She—_
MěiLíng smiled at him, a beautiful, sad smile, and wiped his tears with her own sleeve. "I did promise, didn't I, Míng? And I always keep my promises to you. Always." She looked up at Father over Míng's head, her eyes shining. "I'll take good care of them, Father. I promise you."
_"Always."_
_Why does that word sound like a threat._
_Why do her fingers look like claws for half a second._
_Stop. You're seeing things. You're SICK._
Father's expression softened completely. "I know you will, Ling'er. I know."
Then they all looked at me.
Hán JiāYì. Sixteen years old. The only daughter. The real daughter.
_The real daughter. Real like a target. Real like a ghost._
_Where did that thought come from._
My heart was hammering. Another flicker hit me — not an image this time, just a feeling, strong and certain: if I stayed, I would fade. I would become a polite ghost in my own home while MěiLíng filled every space I left, until one day they would forget I was ever there at all. And I would never be safe from that cold look in her eyes.
_Fade. Ghost. Forget._
_Safe._
_Why do I know I won't be safe. What happened to me. What HAPPENED to me._
_Nothing. Nothing happened to me. I'm sixteen. I'm fine._
_Liar._
And another flicker, immediate and warm: Mother's hand, strong and steady, taking mine. A sense of solid ground. Of a wall at my back. Of the Su name, which meant something.
_Su. Stone. Wall. Blood._
_Mother won't let me fade. Mother won't let me—_
_Let me what. Fall?_
_There's no falling. There's no balcony. Stop it._
I didn't understand the visions. I was terrified of them. But I had just seen the divorce happen exactly as I saw it in my room. They were real.
And they were showing me the truth about my sister.
_The truth. What truth. That she has cold eyes for one second? That my chair is empty? That's not truth. That's insanity._
_But the divorce was real. The sash was real. The jade was real._
_So what else is real._
I looked at my mother. Then at my father. Then at MěiLíng, who was watching me with those red-rimmed, waiting eyes, her head tilted just slightly.
_She's waiting. She's patient. Like a spider._
_NO. She's not. She's my sister. She's worried. That's worry. That's love._
_Why don't I believe me._
The question hung in the air between all of us, unspoken but deafening, the only sound in the whole hall:
JiāYì, who will you go with?
_The visions say Mother. The visions say run._
_My heart says Mother. My heart says stone._
_My brain says I'm crazy. My brain says MěiLíng held me when I was sick._
_Did she? Did she really?_
_If I stay, I fade. If I go, I… what? I live?_
_Why does "stay" feel like "die"._
_I don't know what death feels like. I'm sixteen._
_Am I?_