Hidden Memories

Still lying down, I opened my eyes. Dressed in a pure white undergarment and barefoot, I stepped off the bed and walked to the window, gently opening it a little. The sky was tinged with the first hints of dawn—clearly, it was still early.

A cool breeze slipped through the crack in the window, brushing against my skin with a chill. As I thought, such thin clothing was not enough for this hour.

Yet I did not close the window. The freshness of the breeze had chased away any lingering drowsiness, so I might as well enjoy it a little longer.

Not far outside the window stood a tree. Carried by the wind, a fallen leaf drifted onto my shoulder. I picked it up and smiled.

I remembered the palace of the Kingdom of Lingyun, when that place was still my chambers as the eldest princess. There was a secret passage there, and outside it, a cherry blossom tree. I would visit it every day, but now, I could no longer go.

In my memory, there was some reason for those visits, but the details had faded. I only remembered that whenever I had spare time, I would go there, though I could not say why. I always brought books and pastries with me. My younger brother would tease me, claiming I was only pretending to read and was really sneaking off to eat.

For a time, I thought he had a point. But in truth, I always read first, and only ate the pastries on my way back. Sometimes they’d grown cold, yet I finished them anyway, clinging to the notion that wasting food was shameful, even if it meant I often ended up with a stomachache.

When I was six, I fell seriously ill with a cold—the worst I ever suffered, as far as anyone could remember. I recall little of it myself; I only know from my mother’s stories that I, so small then, curled up in her arms, burning with fever and frightening both her and my father.

All the royal physicians rushed to my side that night, and my parents stayed up with me until dawn. By morning, the physicians shook their heads and declared me beyond saving. My father flew into a rage; my mother could not hide her tears.

Then, someone arrived: the Grand Diviner, whom I had first seen on the day I was born. He carried me away.

When I awoke again, my memories from before six were mostly gone—perhaps, as the saying goes, the fever had damaged my mind, erasing what once was there. I did not think much of it; it was enough that I survived.

The person who had stayed by my side was none other than the Grand Diviner—the very one who, at my birth, had tried to strangle me.

Frightened, I curled into myself, wrapping the quilt tightly around me. After all, I was only six; why pretend to be grown up?

“Why did you save me? Weren’t you going to kill me?” My voice was cold, perhaps too cold for him to bear.

“So you do remember after all.”

Of course I remembered. I may have been a newborn, but how could I forget someone who tried to kill me? Even if you turned to dust, I’d still recognize you. Forgetting would be impossible.

“Such is the will of heaven. I dare not defy it.”

Heaven’s will, indeed—what a convenient excuse for those who have no other choice. Anything can be laid at the feet of fate, and then all is easily explained. Truly, it’s the most useful excuse of all.

“Enough of that. I want to return to the palace.” One glance told me this was not the Lingyun palace. For the sake of my own life, I had no wish to stay by his side. It was like knowing there was a ticking time bomb next to you, powerless to do anything but wait for it to explode.

“You have not even thanked me for saving your life. How ill-mannered.” He turned away, his expression severe.

I stepped in front of the Grand Diviner and bowed deeply.

“It was my fault. I thank you for saving my life. I miss my father, mother, and younger brother dearly. May I return? Surely they must be worried about me.”

As a princess, I rarely had to bow to anyone, especially with such formality, so he seemed surprised. Still, he had saved me—he could bear the courtesy, even if he had once tried to kill me.

“Would you be willing to stay here with me in the mountains?”

I thought I must have misheard. Me—a six-year-old princess—stay in the mountains with the Grand Diviner?

“Why do you ask this of me?”

“If you wish to live safely for the rest of your days, do not leave the mountain.”

“How long must I remain here?”

“A full cycle of sixty years.”

Sixty years! I did find the quiet life in these mountains appealing, but I could not.

“I thank you for your kindness, but I fear I cannot grant your wish. For myself, I would not mind living out my days here, but my heart yearns for my father, mother, and younger brother. If I were to wait sixty years before returning, who knows if I would ever see them again? Even if I did, it would be so rare.”

There was a hint of admiration in the Grand Diviner’s eyes, but I spoke only the truth of my heart. Sixty years I could endure, but my family could not. As for matters of love between men and women—well, I had lived my previous life without them, and I managed well enough. I did not dwell on such things.

“Are you sure of your decision?”

“I am. Whatever happens in the future, I will blame no one else. Thank you for your advice, and forgive me for disappointing you.” I could tell the Grand Diviner meant well, and I could distinguish good intentions when I saw them.

“I will have someone escort you back.”

And so, by my insistence, I finally returned to the palace. From that day on, I never saw the Grand Diviner again.

When my brother turned nine and I was fourteen, I told him this story. He replied, “Maybe the Grand Diviner fell for you and wanted you to keep him company in the mountains for a lifetime?”

I had no idea where he picked up such nonsense. I could only give him a hard knock on the head—what a hopeless rascal.

I tossed the leaf from my hand out the window. How could something free ever be confined? I shut the window, took out an outer robe, dressed carefully, and tied my hair in a man’s style.

Afraid of being recognized as a girl, I always handled my daily affairs myself, never relying on others.

After all this fuss, a handsome young nobleman stood in the mirror. So neat and smart—I was rather pleased with myself.

Picking up a folding fan, I opened the door and strode out…