August 29th, 712 A.E.

The soft trickles of the garden pond laced with the morning birdsong and the young woman’s repressed sobs. She was a delicate girl, no older than twenty, small and doe-eyed. With a heavy shawl wrapped over her body, she seemed not to feel the late summer warmth. In fact, her slender fingers trembled beneath the hem of her nightgown. As the shawl was gently removed, those fingers clutched bone white, and the trembling shivered up to the line of her bruised shoulders.

“Here,” said the old woman at her side, pointing at the bruises. She grabbed the young woman’s arm and pulled up her sleeve, brandishing the pale skin. Hard finger lines lingered. “And here. Look, my lord. And there’s more—my lord, do not make me show you. Please, we tell the truth.”

Guan Jinyue folded his fan and sighed.

“The lady hasn’t taken a proper breath since we met,” he said. “You don’t have to convince me.”

The old woman bowed her head, her silvering hair falling in loose strands from a tired bun.

“Laomeng knows these trivial matters are not for House Guan, my lord, but we’ve gone to the Provincial Council and they turned us away. The Council says the man is not of Guilin, so they can’t touch him. But my daughter will have these scars for the rest of her life. He is a vile pig—no, a—a—”

“A lump of dog shit,” supplied Jinyue.

The woman, who referred to herself as Laomeng, clapped the ground and pressed her head to the wood.

“My lord, my lord, please—Laomeng asks for justice. If that man doesn’t have another finger to lay on a woman, we could be satisfied. But anything you can do, any time you can spare…”

Jinyue beckoned a hand. A moment later, a young attendant knelt at his side. He said to the girl, “See if the doctor can free up an hour for this young woman.”

The attendant nodded and left.

Alone with the two women, Jinyue said, “The matter is not trivial for House Guan. Your protection is our responsibility. Now, you say that this man is a cousin?”

The older woman, having clasped her hands in flustered gratitude, nodded intensely. “A distant cousin. He hasn’t been in Guilin for decades. His family left after the Four Unions. But with the outside war being what it is, he’s claimed his old ties again.”

“Yet his citizenship is...?”

“In Anzhou. I believe he plans to return when the war is done.”

Jinyue tapped the edge of his fan to his chin. No wonder the Council refused to intervene in even a case as damning as rape. Guilin was a tiny, autonomous province, far outsized by the sprawling nation-state of Anzhou. The Guilin Provincial Council was a political entity presided by privileged old folk and played their cards cautiously, like pampered mice. But House Guan’s only obligation was to the wellbeing of Guilin and its people.

“Where is he staying now?”

“With my sister’s family, in Beicheng.”

“I’ll have our doctor take care of your daughter. We’ll leave afterward for Beicheng and bring the man back here. He’ll have a hearing, of course. And he’ll be given the judgment of the First Lord.”

“My lord! Laomeng cannot thank you enough.”

“There is no need, Mrs. Meng,” said Jinyue, standing. “It’s a matter of duty.”

He saw the two women through the Guan estate to their shaman-doctor, who had cleared her ward for them at the message of his attendant. On his way out, a shadow in his peripheral caught his attention. He faced the corridor. A small figure popped out from behind a hall pillar, wearing a lazily tied shirt and a wide, toothy grin—Guan Wenbo, the youngest of the four Guan siblings, and nearly the wildest. Her cropped hair had clearly not been brushed since she got out of bed, and a smear of chocolate dotted the corner of her lips. Frowning, Jinyue wondered how her breakfast crumbs had migrated to the top of her head.

“Why aren’t you at school today, Bobo?”

“I’m sick,” said the ten year old, bright-eyed as ever.

“Then why aren’t you resting?”

“I’m not that sick.”

“If you’re well enough to be tailing me, you’re well enough to be sitting in a classroom.”

Little Wenbo made a face, the corner of her mouth curling. “An-Ge said I don’t have to go today. Else I’ll get everyone else sick, you know?” Suddenly, she hopped over to Jinyue’s side and tugged at his hand, her earlier retorts replaced with excitement. “But I’m better now. Look, Jin-Ge! Touch my head. See?”

The girl was indeed coming off the high of a quick fever. Jinyue sighed at little Wenbo’s reins-free enthusiasm and started walking toward his chambers.

“Can I come with you to Beicheng?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a long trip and you’ve got work to do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You’re going to transcribe the next chapter of Modern Era and practice your zither.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Jinyue paused and peered at his little sister. With the corner of his sleeve, he wiped the chocolate smear from her face. “If you want to go to Beicheng, I’ll take you this weekend. But only if you can play me a clean Origins.”

The girl didn’t look pleased, but she sauntered off nonetheless. Jinyue imagined she had plans to procrastinate for several hours. Fortunately, the other children of the house were at school, which meant his sister had limited company to stall with. He could only hope the adults wouldn’t indulge her.  

Twenty minutes later, Jinyue returned to the wards where he found the elderly Mrs. Meng waiting. They left her daughter under the care of the Guan family doctor. Jinyue’s attendant had already prepared the horsewagon at the estate entrance, a simple darkwood vehicle led by a cinnamon mare.

The attendant drove. They followed the valley paths north, out of the central Rizhai town and surrounding village cluster. Late summer, the landscape was rich with vivid greens, the lakes and rivers their famed turquoise blue. Come autumn, a hundred colors would paint the banks and forests, the ethereal image of old heaven. Since the great wars of the Modern Era, few places in the world retained their untarnished natural beauty. The isolation of the Guilin valley, the self-sustaining ecology, the historical reverence of its beauty—these had all preserved it through the centuries of nuclear ash. Even now, seven hundred years after the world’s return to simpler time, Guilin alone held on to its innocence. No exorbitant electric luxuries, no indulgence in the cybernetic advancements of its surrounding states, no god-seeking science remaking nature. None except within the hidden chambers of the Guardian House of Guan, who sacrificed even their humanity for the protection of this vulnerable, sacred place.

It was not a large province. Guilin consisted only of three towns, and the leisurely ride from the central town to the northern Beicheng took a little under two hours. The people of Beicheng recognized the driving attendant’s pure white garments underlined with deep black and vivid maroon; though not a Guan by blood, the attendant was a member of the household and so bore their colors. An intentional practice: House Guan, after all, was not some vague and ghostly entity, but a symbol and a pillar for the people of Guilin. They dressed to be known.

The townspeople stared and whispered in curious delight. When Jinyue exited the horsewagon, several recognized him as well. A few bowed with a respectful Master Guan as he passed, following Mrs. Meng up the stairs of a wooden two-story building. At the door on the second floor, she knocked.

The door creaked open moments later, revealing the haggard face of another woman. This woman flitted sunken eyes between Mrs. Meng and Jinyue, then stiffly pulled the door further back and moved aside. With a sigh, she said, “Second door back.”

Mrs. Meng looked at Jinyue. Jinyue thanked their haggard host and found the second door back. With his attendant and Mrs. Meng at his back, he knocked.

“Excuse me. Mr…”

“Chang,” whispered Mrs. Meng. “Chang Dazhe.”

“Mr. Chang,” said Jinyue. “May we come in?”

Heavy footsteps. The door swung open. A man with short hair, a graphic shirt, and sweatpants appeared behind the frame. None of these three things were common in Guilin, whose men wore their hair bald or long, whose fashion was elegant, flowing, and simple. The man stopped in the midst of scratching his nose to glower at Jinyue.

“What do you…”

His eyes widened, spotting the elderly woman at Jinyue’s side. Then they narrowed, and he scoffed.

“What do you want?”

“My name is Guan Jinyue, of the Guardian House of Guilin. Mrs. Meng came to us this morning with her daughter, whom they say you assaulted. I must admit, the wounds looked quite severe, and that’s not yet speaking of the young lady’s mental state. The matter must be addressed, so I have to ask you to return to House Guan with me.”

The man shook his head and crossed his arms. “I didn’t touch her.”

“You lying dog—”

Jinyue placed a hand on the furious Mrs. Meng and spoke to Chang. “That will be for the First Lord of House Guan to judge.”

“That’s ridiculous. Get your police if you want to put me on trial. Get a fucking warrant. Who are you to order me around?”

In a smooth motion, Jinyue drew the curved sword at his hip. Before Chang could so much as stagger, the steel tip hovered a hair’s breadth below his chin.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“My name is Guan Jinyue,” he repeated, “of the Guardian House of Guilin. You have been accused of raping a woman of Guilin. So you will come with me.”

“This is illegal,” said the man.

“Which law do you cite?”

The man balked. “This is fucking illegal.”

“Do we have to restrain you and carry you back, Mr. Chang?”

The man glanced at Jinyue’s weapon. Cursing, he went.

They ended up restraining the man anyway, after he attempted to run once they left the building. While the attendant watched him in the wagon, Mrs. Meng brought Jinyue to their village house where the assault occurred. Jinyue took a quick survey of the shed, noting the strewn hay and the sprawled tools, the specks of blood and torn hair strands. As predisposed as he was to believe an injured, trembling girl of his province, the justice for rape was severe and he dared not supply it without evidence. Satisfied for now, he returned the group to the Guan estate.

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived. Jinyue secured the accused Chang in a private room and brought Mrs. Meng to her daughter in the medical wards. The shaman doctor Sanhai was tending to another visitor at the moment. After the treated man left, Jinyue approached her.

“How is the girl?”

“She’ll recover from the injuries. It’s always harder to say with the psychological damage.”

Jinyue nodded. “And my brother?”  

“At the college.”

“No, I meant—”

“Anjie’s at the college,” said the doctor Sanhai, raising an elegant eyebrow. “Fixing your little brother’s problems, again.” The corner of her lips curved faintly. “We’re lucky Wenzhan picked these past few peaceful years to throw his fits. Else I doubt Anjie would have had enough spare energy to deal with the invasions.”

“What did he do this time?”

“I don’t know. Anjie didn’t look happy.”

Jinyue sighed and rubbed his brow. “I’ll try to speak with him later.”

Later did not come for quite a while. It was evening by the time Anjie returned, and their younger brother still hadn’t appeared. With suppertime coinciding, the visiting women and detained men were fed before the hearing. Jinyue briefed Anjie on their case over a quick meal. Afterward, they convened in the central hall.

The hall was a ceremonially decorated place with new mahogany pillars and intricate framework. Traditional calligraphy hung in a large scroll across the northern rear wall: The mountains in our bones; the rivers in our veins; the earth in our hearts; the heavens in our souls. Despite the space that could easily hold the hundred members of the Guan household, only seven were in attendance tonight. The two women sat with the doctor Sanhai on the mat between the eastern pillars of the room, and Jinyue accompanied the detained man in the southern center. The place between the western pillars was reserved for the primary branch of the household, the Guan descendants, always held witness to the judgments of the First Lord. Right now, only two people occupied that space—Jinyue’s mute aunt, reading a book without a care for the rest of the room, and little Wenbo, picking at the corner of the sitting mat. Jinyue frowned pointedly at his sister until she finally glanced up and grinned at him, guiltily hiding her hands.

Beside Jinyue, the detained man was hunched. Perhaps worn by the day or daunted by the mood of the hall. The young woman was stiff in the presence of her assaulter, and her mother only held her hand in grim silence. The others in the room were accustomed to waiting, and so they waited.

Not for long. The shadows of the northwest archway flickered. The First Lord of House Guan entered the hall. Behind him came his righthand: a handsome and willowed beauty by the name Mu Ziyuan, who presented as neither man nor woman. With a graceful sweep of his crane white robes, Guan Anjie took his place beneath the the calligraphy script, between the characters vein and heart. His unmarred fingers rested calmly over the knees of his crossed legs, his rich hair spilling free down the straight line of his back. His unearthly metallic eyes swept the hall.

If the visitors were quiet before his entrance, a deathly stillness covered them now. Jinyue did not blame them; his eldest brother, particularly when he presented as the First Lord, was a striking presence. Perhaps even more so for the women, who knew the Guilin history and the stories of the Red Crane. But even the foreign Chang Dazhe hunched a little further. After all, it did not take stories to see that daunting beauty, to feel that oppressive, ethereal dominance.

Between the west pillars, their mute aunt closed her book. Little Wenbo sat up straighter.

Anjie’s gaze hesitated over their mat. It was a brief linger, returning to the full hall a second later.

“My brother has summarized matters for me, so there is no need for the preliminaries. I will hear Lady Yin and Chang Dazhe speak. Lady Yin?”

The elderly Mrs. Meng helped her daughter to the center of the hall. The young woman was no longer wearing her shawl, and any calm she had reclaimed throughout the day seemed to evaporate as she knelt with the accused Chang Dazhe at her back. Her shoulders began to tremble.

Her mother grasped her hand and bowed at Anjie. “My lord, please, let me speak on her behalf. My daughter has suffered—”

Anjie held up a hand. Mrs. Meng fell silent.

“Your daughter is the one he wronged, Madame Meng. The story is hers to tell.” He looked at the trembling Lady Yin. “My lady, I will not lift a hand against this man without your words.”

The trembling intensified. Mrs. Meng rubbed her daughter’s back, whispering encouragement. Jinyue looked at his brother, his expression unmoved by the pressure he exerted on this battered young woman. Yet it could not be helped: only if the victim spoke could House Guan determine the final truth of the matter. Jinyue swallowed, holding his tongue through the girl’s silence.

After a long pause, Anjie spoke with hint of softness.

“My lady, whatever the man may have taken from you, he did not take your voice as well.”

The fabric of the young woman’s shirt stretched over her shoulders. With a sharp shudder, she inhaled.

Her first words were barely audible.

“I was in the garden last night.”

They listened. The accused Chang Dazhe only stiffened and swallowed, his hands occasionally clutching white at parts of her unsteady recounting. Between the west pillars, little Wenbo began to sniff quietly. After the young lady Yin had finished in tears, Anjie glanced downcast to his right, waiting for the flawless perceptions of his righthand. Behind him, the righthand Mu Ziyuan nodded once.

Anjie turned toward the east pillars. “Doctor?”

The doctor Sanhai moved a few paces into the center and knelt. “Her injuries were consistent with everything she said. The bruising in particular—” She paused, glancing westward. They all did. A tall, broad figure had entered the hall, shirt loosely tucked and outer garment skewd. A bruise on his lower lip, a mess in his rebellious short hair. Guan Wenzhan, the third Guan brother. He sat between the west pillars next to his little sister, refusing to look at anyone except the guests. Sanhai cleared her throat and continued. “The bruising in particular suggests the young lady was forcibly held down.”

“Thank you,” said Anjie. “Madame Meng, Lady Yin, you may return to your seats.”

The women did just that. In the meantime, Jinyue eyed his little brother. At twenty, Guan Wenzhan wasn’t so little anymore. But he certainly felt like it, in the worst possible way. Even at this distance, Jinyue’s enhanced senses picked up the alcohol.

Wenzhan’s eyes flickered to Jinyue. They stayed for a brief moment before falling to the ground.

Jinyue sighed. He was nearly surprised when the accused Chang Dazhe trudged forward from his side. He hadn’t been paying attention when Anjie had asked the man to come forward.

Chang Dazhe walked to the center and stayed standing. Shoulders spread, chin lifted, he looked down at the seated Lord Guan.

“You can play at lordling all you want, but this is pointless.”

“Do you deny the lady’s words?”

“I wasn’t the one who did it.”

“He’s lying!” said Madame Meng.

Anjie held up a hand for the elderly woman again. To the accused Chang Dazhe, “You did not do what?”

“I didn’t rape her,” said Chang Dazhe.

Anjie looked toward his right, a wordless question. Behind him, the righthand Ziyuan’s clear copper eyes bore into the standing man. After a moment, Ziyuan said, “Lie.”

“It isn’t. I wasn’t even in the village last night.”

“Lie,” said Ziyuan.

“You can ask my cousin! Shit, I’ve got a woman, a real woman. Why the fuck would I want to touch a little rabbit like this one here?”

“Lie,” said Ziyuan.

The man snarled. “Fuck you. I’m not lying. I didn’t do it. And you’ve got no proof that I did, just the words of a few crying women and a—whatever the hell that one is.”

Before the man’s mouth had shut, Anjie had stood. Level, he stared down the man with cold eyes.

The accused Chang Dazhe took a step back. Jinyue could smell the fear on him.

“This—this is illegal—you’ll hang—”  

Their eyes did not follow the speed of the next motion. Jinyue only blinked, and then Anjie’s sheathed sword was in his hand, knocking clean into Chang Dazhe’s legs. With a graceless cry, Chang Dazhe fell to his knees.

The sheathed sword returned to its proper place. The Lord Guan spoke down at the shocked man.

“You breathe the air of Guilin. Here I need neither proof nor law to pass judgment.”

Anjie’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Chang Dazhe. The people of Guilin are not yours to touch.”

The blade glinted briefly under the hall’s warm light. It sank back into its sheath as quickly as it was drawn. A moment of silence passed. It appeared that Chang Dazhe was oblivious to what had happened until he suddenly screamed, clutching at his crotch. Blood seeped slowly through his sweatpants.

Anjie turned to the doctor Sanhai. “If you don’t mind, Doctor.”

Sanhai inclined her head and went to lug the screaming, flailing man out of the room. She’d give him the emergency treatment, and then he would be cockless. Of course, once the man returned to Anzhou, he could buy the procedure to regrow the lost appendage. If he had the money for it.

To the women, Anjie said while the man was still in the room, “If he has not left Guilin by the morning, I will see him out personally.”

“Th-thank you, my lord. Thank you so much.”

“It is late. You may stay the night. I will have someone escort you home tomorrow.”

His righthand Ziyuan appeared at his side and bowed at the women. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

A few more flustered thanks fell from their lips, tears from the young woman’s eyes, and then they left with Ziyuan. Anjie turned to face the remaining Guan family members. He paused for a moment, waiting for any response to what had just transpired. Tonight they were quiet, for despite the harsh maiming of the rapist, Ziyuan’s eyes caught all truths, and rape was intolerable in the Guan family halls. In their silence, Anjie said, “Get some rest.”

Aunt Baisun smiled, picked up her book, and left. Little Wenbo lingered. Jinyue went to collect his sister. But when his brother Wenzhan turned to go, Anjie spoke up again.

“Not you.”

Wenzhan paused. Sensing what was coming, Jinyue tugged little Wenbo out of the south exit.

The exit opened to a corridor, and the corridor opened to their main courtyard. Jinyue managed to pull little Wenbo into the courtyard before the girl stopped walking. He looked back at her, a faint pout and a frown etched into her expression, and then he relented to their curiosities. He pointed at the walkway of the courtyard, just beyond the corridor and the central hall.

“Over there. Sit.”

Little Wenbo beamed at him and hopped over silently. Jinyue followed, planting himself over the wooden rise of the walkway. He leaned against a nearby pillar and pursed his lips as Wenbo ignored his last word and wandered to the edge of the corridor entrance, clearly eavesdropping.

Jinyue could pick up a faint undercurrent of tone from where he sat, though not the words. It was easy to tell who was speaking. His older brother’s voice was soft, patient even when his younger brother was at his most trying. His younger brother’s voice was rough, curt, occasionally a growling mumble. He had been this way for years—nothing like the transparent, clingy boy that used to follow Anjie wherever he went and cry when Jinyue was mad at him. Lately, his delinquency and misbehavior had been getting worse. His cutting words would lash out even at Anjie every so often. Actually, in particularly at Anjie.  

Jinyue had a faint idea of what was wrong. It hurt his heart to think about it, so he promised he would not pry unless his younger brother came to him.

It was not long before hard, rushed footsteps built toward the exit. His younger brother walked past them without a glance, wearing a rigid look on his face.

“Wenzhan!”  

He didn’t turn around at Jinyue’s call. Just disappeared out of the courtyard.

A moment later, Anjie emerged as well.

“An-Ge?” said little Wenbo. “What’s wrong with Wen-Ge?”

Anjie shook his head. “I think he’s rather sick of speaking with me. Ah-Yue, will you look after him? He’s not in a good place right now.”

Jinyue nodded.

Anjie held out a hand to little Wenbo. “Ah-Bo, let’s go. It’s bedtime.”   

Their sister took Anjie’s hand and clung to his side, small hands digging into his robes and shoulders secure under a gentle touch. An image flashed through Jinyue’s memory of a younger Wenzhan doing the same. With a hidden sigh, Jinyue watched his siblings disappear around the corridor, then hurried to catch up with his tumultuous brother.