Plum blossoms twirled gracefully through the air, each petal tracing a quiet arc before surrendering to the earth, a mysterious dance accompanied by the wind's mournful singing. Their pale fragrance lingered like an afterthought, delicate yet insistent, threading itself through the cold.
High above, nestled in the crooked arms of an ancient plum tree, all by his lonesome, sat a young man. His posture lacked elegance, a casual sprawl rather than a cultivated pose, as if the body had long since abandoned the effort of performance. He was all alone, and all he had with him was the straw in his mouth, the sword by his side, and the clothes on his back.
The heavens unfurled with unhurried grace. He leaned there, watching as the navy blue cloth that made up the universe, speckled with little gems, was gradually dyed by the deities into a brilliant tapestry of vibrant yellows and fiery oranges, a halo around the crimson red sun. It was as if invisible hands began to dip their brushes into gold and flame, staining the sky layer by layer.
Both light and warmth bled into the day, chasing away the frigid cold.
It was not yet spring, with only these plum blossoms as the only living flora within a hundred li.
Each breath the young man exhaled bloomed briefly into mist, a soft cloud that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. The crisp air sharpened the senses, made each sound clearer, each moment more exact. He felt the rough bark beneath his palms, the steady pulse of the tree that held him, older and far more enduring than any sorrow he carried.
Once the sun had truly risen, and the roosters had given up their crowing, the youth stood up. He slid down the tree, landing on the ground with a solid thump. Though it was already late winter, there were only patches of snow scattered around. It was as if some spirit cat had ripped though the pillows that were the clouds, leaving little balls of cotton scattered across the lands.
The youth let himself truly breath, for the first time in all that he could remember, finally, he was free. Today would mark the day he was no longer a member of the common folk. Today, would be the day of the imperial army examinations.
It was a grand event, one that brought nearly half the world to the capital of the country, all to try and earn a place. The event was nothing short of monumental. Roads that were ordinarily quiet with dust and cicadas now thrummed with movement, carrying caravans, foot travelers, and banners from every corner of the realm toward the capital. In these examinations, anyone could triumph.
Within these examinations, fate showed neither deference nor disdain. Wealth offered no shield, and lineage no guarantee.
A gilded heir of an ancient house could stumble and vanish into obscurity, his name remembered only by his family's shame.
A slave, bearing scars instead of tutors, could ascend through merit alone, earning not merely rank, but the distant, dazzling possibility of command. To stand one day as a general, shaping the fate of borders and armies, was no longer a dream reserved for bloodlines and birthright.
It was truly a way of equality, one that had been enforced by the late emperor.
When the late emperor first decreed the examinations open to all, outrage had rippled through the noble courts and merchant halls alike. Old families decried the erosion of tradition, and the wealthy feared the dilution of privilege they had long mistaken for order. Such a notion had once been unthinkable. When the late emperor first decreed the examinations open to all, outrage had rippled through the noble courts and merchant halls alike.
Old families decried the erosion of tradition, and the wealthy feared the dilution of privilege they had long mistaken for order.Yet, it was what made the late emperor truly beloved to the common folk. That, along with many other laws and legislation, has left the lands singing with joy and xi, poems and sonnets regaling about the late emperor's nobility and kindness. Even now, years after his passing, his shadow lingered like a benevolent presence, guiding the empire's hand.
It was a hope. A chance. A promise, to a life that any common folk would want. It was what revitalized the world, knowing that one day the world would be truly equal, with opportunities for all. Every single person who passed through not only the imperial army examinations, but also the imperial scholarly examinations could bring about great honor. Their names, once common, would ripple through and grace every household. A single name among tens of thousands, yes, but also a living testament to a promise made by a dead emperor.
The youth grew wistful.
He missed his home, though the word itself had become quite uncertain, much more an idea than a place.
He would not return, not yet, while he still had so much to do, so much to see in the world, his road remained far too wide. There was too much he had yet to do, too much he had yet to witness, before he could allow himself the softness of looking back. It was not as if he had anybody waiting for him, not anymore. That simple truth sat heavier than grief, but it was rather an indomitable subject to face.
Though he wished he was also a member of the gentry, a youth belonging to a strong and powerful family, he knew he was just the son of a farmer. He was raised by calloused hands and seasons, rather than elegant silk and ceremony.
He would have been a farmer as well, had the world been kinder.
If it hadn't been for the raiders.
The memory of them remained sharp, refusing to dull with time. They had come like a sudden storm, violent and indifferent, tearing through both fields and lives with equal ease. In their wake, they left silence where laughter once lived, ashes where homes had once stood, and a single boy where a family had been.
It was one of the larges reasons that the youth was trying the imperial army examinations. He wanted not to get revenge for his family, though anger had once burned hot enough to tempt him, but to protect others in the future. He did not wish to repay blood with blood. He wished to prevent it altogether. If he could allow it, no child would lose their families in the future. No orphan made of his countrymen, no widow of his countrywomen. At least, not from war or raids. There were limits, he knew. There was not much the youth could do of old age and sickness, much to his chagrin. That knowledge frustrated him more than he cared to admit, a reminder that even the most righteous resolve bent beneath the weight of reality. Still, he would do what he could.
If the world must take, then he would stand between it and those who could not yet endure the loss.
With the sun's pale gold light to guide his steps, the youth set out. He had no map, but almost all the people knew the way. For among the common folk, there existed a singular route, a path etched not onto parchment but into the collective heart. It was spoken of in kitchens and fields, whispered beside dying fires and murmured in dreams half remembered. Not all who knew of it ever managed to walk it. Fewer still reached its end. The journey was long, unkind, and honest in its cruelty, offering no promise of reward, only the possibility of one. It was both arduous, and great.
It was the road to the capital city, the road to prosperity.
The youth walked.
Scenery came and went, little wildflowers that had somehow survived the cold peeking their purple heads and crowns through the wet snow. They seemed out of place in the cold, and yet entirely correct, as though defiance itself were a natural law. The sky, now a brilliant blue, was rife with fluffy clouds, that were in constant motion. They playfully cycled though the shapes of fierce animals, beautiful patterns, and were fluid as the feeling of freedom.
Trees littered the banks of the road in uneven ranks, a mix of plum blossom and other coniferous trees, though the conifers were barren. The youth was not discouraged, though, as he knew that when spring came and winter passed, these trees would once again be filled with vitality, lush and green for the world to appreciate. Winter's severity was temporary, a discipline rather than a sentence. And once it was over, it would bring about a new joy.
Even the dirt beneath the youth's feet seemed special today, an unremarkable mix of sand and gravel and everything that the youth would usually dislike. It was far too loose in places, and too unforgiving in others. Yet, today, it reminded him of the steady support that had gotten him to where he was today.
It reminded him of the yellow dirt in his father's fields, warm and powdery beneath the sun, clinging to ankles and hems as stubbornly as duty itself. It reminded him of the soft, pale sand by the beach where his mother used to weave, reeds and threads moving in patient harmony as waves whispered nearby. He could almost hear the water again, gentle against stone, and the soft rhythm of her work. Beyond that lay the cove where his siblings had played, their laughter bright and careless, etched into his mind more deeply than any scar.
It reminded him of the packed ground of the training fields, where he and other boys, not yet men, fought and practiced, day in and day out with fake swords. They fought with wooden swords and splintered sticks, hands blistered and knees bruised, yet spirits unbroken. They had all pretended to be famous generals, wielding small sticks, shouting it with all the conviction youth could muster.
In their imaginations, those crude weapons became divine blades, mighty swords that split mountains and pierced the heavens themselves.
The youth walked and traveled.
When he was thirsty, he stopped by road-side inns. Those inns were lively and full, packed to the brim of other men like him. They were full of mutual well wishers, all hoping to share one lass cup of wine before the challenges that loomed ahead. The men were undaunted, despite all of the difficulties, for they knew that the true difficulty had passed.
The famines and the wars had passed, and now, all that was left was to finally prove themselves, to both the world, and the new emperor.
As the sun rose to it's apex, the youth finally reached his destination. His heart was steady, his palms without sweat. He was confident. The spirits and deities had blessed him with a smooth and untroubled journey to arrive at this destination. If they believed in him, who was he to doubt them?
He gazed at the barracks, the tents, and the strong, unfortunate smell of blood and sweat. Many had toiled here, and the land was saturated with passion for both the country and the people. He truly could not wait to join amongst the ranks of the imperial army.
A boisterous voice startled the youth out of his musings.
He turned around, to see another person, around his age. Perhaps a little younger, due to his apparent eagerness at the surroundings, yet there was also the possibility of him being older, for the subtle strength hidden in his bones. The man was not of short stature, not by any means at all, yet the youth still towered over him by a good few cùn. He possessed a wild and unrestrained air, which carried over to his facial hair as well.
he was a man who would fit right in a rowdy bar, both challenging and being challenged in drinking battles. He certainly seemed as though he could hold his liquor well.
"Good afternoon young sir! Are you here for the examinations as well?" The man cried out.
The youth nodded, his hands clutched together in respect. Not towards a superior, but to an equal.
"Greetings to you as well, sir. I am Chengyi, but I have no last name. I am here to prove myself, to rise above my current station." The man looked impressed, by the youth's vigor and clear image.
The man returned with his name, a fierce name of Yonglie, brave and fierce.
The two clearly felt a strong sense of brotherhood, even from their first meeting. They chatted all sorts of matters all day, from the weather to their hometowns, to their political views and dreams for the future. Before long, Yonglie took Chenyi as his sworn older brother, the two now thick as thieves.
The two even reported to the overseeing officers together, waiting in line to register their names officially. In line, they found the third to their now trio.
A slightly more refined man, yet strength lay beneath that scholarly visage. He had not glasses, but the air of a man who had read countless poems, and written several himself as well. A man named Wenqing, who had once had a last name but cast it off after finding about the cruelty and injustice propagated by his own family.
He had attempted to bring his family to justice, yet their pockets were lined with silver and gold, too deep for a mere teenager to take down. He hoped, to rise high enough to shed light to these unmeritorious deeds.
The three bantered all the way until the registration booth, their strings of fate winding even closer, marking the three of them as heroes of their own destiny.