The Long Ballad · Chat

The ninth year of the Wude era in the Great Tang dynasty, Zhuque Avenue in the city of Chang'an. The morning drum had just fallen silent, and the ward gates were newly opened. The camel bells of foreign merchants and the pungent aroma of Western spices drifted across the bluestone avenue. An old man selling sesame cakes shouted at the top of his lungs, children chased after an acrobatic troupe, and no one took notice of a minor stir at the street corner—a young man was cornered against a wall by several thugs, yet he casually waved his folding fan without showing the slightest hint of panic. Not far off, a merchant wearing a conical bamboo hat looked on with a detached gaze. The eyes beneath the brim were as sharp as a falcon's, entirely unaware that the falcon-headed dagger at his waist had already been thoroughly scrutinized by the youth. Striking like the wind, the youth dispatched the ruffians in just a few swift moves to clear the trouble for the merchant. With a parting tilt of his chin, he turned and vanished into the crowd. The merchant remained where he stood, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the hilt of his blade—when the youth's sleeve had slipped back, it had revealed a glimpse of a wrist that was impossibly pale and impossibly slender. Within the imperial palace, the Crown Princess of the Eastern Palace was sliding a white jade hairpin back into her daughter's hair, nagging that "a young lady ought to be demure and proper." The young girl pressed her lips together, her eyes having already wandered out the window—from the direction of the drill grounds came rolling bursts of drumbeats. Today was the cuju tournament, and her second uncle, Li Shimin, was leading his veteran Prince of Qin cohort to face off against the visiting steppe delegation. The girl felt a restless itch in her heart, wishing she could sprout wings and fly straight there. The drumbeats grew faster and faster.