Chapter Text
The night Liu Minghua left home was the night she took a blunt knife to her hair and chopped. The result was a mess: it was uneven, one half undoubtedly longer than the other, but the message it sent was worth it.
She didn't bother to clean up the fallen strands of hair as she left the bathroom, nor did she bother to glance in the mirror. She did not care about how she looked as she tied her hair up into a messy topknot. She did not care how she looked as she strapped on her baba’s armor and tested the weight of his sword in her hand, reverently wiping off the dust gathered on its blade.
Her baba is old, yet he did not hesitate to accept the Emperor’s call to arms. He is devoted to a fault, a dangerous, dangerous fault— she could not have that.
It was with that thought that she steeled her resolve, though she had already decided what she was going to do long ago: the weight of her baba’s helmet on her head was simply a reassurance. A much needed one for what she was about to do.
She left her home quietly, the darkness of the night cloaking her as she mounted her horses. Her baba would not die in the army.
And with luck, nor would she.
Mingyan still has growing up to do, after all, and she will not allow herself to miss it all. Certainly not at the hands of a demon.
Cang Qiong, Liu Minghua notes with a slight frown, is beautiful. It was to be expected of the Imperial City, but she can't refrain from a little gawking. Only a little.
Her head turns every which way, taking in the architecture and scoffing at how needlessly opulent it all is. She's also admiring it, but that's not important— she tells herself she's only doing so because Mingyan will enjoy the description once she's back.
Whatever. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts, and keeps her head down for the remainder of the walk towards the palace, mentally going over her story. She is the first son of the Liu family. She has taken her father's place due to his declining health, though he regrets that he cannot honor his family and Emperor by defending his country.
She repeats it in her head as she climbs the steps. I am the first son of the Liu family, she reminds herself, biting her lip to keep herself from panting once she reaches the top of what seemed like an endless amount of steps, and I am volunteering to defend my country in my father’s place.
She nods to herself as she moves to stand beside the other men that have shown up: there's seemingly an endless amount of them, and there are more coming up the steps. She supposes there's a reason why the great draft is, well, great.
She ignores the shortness of breath that comes from the tightness of her chest bindings, and continues her repetition. I am Liu Ziyou’s eldest son, and my name is—
Liu Minghua blinks, startled by the loud clap of a fan opening. It instantly silences the men, all of whom seem to remember where they are. She turns her head to where the noise came from, cursing under her breath when she has to go on her toes to see over broad shoulders.
She isn't short, not when compared to other women, but these men are just. Giants. She tries not to grind her teeth, but her feet are already aching when she finally manages to catch a glimpse of the person who managed to silence hundreds of men.
She blinks once, twice, when she sees a woman at the center of it all: she stands tall, the picture of elegance even with all those eyes on her.
Liu Minghua is almost impressed.
The woman's sharp eyes scan the large crowd, not looking even a little intimidated. “This one of the palace is Shen Qingqiu. You all may refer to this one as Yue-fu’ren.”
After that, everything the woman says goes in one ear and our the other. Liu Minghua understands why those who had been talking shut their mouths immediately— Yue-fu'ren. The Empress is right in front of them.
Minghua’s jaw doesn't drop, but that's only because she doesn't let it.
Instead, she swallows. She isn't having second thoughts, not when that would mean making her baba fight in something that would inevitably end in his death, but it hits her that this is real. Real in a way that she hadn't noticed until it smacked her in the face.
She's in the middle of the Imperial City, and the empress is standing only a few chi away from her. She swallows the hysterical laugh trying to bubble up from her chest.
This is— not a good place to have a breakdown.
Especially when she hasn't heard a word that was said in at least half a kè.
Especially when she finds the Empress standing right in front of her, head tilting to the side as though Liu Minghua was a particularly interesting specimen.
If she was as prone to bursts of emotion as her baba and meimei, then she most likely would've burst into tears. Instead, she tilts her head down and hopes the movement seems more like an apology than her trying to hide her face.
“Begging Yue-fu'ren’s pardon, but—”
She exhales quietly, reminding herself who she is supposed to be. She, at this moment, is not Liu Minghua.
“—could Yue-fu'ren repeat herself?” She finishes dumbly, hoping she isn't giving herself away.
Yue-fu'ren stares at her for what feels like an entire chi. Then, with a deft flick of her wrist, unfolds her fan and covers the lower half of her face. Her gaze is sharp, but there's something behind it: Liu Minghua isn't sure she wants to know what that something is.
The Empress hums, fanning herself lightly. “This one was asking your name,” she replies after a shùn, a patronizing hint in the slowness of her speech.
Minghua simply grits her teeth, and does not do anything that would get her executed. She does, however, visualize it in the privacy of her mind.
“This one is—” she pauses, then bites her tongue to not let out the curse she so desperately wants to say.
Minghua thought she had everything planned out. She had her story, information about her father's injury, but she forgot the most important thing: a name. Somehow.
Her mind blanks as she scrambles to come up with something. She's never been the most creative, but the silence is beginning to drag on, and she can't let herself be found out like this.
“This one's name is Liu Qingge, Yue-fu'ren,” Liu Minghua murmurs, bowing deeply to hide the grimace on her face. Her father's helmet is heavy, and her hair feels damp with sweat from the climb up the golden steps, but it's a reminder.
She clears her throat, and straightens. She squares her shoulders, and does not allow herself to feel like a little girl playing soldier in her baba’s armor.
When she gathers the strength to meet Yue-fu'ren’s eyes, she looks— approving. There's a glint in her eyes that wasn't there before, and Liu Minghua does not falter at the appearance of it. She will not be intimidated.
Once more, Yue-fu'ren tilts her head to the side. She pauses her fanning, and nods: it's a clear ‘go on’ motion.
Liu Minghua's expression sours, and she makes sure it's visible. Liu Qingge is a man. A strong one. She is not Liu Minghua. Not here.
She keeps her lips twisted down in a scowl, an expression her māma would've reprimanded her harshly for making, but continues.
“This one is the eldest son of Liu Ziyou. This one wants— this one is serving in his father's place.” She sounds more confident than she feels, which is a good thing. I can do this, she tells herself, hoping she'll actually believe it one day.
Yue-fu'ren snaps her fan shut, and inspects Liu Minghua’s entire being. Then, she smiles. It's a mean smile.
“Oh? Does your father think himself above the great draft?” She questions, the smile on her face only getting more unpleasant with every passing shùn. “Does Liu-xiānshēng not want to fight for his country?” Is he avoiding the draft?
The insinuation makes Minghua bristle, and she has to bite her tongue for a second to not say what she really wants to say in response to that. She digs her nails into her palm, and uses the pinpricks of pain to distract herself from her anger.
She will not get herself killed by saying something stupid to the Empress, no matter how badly she wishes to defend her baba’s honor.
“My father is a veteran of the last war, Yue-fu'ren,” she bites out, hoping the disdain in her words isn't too obvious. “His injuries still plague him, and I knew his fate should he join the army once more. I did not wish for my mother to become a widow, nor did I wish for my sister to lose her father.”
The Empress taps a long finger against the side of her fan, the motion horribly elegant. The unpleasant smile on her lips falls into something more neutral, but she doesn't react beyond that, only glancing at Liu Minghua before moving onto the next person.
Minghua hates her.
When they're led to where they'll stay until training ends, there are visibly less men than there were at the beginning. Liu Minghua wonders if that was what Yue-fu'ren was doing— weeding them out.
If that's what was happening, and she's sure that's exactly what it was, then she can't fathom why she's still here.
She didn't try to bite her tongue more than she had to during what could only be described as an interrogation. She could've been executed, or even just sent back, but she wasn't. Why?
She forces herself to stop thinking about it, but the effort wasn't needed: the sound of clothes shuffling was more than enough to get her to focus.
She doesn't try to hold back a curse when she glances up from the floor and is met with the sight of bare skin. Bare, male skin. Before she can help it, her nose wrinkles in immediate disgust— if she was as dramatic as her meimei, she would've started to gag.
For all she denies that part of their resemblance, she almost does.
Instead, she claims one of the beds— they're not comfortable, but she didn't expect them to be—and pretends to be asleep until the sound of snoring fills the room. It's only then that she dares to strip off her baba’s armor, and she does so quickly, as if one of them will wake up at the slightest sound.
She pushes it underneath the bed she's claimed, and gets as comfortable as she can whilst knowing that she doesn't belong.
Liu Minghua doesn't fall asleep until the sky is painted in light pinks and oranges with the sun’s ascension.
When she wakes up, it's with tired eyes and a restless mind that's only partially due to homesickness.
There are many ways in which Liu Minghua could've brought honor to her family, but she chose to fight in war.
No— it's more than likely that she'll dishonour her family with her actions: she's doing it for her baba. Her doting and horribly kind baba who is far too stubborn for his own good.
She remembers arguing with him for weeks about his decision to fight. His injuries from the first war still cause him pain, and he is not as young as he used to be. He couldn't fight.
She didn't let him.
Liu Minghua takes to the sword just like how she knew she would. Just like how her baba told her he did when he was younger.
She practices sword forms alongside the rest of the warriors-to-be, the soreness when she falls into her bed at the end of the day feeling almost like a reward.
She wraps her chest tight and gets winded faster than the others because of it, but she does not let it slow her down: her ribs begin to ache, and her breathing becomes more like wheezing at times, but it is worth it.
Calluses grow on her fingertips. Her skin tans under the unforgiving sun. When her hair grows too long, she takes a knife to it and chops it off again. She gets used to bruises, scrubbing her armor, and walking around with a scowl on her lips.
Her māma would call her a brute. Her baba would shake his head at her, but then teach her how to use tallow to soften the hardened skin on her hands. Her meimei—oh, her Yan’er—would stare at her split ends and tanned skin before grinning toothily at her and proclaiming, ‘i wanna be like jiejie!’ before running off to bother someone else.
She misses them. A lot.
Liu Minghua doesn't try to sleep: she knows it's futile when she doesn't lose consciousness when the back of her head hits her bedsheets.
Instead, she leaves her room once she knows everyone else is asleep.
She doesn't bother with wrapping her chest, not when it's so late at night.
“I won't be out long,” she reasons quietly, padding down the long hallway. “Just a quick walk to— fuck!”
One would think that months of training would've made her more aware of her surroundings, but alas.
She blames her luck more than anything. The second she turns the corner, she sees someone else do the same from across the hall. She would've continued on, or maybe she would've just turned on her heel and walked back to her room, but. That fan.
Liu Minghua stares, and then she stares some more.
Before she can think better of it, she calls, “Yue-fu'ren?”
Across the hall, Shen Qingqiu freezes for less than a shùn. Liu Minghua wouldn't have noticed had she not been paying such close attention to the woman.
The moment passes like it hadn't existed, and the Empress smiles rather thinly at Liu Minghua. “Hm. This one wonders what Liu Qingge is doing out of bed so late. Surely not trying to… find something?”
The insinuation makes the warrior bristle, and she barely manages to bite her tongue in time.
She doesn't smile, not when it means having to fake one— another of their many, many differences.
“Of course not, Yue-fu'ren. This warrior would never dare think of doing such a thing.”
Then, after a pointed pause, she bows far too late, and a little too shallowly. She takes great pride in the sour look on Shen Qingqiu’s face.
Yue-fu'ren doesn't respond, simply flicking her wrist and unfolding the fan she always seems to have on her personal.
“Good,” she replies, a sharp glint in her eyes, “it would be a shame to have to replace our best warrior so early on.”
Liu Minghua grinds her teeth so hard she believes it might be audible, not at all processing her words.
“...Begging Yue-fu'ren’s forgiveness for this one's disturbance,” she grits out, but doesn't wait for a response.
She turns on her heel, and goes back the way she came. Even a shùn longer of that encounter would've had her frothing at the mouth. She did not want to risk it.
It's only when Liu Minghua allows herself to settle in bed that she processes what Shen Qingqiu said.
“Best?”