CHAPTER 2 : THE CHOICE
JiāYì, who will you go with?
The question hung in the air of the main hall, heavy and final. Nobody moved. My father, Prime Minister Hán ZhìXuān, watched me with an expectant expression, like my answer was obvious. My brothers watched me with varying degrees of anxiety. Hán MěiLíng watched me with red, wet eyes and a trembling lower lip, the picture of a sister about to lose her jiejie.
And I stood there, sixteen years old, with a power I didn't understand screaming in my head.
Another flicker hit me, uninvited.
I saw myself, a few months from now, standing in this same hall. MěiLíng was crying, pointing at me, a broken jade bracelet in her hand — the one Mother gave me on my fifteenth birthday. "Jiejie, why would you do this? I only wanted to help you fix the clasp!" Father's face was thunder. "JiāYì! How could you steal from your own sister and then break it to hide the evidence!" My brothers looked at me with disgust. Disappointment. Hán Chén shook his head slowly, like I was a problem he was tired of solving. I was shouting, "I didn't do it! She's lying! I would never—" but no one was listening. No one ever listened. MěiLíng's tears were perfect.
The vision snapped off and I almost gasped out loud. My knees felt weak.
Framed. She will frame me. Over and over. And they will believe her. Every time. I will lose everything, piece by piece, and they will hand it to her.
My hands were cold. My mouth was dry. Am I going crazy? I thought wildly. Did I just imagine that? But I imagined the divorce, and it happened. Exactly like I saw it. The trunks, the crooked sash, the words.
I looked at MěiLíng. She was watching me, her expression so perfectly sad, so perfectly sisterly. But I had seen that other face in the vision. The cold one. The pleased one, just for a second, when she thought no one was looking.
And suddenly, I knew. Power or no power, vision or no vision, I knew I couldn't stay here.
Even if I was losing my mind, even if the visions were just stress, I would still choose Mother. Because Mother looked at me and saw me. Hán JiāYì. Her daughter. Not a political piece. Not a rival to be managed. Not a problem. She would never look at MěiLíng crying and automatically assume I was the villain. She would ask me first. She would believe me, even if the whole world didn't.
My brothers… I loved them. I did. Chén with his stupid schedules, Lì with his jokes, Míng with his nightmares. But I had watched them my whole life run to MěiLíng when they were hurt, accept her comfort, believe her stories without question. They were good boys. They just… they loved the version of her she showed them. And I was tired. So tired of competing with a ghost. Of trying to prove I was the good daughter, too.
I didn't give a damn about winning their approval anymore. I just wanted to be somewhere I could breathe without waiting for the next accusation.
I took a breath, and made my voice steady. I didn't look at the visions. I looked at my mother's face.
"I'll go with Mother," I said.
The silence that followed was different from the silence before. It was surprised. Offended, almost.
Father frowned, a deep crease appearing between his brows. "JiāYì," he said, and his tone was that patient, condescending one he used with petitioners he thought were being foolish, or with junior officials who didn't understand court politics. "Think carefully. Think practically. Your mother's family is military. Their household runs on discipline, early mornings, drills, plain food. It is a hard life. It is a man's life. And you are a girl. You have been raised in a Prime Minister's household, with maids and tutors and silk and music lessons. Are you sure you are prepared for that? Are you sure you are not just being emotional?"
"I'm sure, Father," I said. And I was. More sure than I had been of anything in my life.
Hán Chén, my eldest brother, stepped forward slightly, his scholar's face serious and disapproving. "JiāYì, don't be emotional. Think practically. All your connections are here. Your friends. Your teachers. Your marriage prospects, eventually, will come from the families who visit this house. If you leave now, you are cutting yourself off from the capital's society. Mother's family lives on their estate outside the city. It's… it's isolated. It's backwards. You will regret this."
"I know, gege," I said softly. "Thank you for worrying about me. But I won't regret it."
Hán Lì ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and angry. "JiāYì, this is stupid! You're just upset! Mother and Father are fighting and you're picking a side like a child! Stay here, we can all be together, Ling jiejie will take care of you, she always does—"
"I'm not a child, Lì," I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. It surprised him. It surprised me. "And I'm not picking a side. I'm choosing where I want to live. Where I feel… safe."
Hán Míng started crying again, fresh tears. "Jiejie, don't go! Please don't go! Who will play chess with me? Who will read to me at night when I have bad dreams? Ling jiejie tries but she doesn't do the voices right!"
That one hurt, a real physical ache in my chest. I knelt down in front of him, ignoring the way my skirts pooled on the floor, and took his small hands in mine. His fingers were sticky. "Míng, I will write to you. Every week. I promise. And you can visit me, anytime you want. I will send a carriage for you. I promise."
He sniffed, not convinced, his eyes huge and wet. "You promise? You won't forget about me?"
"I promise," I said, and I meant it with everything I had. Even if he believed MěiLíng's lies about me later, even if he looked at me with that disappointed look from my vision, I would still keep that promise. He was my little brother.
Then MěiLíng came forward, moving with that graceful, fragile way she had, like a willow branch in wind. She took my hands, pulling me up to stand, her eyes swimming with tears. "Jiejie," she whispered, her voice breaking prettily. "Please don't go. I need you. We all need you. This family needs you. If you leave… it will be like losing you all over again. Like you died."
The word died hit me wrong. It felt deliberate. Like a test.
She squeezed my hands. Her fingers were warm. Her face was devastation. "Please, jiejie. Stay for me."
And I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because I had seen the other face. The real one. The one that was pleased when I was accused.
I gently pulled my hands free. "I'll miss you too, Meimei," I said. The lie came out smooth and easy. I was good at this, too. I just hadn't known it until today.
Her eyes flickered. Just for a second. Surprise. Annoyance. A flash of something hard. Then the sadness was back, perfect and complete. "I understand," she whispered. "I'll pray for you every day."
Father looked at Mother then, his expression hardening, all the patient father gone and only the Prime Minister left. "And where will you go, RuìXī? Back to your father's estate to lick your wounds? To tell General Su how I failed you? To have your brothers glare at me across the court for the next twenty years?"
Mother's chin lifted. She did not flinch. She looked tired, but not broken. "I am going to remarry, ZhìXuān. To give JiāYì a proper life. A stable home. A father figure who will not be ashamed of her grandfather's uniform. A home where she is not treated like a guest."
The hall went very still. You could have heard a pin drop on the carpet.
Father stared at her. "Remarry," he repeated, flat. "To whom? Which fool would take a divorced woman with a sixteen-year-old daughter? Which family would risk the gossip?"
"To the Zhao family," Mother said, clear and calm. "I have accepted a proposal from the Zhao state. I will be marrying into the Zhao family."
My breath caught. The Zhao family. The Regent Prince's family. The most powerful military family in the kingdom after the Emperor himself. The family that commands the northern armies.
Father's face went white, then red, then a dangerous, mottled color. "The Zhao family," he said, his voice dangerously low, shaking with rage. "So that's it. That's the reason for this divorce, isn't it? You were already planning this. You were seeing him while you were still my wife! You've been planning to leave me for months, maybe years! Don't lie to me, RuìXī!"
Lì gasped. Chén's eyes widened in shock. Even Míng stopped crying to stare at Mother with his mouth open.
I felt sick. Was that true? Had Mother—
Mother laughed. It was not a nice sound. It was short and bitter and full of years of hurt. "You are accusing me of infidelity, ZhìXuān? You? You dare to stand there in your Prime Minister's robe and accuse me?"
"Don't change the subject—"
"I am not changing the subject," Mother said, and her voice was suddenly steel. "I am finishing it. You want to talk about the reason for this divorce? Fine. Let's talk about it."
She took a step toward him. Father actually took a half step back.
"Let's talk about Lian'er," Mother said, and the name fell into the hall like a stone into still water.
Father went completely still.
"Let's talk about the house on Willow Street that you bought three years ago," Mother continued, her voice even, relentless. "The house with the red door and the pear tree in the courtyard. The house where you keep your mistress, Lian'er, and your two-year-old son."
A collective intake of breath. Chén's face went blank with shock. Lì looked like he'd been slapped. Míng just looked confused.
MěiLíng made a small, shocked sound and put a hand to her mouth. But her eyes… her eyes were on Father, watching his reaction. Calculating.
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. A mistress. A son. A brother I never knew about. Three years.
"You knew," Father said, and it wasn't a question. His voice was hoarse.
"Of course I knew," Mother said. "I am a Su daughter. My father taught me to know the terrain before I fight on it. I knew the first month. I knew when you started coming home late from the Ministry. I knew when you started asking me to be 'softer' at banquets because Lian'er was 'delicate' and you were comparing us. I knew when you gave her the jade hairpin that was supposed to be JiāYì's birthday gift last year, and told me it was lost."
I remembered that. I remembered crying quietly in my room because Father had forgotten my birthday. MěiLíng had comforted me. She knew. She must have known.
"I stayed," Mother said, and now there were tears in her eyes, but her voice didn't waver. "I stayed for the boys. I stayed for JiāYì. I thought if I was patient, if I was a good wife, you would remember who you were. Who we were. But you didn't. You just got better at lying. And you started to believe your own lies. You started to believe you built this family alone. You started to be ashamed of the Su name that put you in that robe."
She looked at him, and there was no triumph in her face. Only a deep, weary sadness. "So yes, ZhìXuān. I am remarrying. And yes, it is to the Zhao family. And no, I did not meet him until after I decided to leave you. I have my honor, even if you have forgotten yours."
Father opened his mouth. Closed it. For the first time in my life, Prime Minister Hán ZhìXuān, the man who could talk his way out of any scandal, had nothing to say. He just stood there, the crane on his chest suddenly looking less like a symbol of rank and more like a bird with a broken wing.
Mother looked at him one last time. "I would like to step down for your mistress, husband. She has been waiting long enough, in that house on Willow Street. She has given you a son. Let her have the title. Let us not pretend anymore."
She turned to me and held out her hand. Her fingers were trembling, just slightly. "Come, JiāYì. Let's go home."
I looked at the hall one last time. At my father, silent and pale. At my brothers, who looked like their world had just cracked in half. At MěiLíng, who was watching me now with an expression I couldn't read at all — not sad, not angry. Just… studying me. Like I was a problem she hadn't anticipated, a variable that had just changed the equation.
I took my mother's hand. Her grip was strong and sure, even through the tremble.
And as we walked out the front doors of the Han manor, the trunks rolling behind us on the cart, I didn't look back.
I didn't need a vision to know that I would never live here again.
And for the first time since I woke up this morning with a power I didn't understand, and a family secret that broke my heart, I felt something like peace.