CHAPTER 3: THE OFFER
The gates of the Han manor were heavy, carved with cranes and clouds. They swung shut behind us with a final, echoing thud that sounded too much like a coffin closing.
I walked beside my mother, her hand still in mine, the cart with our trunks rattling on the cobblestones. The morning air was cool on my face. I should have felt free. I should have felt victorious. I had chosen. I was leaving.
Instead, I felt hollow. And I felt the pressure behind my eyes, that strange, building feeling that came right before a vision.
We had only gone ten steps down the street when Mother stopped.
She didn't say anything at first. She just stood there, looking back at the gates, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, a sound so tired it made my chest ache. Not the sigh of a woman who won. The sigh of a mother.
"JiāYì," she said quietly. "Wait here a moment."
"Mother?"
She let go of my hand and turned around. Walked back to the gates. And knocked.
The gatekeeper opened it, surprised. "My lady?"
"Tell the Prime Minister I would like to speak to him. And the children. All of them. One more time."
I stared at her. What is she doing? We just left. We won. Why is she going back?
Then it hit me — not a thought, a vision, slamming into my head so hard I swayed on my feet.
I saw Mother standing in the hall again, not angry now, but speaking calmly. Offering something. I saw my brothers' faces, conflicted, tempted. I saw MěiLíng's eyes, sharp and calculating, hiding fear. I saw Father's face, purple with rage.
And I saw myself, watching it all, and thinking: She's doing this for them. Even after they chose him. She's still their mother.
The vision vanished as fast as it came, leaving me breathless and dizzy. My hand flew to the wall beside me to steady myself. What is happening to me? The fear was real and cold. Am I sick? Is this some kind of illness? But I saw the divorce before it happened. Every word. And it happened. Exactly.
I forced myself to stand straight as the gates opened again.
---
They came out to the courtyard. All of them. Father first, his face still pale from the mistress reveal, his pride in tatters but his back still straight, that Prime Minister mask glued back on. Then my brothers — Chén stiff and wary, Lì trying to look casual and failing, Míng clinging to MěiLíng's sleeve like she was the only thing keeping him upright. And MěiLíng herself, composed again, her tears dried, watching Mother like a hawk watches a rabbit that might suddenly grow teeth.
Mother stood in the middle of the courtyard, not as a wife, not as a victim, but as a Su daughter. Her voice was clear, carrying in the morning air.
"I have been thinking," she said. "As I walked away. And I realized I was being unfair."
Father scoffed, a short, bitter sound. "Unfair? You just humiliated me in front of my children, RuìXī, and now you come back to talk about fairness? You want to take my children from me now? Is that it?"
Mother's eyes flashed. The tiredness was gone, replaced by something hard and bright. "Take your children?" she said, and her voice was like a whip. "You have a mistress in a house on Willow Street, ZhìXuān. You have a two-year-old son you hid from your wife and your children. You dare stand there and tell me not to take my children? You lost the right to say that the moment you brought another woman into our marriage bed!"
Father flinched as if she'd struck him. Chén looked at the ground. Lì's mouth fell open. Míng just looked confused and scared.
Mother didn't give him time to recover. She looked at my brothers. "Chén. Lì. Míng. You chose to stay with your father because you believe his household is better for your future. For your exams, your connections, your comfort. I understand that. I do not blame you for choosing what you think is safe."
Chén's jaw tightened. He looked away, ashamed.
"But," Mother continued, her voice softening just slightly, "I am going to the Zhao estate. You know what the Zhao family is. You know what the Regent Prince's household means in this kingdom. It means discipline. It means training. It means the best tutors in military strategy, in governance, in horsemanship, in swordsmanship. It means connections that even your father, as Prime Minister, cannot give you. It means a future."
Lì frowned. "Mother, what are you saying?"
"I am saying," Mother said, "that I am giving you a choice. All of you." Her eyes moved to MěiLíng, and her expression softened, just slightly, with a sadness that was real. "Even you, Ling'er. I raised you from the time you were seven years old. You called me Mother. You slept in my bed when you had nightmares. I will not pretend that means nothing, no matter what happens between us now."
MěiLíng's eyes widened, just a fraction. Genuine surprise flickered there, and something else I couldn't name. Guilt, maybe. Or just calculation.
"If you want to come," Mother said, "you can come. Stay for a few days. A week. See the estate. See the training grounds. Meet the tutors. There are rules in the Zhao household. The Zhao men are strict. There is no sleeping past dawn. There is no skipping lessons. There is no… coddling." Her gaze flicked to MěiLíng, then back to my brothers. "But it is good for your future. Not just JiāYì's. Yours. All of you."
Silence. Heavy, thinking silence.
Father was the first to react, and he laughed. It was an ugly, broken sound. "You are unbelievable. You think you can just… what? Buy my children with promises of swords and horses? After everything?"
"I am not buying them," Mother said evenly. "I am offering them an opportunity. They can say no. They are old enough to choose, you said so yourself. Or do your words only matter when they benefit you?"
Chén spoke, his voice careful, the scholar weighing every word. "Mother… the Zhao estate. That is Regent Prince Zhào Chányán's household. He is known to be… severe. He does not tolerate weakness. He does not tolerate mistakes."
"He does not tolerate laziness," Mother corrected. "There is a difference, Chén. He tolerates weakness if you are willing to work to become strong. He was the one who offered to take in JiāYì as his own daughter. He said any child of General Su's line is welcome in his house, and any child I call mine."
I felt another flicker building behind my eyes, and I braced myself for it.
It came — I saw the Zhao estate courtyard, big and stark and clean. My brothers were there, in plain training clothes, sweating and exhausted, their faces red from the sun. But they were laughing together. Chén was actually smiling, a real smile, not his polite scholar smile, as a Zhao instructor corrected his sword stance. Lì was showing off a sword form to another instructor, proud and focused in a way I'd never seen him. Míng was sitting on a fence, eating a peach, watching them with wide, admiring eyes, no tears.
And I saw MěiLíng, standing alone under a tree at the edge of the courtyard, watching them. Not smiling. Not crying. Her face was blank. Carefully blank. She was not part of it. She was outside it, and she knew it. And she was afraid.
The vision vanished, and I gasped softly. I pressed my fingers to my temple. It's real. It's all real. I'm seeing things that haven't happened yet. And I saw her afraid. She's afraid of the Zhao family. Of a place where tears don't work.
Lì looked torn. I could see it on his face. The Zhao estate meant the best sword masters in the kingdom. Lì loved swords, even if he pretended to only care about poetry and pretty girls. "But… Father's connections… for the exams…"
"Are political," Mother said. "The Zhao connections are military. And in Xiānguó, the military always wins in the end. You know this, Lì. You are smart enough to know this, even if you pretend not to be."
Míng tugged on MěiLíng's sleeve. "Ling jiejie, what is the Zhao estate? Is it scary? Will they hit us?"
MěiLíng knelt down to his level, her voice gentle, her hand stroking his hair. "It's a very big, very strict place, Míng. They wake up before the sun. They train all day until their hands bleed. There are no sweets after dinner. No stories at bedtime. It's not a place for little boys."
Míng's face crumpled. "I don't want to go! It sounds horrible!"
She smiled and hugged him tight. "Then you don't have to, sweet boy. I'll keep you safe here."
I watched her, and I knew, with the certainty of my visions, that she was lying. Not about the strictness. About the safe. She wanted him to stay because if he stayed, she controlled him.
Father crossed his arms, trying to regain control. "My sons will not be going to the Zhao estate to be turned into soldiers. Chén is a scholar. He will take the imperial exams. He will become a minister, like me. He does not need to learn how to swing a sword like a common foot soldier."
"Every official should know how to swing a sword," Mother said, and there was steel in her voice. "Your father knew that. That's why he made you learn, even though you hated it and complained every day. Or have you forgotten that too, along with everything else?"
Father flinched. Again.
Chén was quiet for a long moment, thinking. I could see the scholar in him weighing options, advantages, disadvantages, his father's pride versus his own future. "A few days," he said slowly. "Just to see. To understand what Mother is offering. To observe their training methods. That would not be… disloyal to Father. Would it? It would be educational. For my exams. For governance."
Father looked at him, and for a second, his mask cracked completely. He looked hurt. Betrayed. "Chén—"
"I would come back, Father," Chén said quickly, seeing the look on his face. "Of course I would come back. This is my home. But… to understand the Zhao family's methods. For my exams. It would be… useful."
Lì looked at Chén, then at Mother, then at Father. He made his decision. "If Chén goes… I want to go too. Just to see the training grounds. I've heard the Zhao cavalry is the best in the kingdom. Just to see. I'll come back too, Father, I promise."
Míng looked up at MěiLíng, scared and confused. "Are you going, Ling jiejie?"
MěiLíng was very still. I could see her thinking, fast, the calculations running behind her eyes. If she said no, she would look afraid, weak, and she would lose her hold on the boys while they were gone. If she said yes, she would be walking into the lion's den — the Zhao family valued honesty and strength and discipline above all, and she survived on charm and tears and manipulation. But if the boys went without her… she would lose her influence over them. She would be left here with Father, while they were there, possibly bonding with me, possibly seeing her for what she was.
She smiled, a perfect, brave, self-sacrificing smile. "If my brothers are going, then I will go too. To look after them. To make sure they eat properly and don't get hurt. To make sure they come home safe. Someone has to be the sensible one, right?"
Mother nodded, as if she expected this exact answer. "Good. Then it's settled. You will come for three days. You will follow the Zhao rules while you are there. You will wake at dawn. You will train. You will study. If you break them, if you complain, if you try to manipulate, you will be sent back. Is that understood?"
Chén nodded, serious. Lì nodded, excited now, the swords already dancing in his eyes. Míng nodded, still clinging to MěiLíng, scared but not wanting to be left behind.
Father said nothing. He just turned and walked back into the house, his back rigid, his steps stiff. The door closed behind him with a soft click. He did not look back. He did not say goodbye.
Mother watched the door close, and her face was sad. Then she turned to me. "Are you alright with this, JiāYì? Having them there?"
I opened my mouth to say yes, and another flicker hit me — MěiLíng, on the first night at the Zhao estate, crying in her room. Not the pretty tears she showed everyone. Ugly, angry tears. Whispering to herself: "I will not lose. I will not lose to her."
The vision vanished. I looked at my mother and nodded. "I'm alright with it," I said. And I meant it.
Because for the first time, I saw a future where my brothers might see the truth for themselves, with their own eyes.
And where MěiLíng would have nowhere to hide, and no one to fool but herself.
Mother nodded, then looked back at the house, her voice carrying clearly through the courtyard to the closed door.
"A divorce letter will come to the Han estate by tomorrow evening, ZhìXuān. Sign it. Let us end this cleanly."
There was no answer from inside.
She took my hand. "Come, JiāYì. Let's go home."
And as we walked away from the Han manor for the second time that day, I didn't look back.