Prologue
Now, Before the Buddha, I Speak My Vows (1)
When Shen Zhaozhao heard the sound of rain, it was as though she had returned to the Shen residence in Chaisang.
Chaisang (柴桑) refers to an ancient place associated with present-day Jiujiang in Jiangxi Province.
In the haze, she saw a dark silhouette holding a lamp. Amid its pale yellow glow, she asked, “Gege, have you passed Luojia Mountain?”
The figure hung the lamp to one side but did not answer.
Of course. How could he have arrived so quickly? She would not live to see him again.
“Put out the lamp,” she said again.
Gradually, the light disappeared. Darkness, like the rising tide of a great river, slowly engulfed her. She felt along the edge of the brocade quilt with her hand, sliding down... until she reached the floor. Her fingertips moved slowly across the ground, searching for a crack. Ashes of incense lay in the crevices, placed there at her own instructions. She liked the fragrance. It was exactly the same as the one that clung to her older brother.
Everything was just like a dream from long ago.
She had suffered from night blindness since childhood. After sunset, even if the entire room was filled with lamps and candles, she could see only vague, dark shapes. If even a few lamps were removed, she could no longer make out so much as a shadow. When she was little, she and her older brother had lived under another's roof, dependent on others and in dire poverty. To speak of filling an entire room with lamps and candles was out of the question. Even a single lamp was an extravagant wish. To her, nighttime was a nightmare. She had to hold her older brother's hand. If she could not find it, she would panic, and once she panicked, all she knew how to do was cry. If she cried too much, her older brother would suffer the cold stares of others on her account.
Later, her older brother came up with a solution. He would carry a fragrance on his person so that she could smell him at any time. That way, he could read and practice his swordsmanship in the courtyard.
Whether she slept or played by the doorway, she no longer cried.
Her older brother took incense ash from the Buddhist hall and rubbed it into his clothes a couple of times. It could barely keep the fragrance for a few days. As time went on, the scent became something unique to him, and she, too, developed the ability to distinguish fragrances.
To call it distinguishing fragrances was something of an exaggeration. All she could distinguish was where her older brother was.
In her eyes, there were only two kinds of people in this world: Shen Ce and everyone else.
As she grew older, her older brother became the great general whom people often spoke of. He went on to distinguish himself through countless military exploits and was granted the title of prince. Half the empire's territory was defended by the Shen clan. Moreover, because Shen Ce held military power in his hands, her maternal aunt, who had been neglected in the palace for many years, regained the Emperor's favor. Her aunt's own son also received one title after another on account of the Shen clan's military achievements, rising to a position equal to that of the Crown Prince. After thirty years of decline, the Shen clan had been restored to its former glory by him. From the rubble and desolation, he had rebuilt the family's prestige and brought honor to its name.
There was no one in the imperial court who did not want to marry a daughter into the Shen clan.
And how many sheltered young ladies had fallen for Shen Lang of Chaisang?
Shen Lang (沈郎): Lang is an old-fashioned form of address for a young man, often carrying romantic or admiring connotations.
Even though rumors among the common people portrayed him as a violent, unpredictable villain, and even though civil officials often condemned him and scholars held him in contempt, none of it could stop the imperial relatives and noble families from seeking an alliance through marriage.
Marrying her was, naturally, another shortcut to winning Shen Ce over.
At her maternal aunt's instruction, rumors about the beauty of Shen Ce's own younger sister began circulating among the people when Zhaozhao was fourteen. Her aunt hoped to pave the way for her, arrange a good marriage, and thereby strengthen the Shen family. To Zhaozhao, however, the rumors were exaggerated. Compared with her older brother, she was merely “passable.”
Before long, the rumors disappeared.
She heard Shen Ce's military supervisors say that he had once been leading his troops through a commandery when they stopped briefly at a teahouse. By coincidence, he heard that one of her maternal aunt's guards had disguised himself as a storyteller and was entertaining the patrons. The very first words out of the storyteller's mouth were, “The Shen family has a daughter named Zhaozhao, a peerless beauty whose appearance rivals the udumbara flower...”
Shen Ce rose and left. The teahouse was sealed, and the storyteller was executed in the street.
Within three days, the incident had spread throughout eleven commanderies and forty-two cities. From then on, no one dared discuss Shen Ce's younger sister in private again.
He never spoke of such things.
Three months later, she accidentally took a fall and disfigured her face.
He rushed back from the military camp in the middle of the night and nearly had a group of physicians and maids executed. She stopped him, saying that it had happened through her own carelessness and that no one else was to blame. After half a year of recuperation, a red mark of moderate size remained on her left cheek. It became particularly conspicuous in hot weather or when her emotions ran high.
After that, whenever she met anyone, she covered it with a thick layer of powder. Apart from the people at the Shen residence, no one knew about it.
As the end of the year approached, Shen Ce sent word that he would return to keep the New Year's vigil with her.
She was overjoyed. She ordered the maids to bring out lamps and candles of every kind and arrange them throughout the room. Then she took out the wooden chests where she kept her incense.
Shen Ce was convinced that he had accumulated too much bloodshed and that the things he gave her ought to be carefully chosen, each possessing the power to ward off evil. All the incense had to be blessed by eminent monks and delivered to the Shen residence at regular intervals. Gradually, she amassed several large chests of blessed incense.
On ordinary days, she could not bear to use any of it. She saved it all for when he returned home.
On New Year's Eve, she waited from daylight until nightfall. Only after the sun had set did Shen Ce finally appear.
She had hoped to see what he looked like while there was still daylight, but that wish, too, came to nothing.
The siblings sat facing each other in the room. In her eyes, he was nothing more than a blurred silhouette. There was an old saber scar across the bridge of his nose. Against his fair face, the wound lent him an air of gloom.
“Ever since I was little, I could never see clearly while staying up on New Year's Eve,” she said, unable to hide her regret.
Every New Year's Eve, she could never see the person beside her clearly.
“Things are unclean at night. It's better that you can't see them.”
Shen Ce's voice, like his face, had been injured. The wound dated back to when he was fifteen, leading a troop of cavalry through a forest ablaze in winter, a rain-soaked straw cloak draped over him as he launched a surprise attack on the enemy. The thick smoke had damaged his throat, leaving his voice impossible to describe: rough, hoarse, and low, but not deep.
The maids always said that the prince's voice frightened people, especially at night.
She did not think so.
His silhouette moved. His upper body was in motion, accompanied by a crisp sound. A sharp crack, then another. She listened intently.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
Smiling, she reached her palm toward his dark silhouette.
Several fruit pits, boiled and dried, fell into her palm.
“A tribute from the Yi people.”
Yi people (夷人): A historical term used for people regarded as outsiders or non-Han people.
His body heat lingered on them.
Her heart felt as though it had been singed.
“Turn your face this way. Let me see the injury.”
She pushed the small table aside and moved close to his legs, turning her left cheek toward him.
The red mark lay on the lower part of her left cheek. It was not large, but because her face was small, it stood out painfully. There was no grotesque scar on her skin, only redness. The injury had left her skin thinner after it healed, which was why it remained red.
How long had it been since the two of them had sat facing each other in such quiet? It had been so long since he had looked at her face this attentively.
“I heard someone say you killed a storyteller?”
“Who told you that?”
She could not very well say who it was. She was afraid he would fly into a rage and punish someone else.
Her older brother did not press her further.
Yet she felt as though she were sitting on top of a candle flame, her entire body about to catch fire. Her face was growing hot, too. Once she blushed, the mark would become even more conspicuous. Afraid he might see through her, she hastily turned her face away. “It's almost healed. It's only a small injury. Nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious?” Even his laugh was rough and raspy. “If you never marry, then it won't matter.”
“I never wanted to marry anyway. Who could afford to take Shen Ce's younger sister as a wife?” she muttered, her words carrying a hint of childish petulance.
He laughed again.
Perhaps he had given her all the laughter he had to offer for the entire year that night.
Before long, the sound of fruit shells being cracked open began again. Like the dripping of a water clock, it came at a steady, even rhythm.
It reminded her of when they were children, sitting together in a room. Back then, he had not yet thought of using incense ash to help her. Surrounded by darkness, she had been terrified. Before long, she would call out, “Gege,” and then, a little while later, call out “Gege” again. He was afraid that if he answered too often, their host would grow displeased, so he told her to stop talking and look at her book. From time to time, he would tap the wooden floor with his finger to dispel the fear in her heart.
...
When she woke again the following day, his fox-fur cloak was draped over her. In the pale morning light, she saw two white jade bowls on the small table. One was filled to the brim with peeled fruit, while the other was piled high with the hard shells.
“The Prince said you would definitely want to look at these shells, so he wouldn't let us clear them away,” a maid explained from nearby.
She leaned over the table, staring at them.
The fruit was a deep reddish-brown, and the shells were milky white. She had eaten quite a few the night before, and now, at last, she could see what they really looked like.
Later, she learned from the servants that Shen Ce had arrived inside the city before sunset on New Year's Eve. He had deliberately waited until dark to enter the residence. When she inquired more closely, she learned that he had been injured in the shoulder and did not want her to see it, which was why he had done so. Before entering her courtyard, afraid she might notice the bandages around his arm, he had even ordered the military physician to remove them and washed away the smell of blood from his body.
Not long afterward, Shen Ce captured five more cities, bringing both banks of the river under the Prince's domain.
Chaisang, where the Shen residence stood, was a strategic military stronghold, occupying a vital pass. The Emperor feared that Shen Ce's power would continue to grow until, sooner or later, he developed rebellious intentions. He therefore issued an imperial edict ordering the Shen family to move from Chaisang to the capital.
On the surface, the edict appeared to be the highest honor the Emperor could bestow. In reality, he intended to keep the Shen family's young and old alike under his control, using them as leverage against Shen Ce.
Shen Ce did not want his younger sister turned into a hostage. After accepting the edict, he brushed it aside with a perfunctory response: “Military affairs keep me occupied. I shall arrange the move on a later date.”
Her maternal aunt sent letter after letter, persuading him for an entire year. In the end, he moved the Shen residence back to Linhai Commandery, the family's ancestral home. It was a compromise, a concession that allowed both sides to save face.
After returning to Linhai Commandery, the Shen residence was expanded several times over, and the family's wealth and splendor surpassed even what they had enjoyed in the past.
Under the pretext of paying respects to the ancestors, her maternal aunt returned to the Shen household and had a long, heartfelt talk with her. She wanted Shen Zhaozhao to marry her cousin, her aunt's own son, the Emperor's Fifth Prince. This would not only bring the Shen clan and the imperial family closer together, but also help her cousin win the support of more court officials, allowing him to replace the Crown Prince in the future.
Shen Zhaozhao shook her head and politely declined.
Her maternal aunt earnestly tried to persuade her, explaining that as Shen Ce's younger sister, she had only one path open to her: an imperial marriage decree. If she did not seek an imperial decree arranging her marriage soon, she would eventually have to abide by the Emperor's choice. Any husband selected for her then would certainly be neither as suitable in age nor as well known to her as her cousin.
Her maternal aunt said many more things afterward, but Zhaozhao did not listen closely. She remembered only her aunt's vermilion lips and the words that emerged from them, each one wrapped in silk but concealing a needle, every needle piercing its mark.
After her aunt left, the box of blessed incense for that month happened to arrive as well. Zhaozhao opened it, touched the incense, then brought her fingers to her nose and inhaled its fragrance. She thought of how Shen Ce's twenty-sixth birthday was approaching.
On an impulse, she gathered a company of trusted personal guards, left Linhai Commandery, and set out for Chaisang.
The world was vast, but Chaisang was where the Shen clan ruled.
As soon as she entered the strategic stronghold of Chaisang, the guards at the checkpoints recognized the Shen family's procession of horses and knelt to welcome her.
The military camp stood along the river. Like the river itself, its walls stretched so far that they disappeared into the distance. Command banners fluttered in the wind, each bearing the character Shen.
She rode up to the camp, dismounted, and hurried straight inside without pausing for a moment, only to find that rebel soldiers were being beheaded.
More than twenty men, their hands bound and their eyes covered, were screaming and cursing Shen Ce at the top of their lungs. A flash of cold steel swept past. The soldiers raised and brought down their blades, and more than twenty heads fell to the ground in unison.
And Shen Ce sat on a raised platform not far away.
In the bitter, biting wind along the riverbank, both he and the rebel commander before him were bare from the waist up, their long robes discarded on the ground. Shen Zhaozhao knew this was her older brother's habit. Whenever he celebrated a military victory with his comrades in the camp, he did so like this.
Today was no celebration. The rebel commander before him had been his closest friend, brother, and subordinate for more than a decade. The slash across the bridge of Shen Ce's nose had been inflicted by this very man.
Their confrontation was a farewell.
Holding a wine flask in his left hand, Shen Ce poured a cup of farewell wine for the rebel commander.
Below the raised platform stood a line of generals who commanded troops. Some were young, others old, and all watched in silence.
The commander took the cup. Several times, he seemed about to beg for mercy, but each time he forced the words back down. At last, he steeled himself, tilted his head back, and poured the wine down his throat.
A flash of cold steel passed across his neck. Blood spurted out, mingled with the wine he had not yet swallowed, both pouring from his throat.
Standing below the platform, Shen Zhaozhao felt the wind carry specks of scarlet onto her skirt and shoes. Her chest rose and fell faintly as she watched her older brother grip his long sword and slowly slide it back into its sheath, then raise the sword high before him.
This military camp, these lands on both banks of the river, had all been conquered by his own hand. Even the mere thought of it sent a surge through her heart that she could scarcely contain.
She was not the only one. The assembled officers and soldiers were equally stirred, their voices rising in a thunderous roar of acclaim.
The shouts of men from the battlefield shook the very ground beneath their feet. Amid the crowd, she watched him toss his sword to the man behind him, leap down from the platform, and walk toward her.
His face was still spattered with the rebels' blood, as was his bare chest. His pupils reflected the sunlight and her figure, the killing intent not yet gone from his eyes.
He narrowed them. “Which family's young lady is this? Have you wandered into Yanwang's Hall?”
Yanwang (阎王), also known as Yanluo Wang (阎罗王), is the ruler of the underworld in Chinese folk religion and Buddhist-influenced tradition.
Everyone burst into laughter.
Who did not know? Who had not heard? This was the Prince's beloved younger sister, the one he doted on without end.
“I came looking for...” Before all those watching eyes, she smiled and deliberately called to him in a soft voice, “Shen Lang of Chaisang.”
The wind carried her words away.
No one but him could hear them clearly, because everyone was still laughing.
Someone beside him offered a white cloth, freshly soaked in ice water, to wipe the blood from his body. He did not take it. He brushed it aside with the back of his hand, and something seemed to flicker across his eyes.
Or perhaps it was only the demons of her own heart stirring, making her see what was not there.
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