Chapter 1: The Night the Hou Mansion Fell

The rain had fallen all night, and the clay pot on the medicine stove was still bubbling.

"Miss! The front courtyard is on fire!"

Chunxing burst through the door. The lantern in her hand had gone out, and oil leaked through her fingers. Her face was smeared with black ash, and her voice shook violently. "The Master... he said... he told you not to go out. Bolt the door!"

Chu Wan slammed her book shut on the desk and looked up. "Where is the fire?"

"The west wing, by the woodshed."

"The west wing is three courtyards away from the main hall." Chu Wan coughed twice—a deep-seated ailment she’d carried since the womb; she spent ten months of every year coughing. "How could smoke from the woodshed reach the pharmacy?"

Chunxing froze.

The sound of the rain couldn't drown out another noise. Metal clashing against bluestone. One beat, then another. Rhythmic. A crowd.

Chu Wan rolled up her sleeves, revealing wrists so thin you could count the bones. She pulled open a drawer under the desk, fished out a small paper-cutting knife, and shoved it into Chunxing's hand.

"Go get my brother."

"Miss—"

"Run."

Chunxing had taken three steps out before she turned back to speak. At that moment, the door was kicked open from the outside.

Chu Chongshan stormed in, drenched. The hem of his black Marquis robes was soaked to a deep ink, clinging to his legs. He held a sword, and something was dripping from the tip. It wasn't rain.

"Wan-niang." He stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. "Come with Father."

Chu Wan looked at him. For thirteen years, whenever her father entered this pharmacy, he always stopped at the threshold, shook the rain off his umbrella, and asked, "Is the medicine bitter today?"

Today, he didn't shake the umbrella.

"Father, there is blood on your sword."

Chu Chongshan didn't acknowledge the comment. He stepped inside in two strides, gripped her wrist—his hand was as ice-cold as if it had just been pulled from a well—and dragged her to the medicine cabinet. He yanked the cabinet door open, revealing a wall behind it with one loose brick.

"There is a passage in here that leads to the dry well in the back alley," he whispered, his voice strained. "Get inside. No matter what you hear, do not make a sound. Do not come out until dawn."

"What about Mother?"

"Your mother is in the main hall."

"And my brother?"

Chu Chongshan didn't answer.

Chu Wan’s nails dug into the back of his hand. "Where is my brother?"

"...In the Old Madam's room." Chu Chongshan’s voice sounded like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. "I am going to get him now, then I will come for you. Wan-niang, be good."

She didn't move. She stuffed the worn, dog-eared medical text into the cabinet and looked up. "You'll leave from here, and you'll come back through here, right?"

Chu Chongshan looked at her. There was something in his eyes that Chu Wan couldn't understand then, but would understand many years later—it was the look of a man being split in half.

He reached out and pressed a finger to her forehead.

"Yes."

Then he turned and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

The moment the door closed, Chu Wan clamped the paper-cutting knife between her teeth.

She pushed the brick aside and crawled in. The hidden compartment was so narrow she had to move sideways. The gaps between the bricks were the width of a finger, and the scent of rain and blood poured inside. She pressed herself against the wall and peered out.

The first thing she heard were screams. Not her father's, but waves of shouting crashing in from the direction of the main hall.

"Chu Chongshan, Marquis of Jing'an, has colluded with the Northern Di and conspired with the enemy state. The evidence is irrefutable—"

The voice was shrill and piercing, like an opera singer.

"By imperial decree, seize the estate!"

The rain in the courtyard was a white blur. Lanterns had been knocked to the ground; a few were still lit, floating in the water like ghostly fires. Men in black poured through the moon gate. They weren't soldiers—soldiers make noise when they march. These men moved in silence, and they killed without shouting.

She saw the old steward, Fu Bo, rush out from under the veranda, brandishing a wood-chopping knife.

"The Marquis treated you all with kindness—"

He didn't finish. Two blades pierced through his chest, and when they emerged, something was clinging to the tips.

Fu Bo collapsed face-down onto a lantern, and the flame vanished with a soft *phut*.

Chu Wan shoved her hand into her mouth and bit down. She could hear her teeth grinding against bone.

The doors to the main hall opened.

Her mother was dragged out by two elderly servants, dressed in her nightclothes, hair disheveled, clutching her brother in her arms. Her brother was only five, wearing a small padded jacket with no shoes on his feet, kicking uselessly in the rain.

"Mama, I'm cold," the boy said.

"You're not cold." Her mother pressed him closer to her chest. "Mama's holding you. You're not cold."

That shrill voice rang out again: "Lady of Anguo, the imperial decree is here! Why do you not kneel?"

Her mother looked up. There were no tears on her face.

"My husband is the Marquis of Jing'an," she said. "My son is the Heir of the Jing'an Marquis's Manor. If you wish to kill, then kill. Why hide your faces behind a fake decree?"

"Presumptuous—"

"Presumptuous?" Her mother let out a short laugh that dissipated quickly in the rain. "Go back and tell your master that when the blood of the Chu family is spilled, it will stain his entire lineage red."

A man in black stepped forward, reaching to snatch the boy.

Her mother backed away, retreating to the edge of the steps until there was nowhere left to go. She looked down at her son, her voice barely a whisper: "Close your eyes, little brother."

The boy closed them.

Holding him tight, her mother turned and threw herself headlong into a veranda pillar.

Blood flowed down the pillar, diluted by the rain, washing down the steps one by one.

Chu Wan didn't scream. She bit through the palm of her hand; the blood in her mouth tasted salty.

Suddenly, a long howl erupted from the main hall.

It was her father. He had fought his way out from somewhere, drenched in blood, his sword snapped in half. He drove the blade into one man's waist and swung the hilt into another's face.

"Chu Chongshan!" the shrill voice screamed. "Of the one hundred and thirty-seven members of the Chu household, not one shall escape today!"

"Not escape?" Her father laughed in the rain. "I alone am worth thirty of you. Is that enough?"

He killed seven, maybe eight—Chu Wan lost count. In the end, he was pinned to the doorframe of the main hall by a spear. The weapon tore through his shoulder, nailing him beneath the plaque that read *Jing'an Marquis's Manor*.

He looked up at the plaque and said, "This sign... it's hanging crooked."

Then the blades fell.

The pharmacy door was pushed open.

From inside the hidden compartment, Chu Wan watched a boot step inside. The man wasn't tall and walked with a limp, his soles caked in mud and blood. He carried a knife, the tip scratching a white line across the blue bricks.

"Smells like medicine in here," he called out. "It's a pharmacy."

Someone replied from outside: "That sickly brat of the Marquis's house spends all year on medicine; he lives in this section. Search it thoroughly."

"Sickly brat," the man spat. "A sickly brat isn't worth my time flipping cabinets for."

He slammed his knife onto the table and began to ransack the room. Drawers were ripped out one by one, porcelain bottles shattered on the floor, and medicinal powders puffed up, making him cough. He flung open the cabinet doors and poked inside with his knife.

Chu Wan was inside the wall; the tip of the blade was three inches from her nose.

"Empty," the man cursed. He turned to leave, but his foot slipped.

On the floor was the medicinal soup she had splashed there half an hour ago.

He braced himself against the medicine desk, his hand landing squarely on an open porcelain jar.

Chu Wan counted in her head: *One, two.*

The jar contained Aconite Powder she had ground the day before, still unsifted.

She pushed the brick aside and crawled out.

The man was leaning over, rubbing his eyes, and whipped around at the sound.

Chu Wan didn't run. She walked to the desk, picked up the porcelain jar, and flung the remaining powder directly into his face.

The man let out a muffled cry, covering his face as he recoiled, knocking over a row of medicine shelves.

Chu Wan followed him, grabbed a heavy iron pestle used for grinding medicine, and brought it down with both hands onto the back of his knee.

The sound of the bone snapping was dull.

He dropped to his knees.

"You little—"

She slammed the iron pestle into his mouth. Teeth and blood flew, splattering against the wooden cabinet doors.

She wrenched the knife from his hand. It was heavy; she had to use both hands.

The man lay on his back, his eyes burned shut by the powder, his hands clawing blindly at the floor.

Chu Wan stepped over him, straddled his chest, and pointed the blade at his throat.

"I recognize you," she said suddenly.

The man gasped, "You..."

"Three years ago, you accepted a load of charcoal at my back door." Chu Wan's voice was steady—too steady for a fourteen-year-old. "Fu Bo paid you double, telling you it was cold and you should get home early."

The man froze.

"Today, you came to kill my entire family," Chu Wan said. "Today, I kill only you. That seems fair."

The knife pressed down.

Blood sprayed up, hot, coating half her face. She sat atop the dead man, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hold the hilt, but after a moment, she pulled the blade out.

She wiped her face, smearing it with blood.

The rain had eased. The lanterns in the courtyard were all out, except for the glow coming from the main hall.

Chu Wan climbed out the window and hugged the wall, creeping east from the pharmacy's back corridor. She knew this path; in thirteen years, she had walked this courtyard ten thousand times. Even with her eyes closed, she knew which bricks were loose and which pillars provided cover.

At the entrance to a narrow alley, she stopped.

Someone was ahead.

She shrank back under a cluster of banana leaves.

Lantern light spilled through the moon gate, casting three silhouettes. The man in the center held an umbrella—green fabric, bamboo ribs. Beneath his straw raincoat, the hem of a robe was visible, embroidered with the subtle patterns found only in the Imperial Palace.

"Is it done?" he asked. His voice wasn't loud; it was slow and leisurely, the characteristic tone of a palace eunuch.

"Yes, Eunuch. One hundred and thirty-seven souls, counted three times."

"And the youngest?"

"Which youngest?"

"Chu Chongshan has a daughter," the man with the umbrella said. "The sickly one. Supposedly she spends ten months of the year bedridden."

The assassin paused. "Reporting to the Eunuch, we heard that girl died three months ago. The manor held a funeral."

"Held a funeral?" The man laughed softly. "You know Chu Chongshan better than I do. If he truly wanted to hide a daughter, would he hold a loud, public funeral?"

Silence fell over the rain for a moment.

"Go back and search the pharmacy area again," the man ordered. "I want to see them alive or dead. If you don't pull the weed by the roots, it will grow back in the spring breeze—I didn't make that up, it's the word from above."

"Yes, sir."

The footsteps dispersed.

Chu Wan crouched under the banana leaves, her nails digging into the mud.

She heard the man with the umbrella mutter to himself, his voice light, as if reciting a ledger:

"The Jing'an Marquis's Manor. Collusion with the enemy. Execution of the entire clan. By tomorrow morning, this decree will be posted at all twelve gates of the Capital City."

He paused.

"What a pity. Chu Chongshan died without ever knowing who 'found' that letter of collusion for him."

Chu Wan looked up.

A raindrop fell from the tip of a banana leaf, landing on her forehead—exactly where her father had pressed his finger.

She tightened her grip on the paper-cutting knife.