Chapter 7
The days following the “second dragon-rod incident” passed in a blur of self-imposed exile.
Before she knew it, the beginning of winter had approached.
Yun-si hadn’t left her Peach Blossom Courtyard except to greet her mother in the mornings.
She tried to hide in the comfort writing usually provided, but the strewn manuscripts mocked her from every surface—proof that even her usual refuge had failed.
“It was just a natural reaction,” she whispered to herself, pacing the polished wooden floors. “Men’s bodies just... do that sometimes.” The medical texts had explained as much, though they certainly hadn’t prepared her for the reality of feeling Ting-zhi’s... reaction... pressed against her thigh.
She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the silk coverlet. “He must be more mortified than I am,” she reasoned. “After all, I’m practically his sister.”
But was she? The thought struck with surprising force. Childhood friends, certainly. Fellow scholars and confidants, yes. But sister?
“Third Maiden,” Chun-xi called through the door. “Lady Shen requests your presence in the eastern chamber.”
Real life, it seemed, had finally caught up with her.
Two hours later, Yun-si sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by household account books again. Her mother had declared it was time she handled some of the household accounts and learn proper household management—“You can’t hide behind books forever.”
Yun-si stared blankly at columns of numbers that refused to make sense. Rice. Oil. Cloth. Servants’ wages. The characters swam before her eyes, her mind drifting back to water-slicked skin and strong arms around her waist.
“You’re holding that upside down.”
Yun-si started so violently she dropped the book. Her elder brother stood in the doorway, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Big brother! I didn’t hear you come in.” She quickly righted the account book and stood up, hastily rearranging her skirts to a semblance of propriety.
He entered with measured steps, the perfect picture of scholarly grace. “Mother mentioned you’ve been sequestered here for the past few weeks. The household accounts must be truly fascinating.”
“Eldest sister used to make it seem so easy...” Yun-si said wistfully, “What brings you here, Big brother?”
Yun-shan’s composed expression cracked, revealing an uncharacteristic discomfort. He clasped his hands behind his back, then dropped them to his sides. “Sister, I need your help.”
Yun-si blinked. Her impeccable and formidable elder brother, heir of Shen Clan—needing help? From her? The third daughter whose greatest accomplishment was sitting through banquets without uttering a single word?
“Of course,” she answered immediately, curiosity burning away her own embarrassment.
They walked serenely through the garden paths, as if it was another perfectly normal day.
Snow had fallen that morning, and the garden was frosted in white.
Yun-si touched her cheeks, cool. Checked her pulse, normal, definitely not strumming like a crazy doe.
She looked at the distance between her real brother and her, wide, wide enough to stuff a real doe inside. And sigh.
When they reached the man-made stone hill that shielded his Clear Mountain Lodge from view, he paused.
“What I’m about to show you—” He inhaled sharply. “I request your utmost discretion.”
“Big brother, you’re frightening me.”
“It’s not dangerous. Well—” He hesitated. “Not exactly.”
Beyond the gate, Yun-shan’s quarters stood in peaceful solitude. He opened the door gently, glancing over his shoulder once before ushering her inside.
Yun-si had barely crossed the threshold when she saw her—a young woman, ghost-pale, sitting cross-legged on Yun-shan’s bed, sharpening a dagger. She wore men’s clothing, had her hair tied in a simple knot, and sported a bruise on her cheek.
“You brought someone?” The woman raised her dagger. Despite her defensive posture, Yun-si could see she favored her left side, her right arm bandaged beneath her sleeve.
“My sister,” Yun-shan explained quickly. “She can help.”
Yun-si stood frozen, mouth agape. Her proper, rule-abiding elder brother was hiding a woman in his rooms. A woman with weapons. A woman not much older than herself.
“This is Lu Qing-he,” Yun-shan said. “She needs a safe place.”
Qing-he lowered her blade but remained tense.
“You’re a—” Yun-si whispered.
“Swordswoman.” Qing-he finished, sheathing her dagger with a practiced motion.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by Yun-shan clearing his throat. “I will... leave you both here to sort out... what Qing-he needs.” He made a swift exit, shutting the door a little too hastily behind him.
Left alone, the two women stared at each other.
“What—” There were so many questions in Yun-si’s head that she didn’t even know what to ask.
“I—” Qing-he started at the same time.
They both halted.
Yun-si pressed her lips together and waved at Qing-he to go ahead.
Qing-he shifted uncomfortably. “I have a rather urgent need.” She lowered her voice. “Do you have any cotton padding? For monthly—” She gestured vaguely downward.
“Oh!” Yun-si’s eyes widened. “Of course. I can bring some from my rooms.”
“I asked your brother—” Qing-he grimaced. “He turned the color of a ripe plum and fled the room.”
Yun-si stifled a laugh, picturing her composed brother confronted with such a request. It struck her then, here was a real swordswoman, the kind she’d written about but never met. Real, not perfectly coiffed or spouting elegant poetry while dueling, but real with flesh and blood and monthly cycles.
“I have so many questions,” Yun-si blurted, her writer’s curiosity bursting at the seams. “Have you really studied the blade since childhood? Can you truly fly between treetops? Can you catch arrows in mid-flight?”
Qing-he blinked, confusion on her face. “Why would a lady want to know about the life of a vagrant swordswoman like me?”
Yun-si hesitated, weighing the risk of revealing her secret identity against her burning curiosity.
“I write huabens,” she admitted finally. “Adventure tales with heroines who wield swords and fight for justice.”
Qing-he’s expression shifted from wariness to surprised interest. “You? A noble daughter writing wuxia huabens?”
“Under a pen name, of course.” Yun-si moved closer, lowering her voice. “No one knows except my childhood friend... well, and now you.”
A small smile curved Qing-he’s lips. “What kind of nonsense do you write about us?”
“Probably complete nonsense,” Yun-si admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “I imagine swordswomen sleeping under stars, traveling freely across provinces, defending the innocent...”
“The stars part is accurate, though it’s less romantic when it’s raining.” Qing-he winced as she adjusted her position. “And the traveling would be nicer without people trying to kill you.”
Yun-si’s eyes widened. “Is that what happened? Someone’s trying to kill you?”
Qing-he’s face darkened.
The realization hit Yun-si like cold water. Her proper, rule-following brother was harboring a fugitive. If their father discovered this...
“I need to leave soon,” Qing-he continued. “I’ve already risked your family enough.”
“You’re wounded,” Yun-si pointed out. “At least stay until you’ve healed. I can bring medicine, food, proper clothing—”
“Proper clothing?” Qing-he looked down at her men’s garments, a spark of amusement flashing through her pain. “You’d dress me like a proper maiden?”
“No! I meant—” Yun-si floundered for words, then her eyes narrowed suddenly.
“Are those... those are my Big brother’s clothes when he was younger!
” She looked at Qing-he in awe. Her brother—who kept his robes as pristine as his rooms, who never let anybody touches his anything, who was so fastidious his book boy actually stayed in the outer courtyard instead of with him—had given this stranger his clothing?
A blush crept up Qing-he’s face and her fingers pulled at her clothes unconsciously. “These were the only ones available here.”
“How did you meet my brother?” The question that had been burning in her mind finally escaped.
“I was... pursued into the city. Your brother found me bleeding in his study.” Qing-he said quietly.
Why didn’t he call the guards? Why is he sheltering you here?
The questions rose to her lips, but she hesitated. Maybe it was the guarded look in Qing-he’s eyes. Or the way her elder brother had looked at her when he’d asked for her discretion. Whatever this was, it wasn’t hers to pry into.
“Can I ask you some questions?” she said instead, already pulling her notebook from her sleeve. “What sword technique do you use? What kind of sects are there in the martial arts world—”
A quiet knock interrupted her interrogation. The door slid open to reveal Yun-shan, his expression a blend of concern and impatience.
“Sister,” he said pointedly, “our guest needs rest.” The stern elder brother look he gave her—the one that meant no arguments—made her scramble to her feet and stand straight.
Qing-he’s eyes had already begun to droop, her earlier alertness giving way to exhaustion. Yun-si felt a pang of guilt for not noticing sooner.
“I’ll return with what you need,” she promised, reluctantly gathering her writing materials. To her brother, she added, “Does she need medicine?”
“I’ve made arrangements,” Yun-shan answered, his gaze lingering on Qing-he with an expression Yun-si couldn’t quite place. “But the... other items you discussed would be appreciated.”
Yun-si nodded, stealing one last glance at the swordswoman before ducking out of the room.
As she walked the garden path back to her courtyard, a spring entered her step that had been absent for weeks.
A real swordswoman! Not the idealized heroines of her imagination, but flesh and blood with practical knowledge of blade techniques and survival skills.
What incredible authenticity this would bring to her writing!
Her mind raced with story possibilities.
Perhaps a tale of a noble lady who shelters a wounded swordsman.
Or a swordswoman pursued by mysterious enemies, forced to don civilian disguise.
She could ask about the weight of real weapons, the sound steel makes cutting through air, the aftermath of actual combat.
The maiden found him collapsed in her garden at midnight, blood staining the frost-white peonies.
A swordsman—tall, dangerous, with eyes like winter steel.
He should have frightened her. Instead, she hid him in her chambers, tended his wounds with trembling hands while he watched her through a haze of fever.
“Why?” he rasped. “Why save me?” She met his gaze, unflinching.
“Because you needed saving.” And when dawn came and he tried to leave, she blocked the door.
“Stay.” Something shifted in his eyes...
Yun-si hugged her notebook to her chest, nearly stumbling on a rock on the way to her rooms in excitement, ready to set ink to paper.
Gu Ting-zhi. You are not my only research partner now!