Chapter 4: No More Running

Qiu Yang heard the scream but did not stop. She turned and returned to the Zhao residence.

Zhao Jian'an had not come home yet. She put the vegetables in the kitchen, fed a stick of wood into the stove, and crouched beside the well to wash her hands.

It was fully dark when Zhao Jian'an entered. The moment he arrived, he sat on the stone stool.

Qiu Yang served dinner. After a few bites, he asked, "Nothing happened on the street today?"

"Nothing." She placed some vegetables in her bowl.

Afterward, Qiu Yang washed the dishes while Zhao Jian'an said from the table, "The constables arrested someone today—a thief who stole his way from Tonghe County all the way to the capital."

"A thief? Good that they caught him," she answered from the kitchen.

Zhao Jian'an muttered something else too softly for her to hear. She quietly dried and put away the bowls. When he needed nothing more, she returned to her room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she silently reviewed the characters Zhao Jian'an had taught her that day.

—

The next morning, Qiu Yang wrote her practice characters on paper and showed him. He scanned them and nodded. "All correct. We'll learn new ones today."

Zhao Jian'an wrote ten characters: you, I, he, come, go, walk, sit, stand, look, listen.

"You'll use these often."

Qiu Yang silently dipped her brush in ink and traced them stroke by stroke.

Most flowed more easily than she expected. She felt she had already grasped the knack of writing.

Zhao Jian'an examined the page. "Did your mother teach you before?"

"No." Still holding the brush, Qiu Yang felt awkward.

"To write like this so quickly..." he marveled, taking the brush and placing it beside the inkstone.

"Um... Uncle Zhao?"

Realizing he had lost composure, he coughed and waved her away. "That will do. Go attend to your work."

—

That evening, Qiu Yang practiced with the staff in the rear courtyard until sweat covered her face.

Zhao Jian'an emerged from his study and watched from the doorway. When she stopped, he said, "Rest."

She leaned the staff against the wall, breathing hard.

He sat on a wooden chest. "Did your mother ever teach you self-defense?"

"No. She said such skills were useless for women. If trouble came, I should run."

"Do you want to train?"

"Of course," Qiu Yang answered without hesitation.

Curious, he asked, "Why?"

She considered. "I've run enough."

Zhao Jian'an said nothing. He stood, took the staff, and corrected her. "That turn was slow. Move your waist first and let your feet follow."

He demonstrated once and returned it. Qiu Yang repeated the movement, this time as smooth as flowing water.

The more she practiced, the more powerful and joyful she felt. She spun several times without pause. When she finally tired and stopped, Zhao Jian'an was gone.

She stared at the closed study door, tightened her grip, and began again once her heartbeat steadied.

—

Several days later, Qiu Yang went to buy grain. Carrying a cloth sack toward the shop, she slowed at the mouth of that alley.

It was silent. She stood there long enough to confirm there was no danger, then continued.

The grain shop was packed with every kind of person. She forced her way into the crowd and, while queuing, overheard two women.

"I heard the young heir of the Gu family caused trouble on the street again."

"The empress dowager's grandnephew?"

"Yes. A few days ago he beat someone nearly to death! The family wanted to report him, but what office would dare accept a case against Heir Gu?"

"Who did he beat? How did it become so serious?"

"They say it was a thief who stole from him."

The line moved, carrying Qiu Yang beyond hearing.

At last her turn arrived. She placed her sack and coins on the counter. "Shopkeeper, ten jin of rice."

The smiling shopkeeper weighed it and took her money. Qiu Yang hoisted the sack and left.

After walking some distance, she stopped at a secondhand bookstall. Crouching, she browsed until she found a thin booklet with a saber on its cover. Inside, illustrations showed a man practicing saber techniques.

"How much?" she asked eagerly.

The old vendor glanced at her. "Five copper coins."

She paid, rolled the booklet, and tucked it into the rice sack.

Back home, she put away the rice, sat at her table, and read it. The dozen or so pages showed only one sequence, from a horizontal cut through the finishing stance.

Disappointed when it ended, she closed it and hid it beneath her pillow.

At dinner, Zhao Jian'an asked, "What have you been practicing alone lately?"

"What you taught me." She kept her head down as she ate.

"Good. You haven't practiced anything else at random, have you?"

"No," she answered vaguely.

After eating, she washed the bowls. When the water fell silent, she returned to the table. "Uncle Zhao, may I ask something?"

"What?"

"You said my strength was innate. How did you know?"

Holding his tea bowl, Zhao Jian'an answered, "Your mother once carried you onto the stage. You were four or five. You picked up a stool and put it onstage before two grown stagehands could reach it."

Qiu Yang stared. "I don't remember."

"Naturally. You were tiny. As it happened, I attended that performance."

She did not know what to say.

That night, she tossed between facing the wall and staring at the window.

Had Zhao Jian'an truly only watched several of her mother's performances? She doubted it. Their relationship still felt impossible to fathom.

No—how could she think that? Zhao Jian'an had saved her life. What sort of person questioned her savior this way?

—

The next day, while splitting wood, Qiu Yang heard voices beyond the neighboring wall. They were quiet, but the courtyard was still enough that she could understand when she pressed close.

"Did you hear? Fighting started again in the north."

"With whom? Northern Di?"

"Yes, around the Far North."

"The place Qiu Chengye used to defend?"

"Exactly. That Qiu Chengye brought such evil upon everyone. He's been dead so long, yet the place still knows no peace."

Qiu Yang's axe stopped. She memorized every word and asked during dinner, "Uncle Zhao, I heard the Far North is still at war."

His chopsticks paused. "Who told you?"

"People outside."

He considered. "The Northern Di attack from time to time. None has become a major battle, but they never completely stopped."

"If Qiu Chengye hadn't defended the Far North, none of this would have happened, would it?"

Zhao Jian'an looked at her. "Without Qiu Chengye, there would have been a Xia Chengye or someone else. The Northern Di coveted that territory for years. Qiu Chengye only accelerated matters."

Unsure how to respond, she finally said, "Mother never told me about the Far North."

He seemed about to speak, then swallowed the words. "Your mother had reasons for what she chose not to tell you."

After dinner, he brought a sheet from his study bearing five place names: Far North, Bluestone Crossing, Tonghe County, Pingyuan Town, and the capital. Beneath each, he had neatly marked its direction.

"Learn these along with your characters. Then, when you travel, you'll know north from south and east from west."

Qiu Yang traced the strokes of Pingyuan Town. "Is this the place nearest the border?"

"Yes." He paused. "It borders directly on the Far North."

Under the lamp, Qiu Yang read the paper once again.