Chapter Text
It was said at that time, all over the province, that boys are born facing inward, while girls are born facing outward. From the first moments of their lives they had a path under their feet, leading to a predetermined fate : boys serving their family, venerating their ancestors and bringing honour to their fathers ; girls leaving their families behind for their husbands’, bearing sons and taking care of the homes that had welcomed them in after the wedding.
My four older brothers were all born facing inward and, as the midwife said, « all with bright open eyes ». I, however, was not. And no matter how auspicious the circumstances of my birth were, my father would not forget that I came into this world facing a path that would lead me away from my duty. As a retired war hero who, through his skills as a warrior, had earned his poor family enough to buy wide mulberry fields, he had grown superstitious, believing that the luck and honour fate brought him could be taken away at any moment. Even with four promising sons, he saw my birth as a sign that his luck might be turning.
I was given the name Ping, meaning peaceful, because I almost never cried as an infant. My mother would often speak fondly of my first years, describing my delicate nature and wits that impressed her right away... and those words would cause my father to sink into silent disapproval. While I was an absolute joy for my mother, as soon as I was put in the hands of the same tutor as my brothers, it became apparent that I wasn't cut from the same cloth.
I was undeniably dextrous, but lacking in strength – I would never make a good soldier, like the first born. I was a fast learner, but struggled to remember the unending philosophical writings I was given – I wasn't cut out to be a scholar, like the second born. I obeyed the religious teachings necessary to maintain ancestor worship, but incense smoke made me break out in hives if I was exposed to it for too long – I'd never be a priest, like the third born. And finally, no matter how articulate and versed in etiquette I became, my good heart made me hate the vicious nature of commerce – the path my fourth brother had chosen as a merchant was closed to me as well.
My father couldn't deny that I possessed useful skills, but he saw in the boy I was the failed man he thought I would become, unfit to follow in his footsteps. And while that fact always pained me more than I'd like to admit, it meant that I was left to my own devices more often than my brothers ever were – few expectations were placed on me and I was free to explore my little world.
The house was a large and pleasant one, far from the busy streets of cities and surrounded by rows and rows of mulberry trees that always swayed in the wind before storms. Right next to the house was the workshop, the heart of my father's wealth. I quickly became acquainted with the workers who took care of the silkworms and unravelled the cocoons into the fine silk threads that would be woven to be sold. They were all women, and all of them had worked with silk their whole life.
The younger ones tended to the worms, making sure they were fed and watching them close themselves up in their little white cage. The ones who were already mothers prepared and wove the thread with skilful hands. Lastly, the ones whose skin was wrinkled would sacrifice their old fingers boiling the cocoons to kill the worm inside and unravel the precious threads without breaking them. All those hours spent watching them work, helping them untangle threads or cleaning the looms, were moments of joy stolen in between the lessons I was given and the meals my father made all his sons attend. When wealthy customers came to the house to negociate and trade with my father, he had us dress up and instructed us on how to behave around those men. To be respectful but imposing, to prove your worth by asserting yourself and to demonstrate your honour by any means possible. Those empty shows of strength bore me to tears and I snuck away as soon as I could, often finding refuge in my nurse's arms.
Min was the midwife that helped me and my brothers into the world, and the one who cared for us when our mother was busy managing the estate. However, I was the only one to stay close to her as I grew up, often spending my evenings alongside her, listening to any tale she'd tell me or helping her around the garden. But those years of relative peace wouldn't last, as I slowly became a teenager and the last remaining hope my father had of seeing me grow up into a tall, strong man vanished. I kept a small frame and delicate appearance as I entered adulthood, attracting the mockery of my peers.
Even my brothers wouldn't tire of reminding me of how dainty I looked every time we'd go to the nearby city. They'd threaten to buy me women's robes and make me walk in the streets with them, predicting that all the available bachelors in town would chase me, convinced that I was a courtesan. I always scoffed at their comments, retorting that none of them would be chased by any woman without our father's money to motivate them. In secret, however, I would let my thoughts wander along the lines of men's bodies.
I didn't think much of it at first – I thought admiring a man's strength and beauty wouldn't prevent me from fulfilling the 'marital duties' I had heard of. That was before I confided in Min about this, and the fear that spread on her face told me more than her words ever could. She didn't reject me, which, as I found out later, was a rare blessing. In hushed tones, she explained how these passions had to be concealed, for fear that they might attract hatred and distrust. Something in Min's eyes spoke of recognition that night and, years later, I found myself wondering about the young farm girl she'd been and the secrets she had to keep alone.
My torments didn't end even once I was done growing into a man. The next few years yielded their share of hardships, with two of my brothers leaving the house to pursue instruction in the big city and my mother expiring in her sleep, taken by a fever with a quarter of our workers. I mourned her as tradition demanded, placing her at the side of our ancestors and ignoring the welts forming on my hands as I lit the incense. My father didn't shed a tear and neither did my brothers – I blinked mine away without judging them too harshly. My brothers weren't shown as much tenderness by her and my father had simply been married to her out of duty, as his parents had decided. I wondered how they remembered her in the months following the ceremony. Was she an honorable figure of the household, a distant woman who simply shared their existence, some kind of fond memory? For me, she was the discrete imprint her knees had left in the floorboards, sitting for hours and hours, surrounded by her children, keeping the house's financial records in silence as we slept. Soon, I placed my own knees in the softened wood, as I was the only son who'd spent enough time with her to understand the intricacies of bookkeeping.
The flu had slowed down the workshop's production, but I managed to keep it afloat by hiring new girls from a nearby village, giving a small raise to the older workers who'd have to teach them the intricacies of silk-weaving. However, no matter how well I did, I could see my father growing more and more worried. He might not have loved his wife, but she was an anchor to him, someone he could rely on. In the months following her death, I saw him praying to his ancestors more and more often, terrified that some twist of fate would come take all he had left from him. He was so absorbed by his own fears that Min and I had to take over a number of his duties - among other things, arranging marriages for my brothers. We met with the town's matchmaker often, discussing the virtues and qualities of my brothers as well as the wealth of my father's estate. At first, she seemed like more of a fortune teller, shrowded in mystique and feared by even the wealthiest families. The ritual of pleasanteries exchanged over a cup of strong tea reminded me of the complex offerings made to deities, as a way to coax their goodwill before asking anything of them. I soon learned the steps of that conversational dance, picking up on the subtelties of matchmaking - what made a bride more desirable and why, how to negotiate a better price, which families would be most grateful... Soon enough, all four of my brothers had a good match lined up for them, fitting their temperament and profession. The matchmaker several times asked me when she'd need to look for the precious pearl that would be my bride - I deflected every time, protesting that I was still too young, if only by a little, and too busy with the estate's affairs to worry about my own. The truth was, the more I looked at the young girls presented as desirable, obedient, demure wives, the more I was convinced that I could never be content at a woman's side.
For a moment I entertained celibacy - my father had four sons that would soon be married and have sons of their own, surely he didn't need his fifth child to also be bringing children into the world. But navigating the heartless world of matchmaking made me realise that rumours travelled fast, and that once one child from a family was stained, the entire lineage was as good as pestilent. I witnessed merchants losing both wealth and status because it was discovered that their daughter had not remained pure for her future husband, mothers begging the matchmaker to find a bride for their youngest and be rejected because their oldest son was found to be infertile. I knew that if I remained unmarried, my father, my brothers and their children would suffer from my own reputation. Plus, I couldn't imagine how my father would react if he suspected what I knew about myself. Min always tried to reassure me in hushed tones - many a man had married a woman he didn't care for and lived a happy life nonetheless, she said. But once she left my room to let me sleep, I always stared up, past the ceiling, past the night sky, peering into a future of lies and pretences.
I didn't dare pray to my ancestors for a way out of this impasse. Every time I walked into their shrine, I wondered if the webs of swollen skin that appeared on my hands were a sign that they knew I was hiding something from them. Later, I would wonder if it was them warning me of the disaster to come.
During the next summer, heavy, torrential rain fell on the entire province. The serpentine river we used to water the mulberry trees swelled and overflowed, flooding the fields. We had to watch from our house as the roots rotted in the soil. During this season, my father welcomed most of our workers into our house when theirs were damaged by the rain. We would sleep with them in our rooms, huddling close together, shivering and wondering what would become of us. The worms were almost wiped out when the trees stopped producing leaves, and soon the ostentatious meals my father would serve on festive days turned to meager bowls of rice, with mushrooms on the good days. We barely talked about the disaster, outside of discussing logistics. It surrounded us so completely that we felt it would be useless to mention it. The sound of rain continuously hitting our roof was conversation enough.
I knew well enough how bad our situation had gotten – I was the only one with his nose in the accounting book. I tried to devise solutions : use the last of the silk threads we had, even the weaker ones, to weave cheaper cloth and sell it – sending Yang, my merchant brother, further and further away to see if anyone would buy the heaps of more expensive silk nobody could afford here – applying the workers’ skills to other tasks. And while these were all mildly successful, nothing could do more than sustain us for another week. When the rain finally relented, I had almost forgotten the colour of dawn.
All of my brothers had to come home to help rebuild the fields, abandoning their duties for the sake of our father. Maybe for mine, too. I could see in their worried glances that they noticed the dark circles under my eyes and exhausted bend in my back. Soon, I could see that they were trying to lighten my burden – taking on some of my chores, urging me to sleep longer and even cooking for me, which warmed my heart no matter how terrible the results were. We were still deprived, but I was more grateful for these quiet acts of love than I’d ever been for our previous wealth. Our father, however, was more withdrawn and cold than ever. His age and the weakness brought on by the deluge had caused him to retreat into his devotions so intensely that he almost exclusively talked to our ancestors, kneeling for long hours at their shrine, burning more incense than we could afford. It seemed like he was barely aware of my brothers’ return, and once or twice he called me by my mother’s name as I was bent over the house’s accounts. I knew he felt ashamed of losing everything he had gained through his hard work and devotion to the Emperor – maybe he couldn’t accept it, locking his mind in a world that only existed in his memory.
After weeks of disaster and months of hardships, I could barely handle the sight of our emaciated workers. Each step forwards, every tree replanted seemed to bring another small misery. Planks rotting under our feet, parasites invading the fields, fallen trees blocking the merchants’ caravans for days… I knew that even if we could withstand it, I would never see my father smile as brightly as he did, and my brothers’ children would know the life he did everything to spare them from. No matter how harshly I’d been treated, no matter how alone I’d felt here, I couldn’t simply watch as every day stretched out before me, full of broken hopes and unfulfilled promises.
As I walked along the streets I used to run down as a child, fleeing my brothers’ threats, I passed the matchmaker’s house once again. She politely greeted me, but didn’t ask whether I’d need a bride soon, as she used to. She knew we couldn’t pay for another wife, even if she respected us too much to spread word of our misfortune, and poison any future arrangements we could make. I glanced at the stalls, walking through the market, noticing that many of the daughters I’d previously seen were gone. Married off far away, more valuable as a bride than as a pair of hands. My thoughts wandered to the beautiful silk gowns we couldn’t sell, to the ledgers my brothers’ wives would know how to keep, to Yang who would undoubtedly know what to do with a chest full of riches sent in exchange for a bride. When I crossed our house’s threshold, my decision was made. If I couldn’t save my family’s honour as my father’s son, I’d do it as his daughter.