Commander Tang, do I even have a choice?"
"No."
He lifted my chin, his rough fingertip rubbing my cracked lips. "But you said it yourself. You said you’d come with me. That made me happy."
"And if I hadn’t?"
I shrank back, trying to escape his handling.
"There’s no way you’ll go back to school. I’ll have your household records destroyed, I’ll burn your home down."
He spoke casually of how he could turn fortunes with a single motion. "Ms. Claire Bennett, even if you ran off, you’d be nameless and penniless. In a war-torn mess like this, how many days do you think you’d live?"
"So my only choice is to be with the Commander?"
He stayed silent, grinning to flash a perfect row of white teeth—absolutely confident—and waited for my answer.
"Commander, could I have some water?"
I moistened my chapped lips. "Throwing my life away is all I’d lose if I resist. Trading my life for this fight? I’m not that stupid."
"You mean…" He forced me to say it with my own mouth.
"Do whatever you want, Commander."
Ethan Carter laughed, satisfied, scooped me up sideways, parading me through his mansion as if showing off, then tossed me onto the luxurious divan in his room.
Without warning, he pinched my mouth and poured a teapot of warm tea into me. I choked and coughed.
"Enough?"
He tossed the empty pot aside and immediately leaned his weight over my weakened body, whispering in my ear, "Don’t hold back later. Don’t pretend to be pure. Make some noise—loud enough for the whole house to hear."
"Why?"
I blinked slowly, sizing him up from head to toe. "Because you said so?"
He had the soldier’s sharp brows and commanding presence, sun-kissed muscles tracing strong lines. He didn’t look infirm.
"Because…" He pointed to the ceiling. "I want my sister-in-law to hear clearly, to know it’s real."
After that he covered my lips and mumbled, "Whether I can perform or not, Ms. Claire Bennett, you must pay for lying."
After it was over, Ethan shrugged into his undergarment, looking less than pleased.
"You were like a dead fish—lying on a cutting board, too lazy to even flap. Eyes open, mouth agape—more boring than a corpse."
"A proper lady is so dull," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting my thigh where its flush hadn’t yet faded. "When I saw you on the podium, all serious and so upright, it just killed the mood."
Then why ruin me at all?
I shot him a cold look. "If I’m that boring, Commander, then may I leave?"
"Leave?" He gripped my chin and shook me hard, "Ms. Claire Bennett, don’t even think of that word. Don’t say it. In this lifetime, even if you die, you will die by my side—Ethan Carter’s side."
He grabbed my hair and, ignoring my nakedness, dragged, twisted, and shoved my upper body out the window until the sill cut into my waist.
If he let go, I’d fall headfirst and splatter blood on the marble below.
Ethan pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips, then pointed at the marble floor. "If you try to run, I’ll toss you out this window. Dying on my estate will count as your ‘accomplishment,’ as I said."
Even then, like a dead fish, I asked without care, "Commander Tang, why me?"
He glanced at the ceiling, pulled me back hard, and flung me onto the floor without answering.
He lit his cigarette and inhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the attic. Soon I’d understand. It wasn’t just that I was someone he fancied—there was someone who lived upstairs, who smiled for him every day, left her scent in the halls, but was forbidden to touch or even think of.
—His widowed sister-in-law, Vivian Hayes.
I teach Chinese literature at Waverly High; he is the warlord who rules with one iron hand.
Three days earlier, after class, a group of people stopped me at the school steps. "Commander Tang’s car is waiting outside."
The principal was among them, beaming as he patted my shoulder. "Ms. Claire Bennett—Commander Tang thinks highly of you. He’s invited you to his estate to tutor his nephew."
He leaned in, smiling meaningfully. "If you ever become well-off, don’t forget me."
I gave him a cool glance and said nothing. What favor? Turning me over to a powerful man to be used?
Before I could refuse, they stuffed me into a car and took me to the Carter Estate.
Yes, I taught; yes, there was a nephew. But that night, when I tried to leave, Ethan Carter blocked me.
"I want you to stay," he said. "Not just tonight. From now on—be with me. Do as I please."
"Commander, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not interested in climbing with the powerful."
"But Ms. Claire Bennett," he leaned close, his warm breath on my face, "I’m very interested in you."
I looked up at him.
He smiled predatory, a face weathered by battle and power—handsome, wild, both innocent and world-weary—small creases at the eye corners filled with the promise of conquest.
"Commander, are you asking me what I want, or telling me your demand?"
"You guess, Ms. Claire Bennett."
His large hand cupped the back of my head; he took a breath of my hair’s scent. "Yes, yes—schoolmarm, virtuous little white flower—there’s a different flavor to you than the street-girls."
I thought then that he was just perverse—turning propriety into a perverse thrill. But there was more. For Ethan Carter, the scent wasn’t the point. Compared to the uneducated girls of the pleasure districts, my manner and bearing made me resemble someone else—someone born to wealth and grace: Vivian Hayes.
There was no escape. I bowed my head and said, "If I refuse?"
"Then you’d be greatly underestimating me, Ms. Claire Bennett. You might suffer for your contempt." He showed an almost excited look at my resistance. With a wave of his hand, several men carried me away.
"I want you to follow me willingly," he said. "Even coerced willing is still willing."
I was locked up for three days—no food or water, nobody checking on me. For dealing with a plain, inexperienced girl, his blunt brutality sufficed.
I drank some rainwater mixed with soil from a flowerpot and didn’t die.
When he came back to question me, I admitted: staying alive mattered most. In a world where life is never guaranteed, what value is chastity? Besides, who said I was even chaste?
"How many people in your family? Where did you marry from? How much bride price?"
After the night’s passion, Ethan sat in his study with his legs crossed. He ordered Captain Reynolds to take notes—"She’s from a respectable family; details matter."
He said the last part with seven parts teasing, three parts mockery.
"Only my mother. We live on Harborview Road, Willow Lane," I answered, hair and clothes disheveled. "During the famine she went mad a few years back. When I was a teacher, I could feed us—no need for Commander Tang’s trouble."
"Married? Taking a secondary wife before you marry is hardly proper."
"Proper?" He laughed. "Here, what’s proper is what I, Ethan Carter, say is proper. Rules aren’t heaven’s decree; I make the rules, understood?"
Fair enough. In chaotic times, his Carter forces ruled this territory—local emperor, larger than the law.
I resignedly asked, "When can I go back to school and teach?"
"Teach? Do I have to support you, Claire? Why would you need to teach? Besides, what good is that place—are you not afraid stray bullets will punch through your lectern?"
He stubbed his cigarette into a carved ashtray; sparks flickered out.
Ethan rose, snatched the notebook from Captain Reynolds’s scarred hand, frowned at the handwriting and scoffed, "What awful penmanship—don’t embarrass me in front of Ms. Claire Bennett!"
He swore aloud with practiced bluntness.
"Specific address—tell me."
He uncapped a pen and pressed its nib to paper. Unexpectedly, the gun-wielding man could write beautifully—neat, strong strokes.
Finally he wrote my name at the end: "Claire Bennett."
He read each syllable as if savoring it. "That name is damn pretty."
After a pause, he blurted, “Even I—an illiterate roughneck—think it beats the name ‘Vivian Hayes’ by a hundred times.”
At that moment, Vivian Hayes appeared at the study doorway.
Her silk cheongsam clung to her, hair perfectly coiffed, and most importantly, her face—eight parts similar to mine.
She glanced me up and down with a slanted look, then turned away.
It was my first time seeing Vivian Hayes. One look and I understood everything.
Vivian of course didn’t give me a friendly face.
On the day I married into the Carter Estate wearing my bridal dress, Vivian locked the gates and wouldn’t let me in.
Ethan stumbled out of the car and stood outside the iron gate, hands on hips, yelling, "Sister-in-law, what’s with the attitude? Why be so cold to a girl from a small household? Careful with that pretty face—don’t frown and get a wrinkle, or your poor brother will have to fuss over you."
Taking a concubine while openly teasing your widowed sister-in-law—Ethan Carter was lawless.
But then, his mother died young; his father, General Carter Sr., was fatally wounded in an earlier attack. His elder brother, who returned from abroad to take over, was assassinated while seeking justice for their father. Now Ethan was Commander Tang—Ethan Carter—top of this place. He could act as he pleased and no one dared object.
Vivian ignored him. He leaned on the car door and kept shouting, "Tomorrow Principal Lee is going to Shanghai. I told him to buy you that Rosewood Cream in the foreign quarter—your favorite rose scent. Be nice to me today and let me in—I can’t wait for our wedding night!"
Then the upstairs window opened.
Without a word, Vivian hurled a handful of bottles and jars down in a shower of glass. Jasmine powder and French perfume filled the air. Ethan, half amused, fanned the scent, then ducked back into the car.
Those were the gifts he’d bought to please her.
"I spoiled her; look at her—who’d think she’s the proper miss of the wealthy Hayes family?" he muttered. "Who could believe she’s actually Vivian Hayes, born to the richest merchant family?"
Ethan dug a cigarette out and, with a roguish grin, said to me.
I turned my head. "But from where I’m sitting, Commander Tang seems to be enjoying himself."
He bristled a little at that, holding the cigarette between his teeth as he straightened my face with two flirtatious pats. "Ms. Claire, some things you see through—don’t point them out.
Should I call you petty or dull? How do you not get this?"
I understood.
I wasn’t even a plaything he kept on the bed for his amusement. I was a catfish between him and Vivian—just something to stir them up, to give them more interaction and more fun.
It wasn’t until nightfall that Vivian finally opened the small back gate.
The carriage couldn’t get through, so I had to get out and walk.
Vivian leaned on the windowsill, arms folded, looking at me with cold eyes. "I married your brother through the main door.
So? Now your concubine thinks she can enter the same way the legally wedded wife does?"
"Yes, yes, my mistake, sister-in-law.
If you’re upset, shoot me, hit me with a pillow—I’m not worth you wasting your temper on."
Ethan took off his hat, bowed apologetically, then hailed her with exaggerated enthusiasm. "But sister-in-law wouldn’t let me freeze. Once it gets dark, you’re bound to be worried about me being cold."
"Ugh, shut your mouth."
With that she struck a graceful pose and went back inside.
That night I slept in Ethan’s room—legitimately, in his bed.
He took off his clothes and began complaining about how much trouble it was to take on a concubine—would take all day.
He’d even complained the trip to fetch me was too far, placed me in a tightly watched inn, and only went through the motions when bringing me into the Carter Estate.
Just as Ethan was about to climb on me again, I moved quickly and pressed at his chest. "If the commander wants me to call out, fine. But there’s no need to actually get serious."
He laughed at that, grabbed my hand and easily shook it off. "I’m a man in my twenties, full of vigor—why can’t I have real needs? You expect me to fake it?"
Seeing my face go pale, he suddenly seemed to realize something and pinched my cheek. "Alright, I said you were like a dead fish last time—maybe that was me talking nonsense.
A girl like you is only endearing when you’re proper.
We’ve got time. I’ll teach you slowly."
Ethan was a strange man—cruel one moment, tender the next.
I turned my face away and said nothing.
"Why? Really mad at me?"
He grinned.
"Ms. Claire, I may be ruthless out there, but with my own people I’m more than decent.
Since you came to me, you’re my named concubine. From now on you walk proud in this city. Everyone will bow to you, give ground.
No matter what you do—murder or mayhem—no one will dare touch you."
Then he quickly added, "Just one thing—don’t make my sister-in-law unhappy.
If something bothers you, if you want anything, take it out on me."
I pinched my nose. "Commander, I don’t like people smoking."
He froze for a second, then climbed off me, jumped down and rummaged his pocket for a half pack of smokes, and tossed them out the window. "Fine. I’ll quit!"
He patted his chest. "Ms. Claire, I, Ethan Carter, promise you—I won’t light a cigarette in front of you even if I go mad!"
Then, looking pitiful, he leaned back in. "Is that enough? You sat next to me today—all soft and fragrant—made me think about you all day."
As if it were up to me.
I lay like a dead fish and shut my eyes. "You’re the commander. Do what you want—you can’t be stopped by me."
Ethan kept his word. He was good to me—and a thousand times better to Vivian.
The day after I married into the household, at mealtime Ethan and I sat opposite each other.
Before we could touch our utensils, Vivian descended the stairs, hair loose, holding little Oliver in tow, all languid and gilded.
She stood like a goddess on the stair and spat three cold words: "Tell her to get out."
"What’s wrong, sister-in-law? Displeased with today’s meal?" Ethan grinned obsequiously.
"I said, tell her to get out."
Vivian repeated, "She doesn’t deserve to sit at this table."
Ethan kept smiling, glancing between her and me.
After a moment he took a spoonful of soup without looking up. "Can’t you hear? She told you to get out."
Half an hour earlier he had been wrapped around my waist, burying his head in my neck and saying they’d asked the kitchen to make sweet porridge with dates—good for complexion, blood tonic, and a sign of early fortune in childbirth.
That man and the man before me now were worlds apart.
I rose, and her little son piped up. "Mom, eat with sister. It’ll be lively. That sister is pretty and good at literature—last time she taught me some of the Classics…"
"Oliver, what sort of birth do you come from that anyone can just call someone ‘sister’?" Vivian bent down, straightened his bow tie, and cleared her throat. "Now, out."
"Come on, sister-in-law. Ethan will serve you first."
Ethan cooed and winked at me, urging me to leave.
He respectfully handed a bowl of porridge to her, close to her ear: "Sister-in-law, I added extra dates for your complexion."
She didn’t even look at him—bit into a piece of fish as if it stung her.
This scene played out every day.
I gritted my teeth and endured it because I had no choice—just as Ethan had said.
The more Vivian attacked, the more exhilarated Ethan became; at night he’d demand I cry out louder.
Then the next day Vivian would intensify everything. It repeated.
Eventually she grew bored of the usual tricks and pulled out a gun—an heirloom left by her late husband, Henry Carter.
"Henry told me to learn to protect myself in times like these.
But he gave me the gun and never taught me how to use it."
In the parlor she toyed with the pistol while shooting daggers at Ethan from across the paper he’d been reading.
"Easy enough." Ethan indulged her; he always gave her what she wanted. "Tomorrow I’ll have Captain Reynolds take you to the range. I’ll find the best shooter to teach you and I’ll supervise your practice."
"No. I want you to teach me, Ethan."
She pressed him. "Teach me now."
I sat nearby, helping Oliver practice letters, hearing everything.
At her signal the wet nurse scooped Oliver away to play.
Ethan set the paper down, licked his lips with a mysterious smile, all honeyed words: "This is the Commander’s Residence—there are so many guards. If they hear shots inside, they’d mount a response.
Besides, there’s no range and no targets here."
"Who’s to say there are no targets?"
Vivian raised the gun and aimed it at my head.
Ethan’s grin stiffened for a beat, but being a man used to storms, he walked over to her and crouched, a hand pressing down on the pistol. "Sister-in-law, don’t be ridiculous, alright?"
Vivian looked up with a smile. "Didn’t you tell me—whoever offends my eyes, I’ll shoot them?
Now, are you going to stop me?"
She set her lips and enunciated, "You’ve done all this just to see me like this, haven’t you?
Fine, Ethan. Tell me—may I fire this shot? Will you allow it?"
He had to decide.
After all his posturing, he didn’t agonize long. He smiled, loosened his grip, and held up his hands. "Alright. Whatever pleases sister-in-law. If you’re happy, anything else is meaningless."
I watched Vivian, and I watched the black barrel of the gun in her hands.
She closed one eye, smiled cruelly, and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
She kept pressing again and again.
"She doesn’t know to release the safety on her first time." Ethan kindly reminded, turning his back as if he couldn’t bear to watch the blood he might have imagined.
Vivian flicked the safety off and pulled again. This time it fired.
I had managed to turn my head—the bullet grazed my ear and punched into the wall behind me.
She tried to keep firing. Ethan’s voice finally cut through, unusually stern. "That’s enough, sister-in-law. If you keep shooting, people will really think something’s happened at the Commander’s Residence!"
He Used Me as a Substitute: Twice
Vivian glanced at Ethan—maybe she'd never seen him angry before—and sheepishly lowered the gun, rubbing the finger she'd used to pull the trigger. "Alright, we'll practice next time, Ethan. You teach me then."
"Not necessary."
I rose, still reeling.
To them it was mere banter, a game.
To me, it was literal—my life was being toyed with.
I walked over, picked up the gun from beside her, ignoring her stunned look, and aimed it at her temple. "This is simpler. You want to play with guns? Fine—today I teach you."
"No, don't you dare."
Ethan, who considered her reckless, couldn't stand to see the woman he favored with a gun pointed at her. His eyes flared as he stared at me.
Seeing Ethan ready to lunge and take the pistol, I twisted my arm backward.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Three shots rang out. The room went silent and everyone stared at the direction from which I'd fired.
Three of the tall-stemmed glasses on the cabinet had their stems snapped—one at each end and one in the middle—two remained intact.
"Learned enough?" I glared at Vivian, who had gone white and couldn't speak.
The guards outside arrived belatedly, guns trained on me.
"All clear." Ethan tapped his forehead and told them, "Go on, everyone out."
I flung the gun down and stormed back to my room.
Ethan followed.
He slammed the door, grabbed my throat, and pinned me to the bed without a word.
"Tell me—who sent you?"
He tightened his grip, like he truly wanted me dead.
"I'm not a spy."
I clawed at his hand, trying to be logical. "Think. If someone sent me, I wouldn't have flaunted my skill. They could have had me shoot you outright.
You and your sister-in-law pushed me too far. I lost my head for a moment…"
Ethan eased his grip after a few seconds. "Where did you learn to shoot?"
"In times like these, learning to protect yourself isn't a crime," I said heavily. "They taught it at school."
"Hmph. Is that so?"
He didn't seem to believe me. He grabbed my collar and pulled me up. "Schools teach that? I'll ask your principal about it tomorrow."
"Do as the commander likes." I said nothing more.
Ethan puffed his cheeks, eyes fixed on the wall as if he was inwardly furious at how out of control everything had become.
After who knew how long, his gaze finally slid back to my face. He gathered me into his arms and said softly, “Alright. It’s my fault. I spoiled her.”
Spoiled her?
Spoiled her enough to take my life?
That was a loaded gun. If the safety hadn’t been off, if Vivian hadn’t been such a poor shot, if I hadn’t managed to wrestle it away… right now my brains would be smeared across the living room at the Carter Estate.
A straw mat would have wrapped my still body and they’d have tossed me out.
Ethan watched me bite my lip until it hurt, eyes swirling with restrained tears that wouldn’t spill, and he gently wiped the corner of my mouth with his fingertip.
He raised his hand. “There won’t be a next time, Claire. Trust me. I, Ethan Carter, swear there won’t be.”
I shoved him away, turned onto my side, and pulled the covers over my head.
That night, Ethan didn’t touch me or even come into the room. He let me take his bed.
The next day the butler told me the Commander had locked himself in his study and smoked all night.
After that, he went from one extreme to the other.
For days he dote d on me.
When Vivian refused to let me sit at the table, Ethan simply stopped joining the main meals too. He reopened a small private dining room in the Commander's Residence and ate every meal there with just me.
He even came with me to school, hauling an awkward little wooden stool, half-sitting, half-squatting in the back row while I read literature aloud.
A few days later he had a brand-new mansion purchased for me, handed me the deed, and hired housekeepers and servants, saying he wanted to bring my mother to live well.
My mother had gone a little mad a few years back. During the time I’d been away she neither worried nor searched. When neighbors asked, she’d say, “My daughter went to Japan to look for someone—her true love.”
“Come, Claire.”
Ethan specifically came by that afternoon. He drove, bustling with energy as he waved me into the car. “I’ll accompany you home.”
I didn’t have a choice. He was the Commander. What right did I have to refuse him? Or even to blame him?
Even though I’d nearly died at his moonlight’s—his white moonlight’s—gun.
Seeing us arrive together, my mother practically exploded with joy and fell on Ethan, clinging to him and calling him “the elder heir” over and over.
Ethan laughed and took my mother’s hand back, gently explaining, “Auntie, I’m not some rich heir. I’m the man with the gun—the Commander. I lead men into battle. I can protect Claire. I’m not one of those pretty, effeminate boys who’d make a poor son-in-law.”
“You are the heir. I waited for you all these years, finally you’ve come back,” my mother said, dreamily.
Ethan’s smile abruptly died. “What heir?”
“She’s not all there. Don’t listen to her,” I stepped in at once, guiding my mother back to her room and turning to explain to Ethan.
He darkened and said nothing more.
That night he was even more relentless.
He pinched my face and shouted, “Can’t you just be a woman for once? Always this deadpan act!”
I didn’t answer. He grew rougher, more brutal—forcing me to be lascivious, to give him what he wanted.
Eventually both of us were exhausted. I pressed my hand to my chest, panting, and asked, “Why? Weren’t the women you sought before—at the clubs, at the theater, at the brothels—good enough? Did they not cry out loud enough? Why drag me into this?”
“Compared to them, wouldn’t that be an insult to her? Only you could even come close.”
When Ethan spoke of “her,” his tone turned tender, almost painfully soft. Even though for days he’d been ignoring Vivian after that day’s incident, his voice softened.
I shoved him, forcing him off me, and scooted a few inches away.
I flopped back on the bed, arm over my eyes. Before he could start again I murmured, “Ethan, do you have a cigarette?”
“What?” He looked at me, puzzled.
“I asked if you have a cigarette.”
“I quit. Threw them all away—on your orders.”
“You’re lying.” I opened my eyes and smiled, and said something no proper schoolteacher would: “You hate people smoking, remember?”
He chuckled. “What’s gotten into you today? Are you still Claire Bennett?”
“Cut the crap. Give me a cigarette. I know where you hide them.”
I pinched his chin, threatening. “If you lie, I’ll go upstairs naked and demand one from Vivian.”
He stared at me, baffled and a little thrilled, then backed out of the room, “Alright, wait here.”
That night I smoked in his room, pulling smoke into my lungs like I belonged to the underworld he’d always warned me about.
When I finished, I missed the ashtray and crushed the butt out on his expensive sheets.
I wasn’t the dignified, proper teacher he thought I was. In those moments I felt like those other women, the courtesans.
“Why pretend?” he asked, amused and helpless, leaning by the window as he watched me. “So I’ll think you’re not like her and let you go?”
I closed my eyes and lit another. “What if this is who I truly am, and you misread me?”
Ethan smiled and reached for his lighter. I snatched it away. “No smoking. You promised.”
He looked like a scolded child, hands awkward, and muttered, “Why is it alright for magistrates to set fires but not for ordinary folks to light a lamp?”
“Because in this room, I’m the magistrate and you’re the commoner,” I said, tilting my head.
“Fine, fine. Ms. Bennett—my concubine—you get to decide.”
My odd behavior didn’t last long.
The next morning I rose early, dressed properly, gave proper orders to the staff, and checked Oliver’s homework with a composed face.
I kept trying to avoid the question: why had I behaved like that last night? Was it Ethan’s harshness and disgust? Or was it something to do with my mother’s babbling about “the elder heir”?
I didn’t know.
Ethan came downstairs after washing, and when he saw my usual white qipao and the subdued expression, a flash of relief crossed his face—followed by disappointment.
Relief that I wasn’t actually a prostitute, that I still resembled the educated, poised sister-in-law—Vivian. Disappointment that I was respectable and dull and couldn’t give him the pleasure he craved.
“There’s a gala Friday night. Come with me,” he said at the breakfast table, head bowed.
I never went against him. I nodded. “Okay.”
“Claire, you know the situation outside is unstable. Storm clouds could brew any time,” he shifted, suddenly somber and a little muddled. “Maybe, when war comes… I’m a warlord. People say I’m tyrannical, but when the time comes the country must be unified. We fight among ourselves, but eventually the gun must face outward, to defend our homeland, to drive out the foreigners. I’ve been thinking—Oliver is getting older…”
Ethan rambled on in a rare, shaky way.
I furrowed my brow. “Commander, what is it you want to say?”
“So… I thought—” His huge frame lowered. He blushed. “While things are peaceful, maybe we should have a child?”
I choked on my soy milk, coughing.
“I know this can’t be rushed. I’m not forcing you,” he said carefully, patting my back. He blinked rapidly, clearly upset. “When I thought of that other heir last night, it hurt. I was angry. I was terrified—”
“Afraid of what? You’re a Commander. What could scare you?” I asked.
“Afraid I’ll die in battle one day and you’ll end up running off with some other heir!” He puffed his cheeks and reddened, wanting to slam the table, then lowering his hands to cradle his bowl. “So Claire, I’m not getting any younger. It’s time I became a father.”
“Let’s discuss it later,” I said, stacking my dishes and rising. “You should be heading to headquarters. Look at the time.”
By Friday, it was time for the gala.
Vivian brought out a treasured jade and pearl set and fastened a necklace around my neck, peering into the mirror. “Pretty, right? Henry gave me this.”
She stared at the largest gem and sighed, “Back when he took me to galas, he loved seeing me wear this. Too bad—since he died I never had the chance.”
There was a trace of melancholy in her expression, but she snapped it away. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not being nice to you. I just don’t want you looking shabby and bringing shame to the Carters.”
I didn’t respond; she finished fixing my hair and outfit.
In my heart, though, what she’d done with the gun hadn’t been erased by her pretended sweetness.
Just as she clapped her hands, satisfied and ready to show off to Ethan, I asked suddenly, “This jewelry—what’s the story behind it?”
Vivian was taken aback. She eyed me like I’d pressed a sore spot, and recovering her haughtiness, snapped, “Who are you to pry into my affairs?”
Then she swept out, leaving Ethan baffled. He looked from her to me and, grinning in habit, followed after her to placate her.
On the way to the gala he half-teasingly, half-accusingly asked, “What did you do to upset her earlier?”
“Upset her? I wouldn’t dare. Why can’t it be that she upset me?” I suddenly had a temper I couldn’t explain, and I barked at Captain Reynolds, “Stop the car. I don’t want to go to this gala.”
The captain hesitated, slowed, and glanced back with a laugh, “Is something forgotten at the estate, Ms. Bennett? I can go get it.”
“Don’t listen to her. Stop indulging her,” Ethan said, pointing at me to rile me. “Look at her now—this temper. Doesn’t she look like the elder mistress?”
He pressed. “Claire, you’d do anything to please me, don’t you? Throw tantrums like this and you make yourself more like her. And the more you’re like her, the more I’ll spoil you.”
It was nonsense, but I couldn’t find the energy to argue.
When I stayed silent and sulked, he got even more worked up: “If you’re going to imitate her, at least copy the better parts. She came from a big household—poised, proper. Why don’t you learn from that? She wasn’t always like that. Three parts self-inflicted, seven parts bad luck—she was forced into what she became.”
“If you pity her so much, marry her and be done with it. Isn’t that better than chasing half-baked substitutes?”
“You don’t understand. She hates me; she’d rather kill me than marry me. How could she ever agree?”
Saying that, Ethan hooked an arm around my neck and hauled me against his chest, grinning like a fool. "Where's anyone as good as you? So cultured, so obedient."
"Tonight—just tonight—we're going home and making a big, fat son. He’ll outstudy Oliver and drive that little widow crazy!"
Hearing Captain Reynolds laugh from the front seat, Ethan clicked his tongue. "What're you laughing at? Drive faster. I can't wait to show everyone the treasure I've hidden in my golden house!"
At the gala, Ethan moved through the room with practiced ease, escorting me and trading jests with the city’s powerful.
"I never would've guessed—Ms. Bennett is a teacher. No wonder she carries herself so well."
Their compliments were aimed at Ethan as much as at me. He laughed loud and accepted every offered drink.
I couldn't help drinking a little. Ethan teased that the way I drank was amusing—puckering my lips to sip, not like some ivory-tower instructor, but more like a noblewoman. "More Viv than Viv," he jeered.
"Can you even read people?" he asked, reaching for my glass. I moved it away. "Maybe I'm a whore who's praised by thousands and cursed by thousands. Maybe."
"A whore? If you were a whore with that dead-fish performance, you'd be starving by now," he taunted in my ear. Before I could get angry, he tightened his hold and pulled me toward the next officer, exchanging cups and banter.
After a few rounds, I started feeling unwell. Ethan helped me back to the car to rest.
I was burning up. One hand held him; the other started undoing the cheongsam buttons. Captain Reynolds turned crimson and quickly looked away.
"What are you doing? Want to take your clothes off and wait to get to my bed? Fine—do whatever you want when that time comes!"
Ethan tossed his coat over me. I ripped it off. He moved to rebutton me; I wrestled his hand away. Three times like that, and he snapped. He pinned my hands, leaning close. "Enough. How do you expect to look like a teacher? You damn well look like a prostitute!"
"I am," I said, startling him. I grabbed his sleeve and leaned against his ear, breath warm and teasing. "Ethan, don't go. Give me three silver dollars and I promise I'll make you happy tonight."
Captain Reynolds, embarrassed and wanting to leave, was stopped by Ethan's sudden call. "You got money on you?"
"Y—yes."
"Did you hear her? She wants three silver dollars!"
Ethan, annoyed, dug into Reynolds' trouser pocket, pulled out a handful of coins, and shoved them into my palm. "Here, Claire Bennett. Take it. You want money? Tonight you'll have to show me how you'll make me happy."
I pressed him back onto the rear seat, tracing my finger along his jaw.
For the first time, Ethan seemed bashful. I was about to tear at his shirt when someone knocked on the car window.
I glared at the sound and found a young woman's face at the glass.
"Fusang?" she cried, delighted. "Are you Fusang?"
"No!" I replied, annoyed through the fog. "You have the wrong person. There are too many women in this world who look like me. Have you met the Carter Estate's madam, Vivian Hayes? She looks a lot like me. Maybe she's who you're looking for."
I was done wasting time. I rolled up the window.
Ethan and I kissed all the way in—at the door, upstairs, into the room. Even with Vivian in the room, we couldn't pull apart.
"Disgusting!" Vivian shouted as she stood and flung her newspaper to the floor.
I shoved Ethan's head back and called over my shoulder, "Don't like it? Don't look!"
That night I was no dead fish. I clung to him, roused him, and kept pushing him until he surrendered.
I'll admit it—I enjoyed myself. Even if it was because I was treating him like someone else.
Whether lucky or not, the next morning I had completely forgotten everything that had happened the night before.
The last scene I remembered was flattering a young, handsome stranger at the gala and drinking my wine. Everything else came from Ethan's account.
He told how I’d been loose, how I’d gone wild, and he told me to ask Captain Reynolds or Vivian if I didn't believe him. But he never once said the name Fusang.
I pretended not to care and kept my head down, spooning porridge into my mouth.
Until he, for once serious, said, "Claire, with so many warlords and dignitaries together last night, you should understand—this wasn't just some night of decadence."
He drew a deep breath. "Outside, things might change soon. I have to arrange a fallback for you and for the Carters."
"My life is expendable. If something happens, I'll go back to school and let a stray bullet finish me."
Sober again, I was lukewarm.
"Don't say that." He held me tight. "You're mine, Claire Bennett. I won't allow anything to happen. Nothing."
After that, Ethan's public duties grew even busier. But in the little spare time he had, he never stopped tending to me.
He even had a doctor come over, fidgeting and asking, "Do you two have any…issues? You're both of childbearing age; why hasn't the wife become pregnant?"
'Wife'—that title should never have been meant for me. The doctor wanted a blood sample from both of us for testing.
Ethan reflexively stepped in front of me. "Is that necessary? She gets a split lip and I worry. You want a sample? Take three from me to make up for one from her."
The doctor rattled off explanations, working in some foreign terms, and flounced out in frustration before Ethan finally relented.
Three days later the doctor returned. He and Ethan talked for hours in the closed study. Ethan emerged with a dark face.
After the doctor left, Ethan rushed to me, grabbed my arm so hard it felt like he'd break it, and dragged me from near Oliver to his room, throwing me to the floor.
"Take it out!" he barked.
I've never seen him so furious. I shrank back, startled. "What?"
"Take it out!" he shouted, hauling me up by the collar. "Stop playing innocent, Claire Bennett. Stop pretending to be pitiful. Stop pretending to be Vivian!"
"I misjudged you," Ethan spat. "I thought even if you were a block of ice, you'd thaw someday. You're just a simple schoolteacher. What tricks could you possibly have?"
He jerked me up by my collar again. "Why, Claire? Why do this just because I once let her shoot? Even if you hate me—haven't I treated you well afterward? You know I wanted a child…"
At the word 'child', I saw the flare in his eyes. I pushed his hand away and stumbled to stand upright. "Just because you want one doesn't mean I do."
I knew this would set him off, but I said it anyway.
As expected, he grabbed a pistol from the drawer, cocked it, and pressed it to my forehead. "Believe me? I'll blow your head off."
"Ethan, you forced me to be with you. It wasn't my choice. Why do you think I should willingly give you a child?" I met his eyes without fear. "Are you some saint? Only you know what your hands have done. Shoot me if you want—I've had a gun pointed at me by you and your family before."
The last line seemed to knock the wind out of him. His rage deflated. He lowered the gun and asked, quieter now, "Fine. I'm not shooting. Where did you hide the contraceptives?"
I told him. Ethan ordered a servant to fetch them, pacing in a fury. He paused halfway out the door and turned back, voice low. "If you really hate me, you won't have to endure me for long. They say a day as man and wife gives a hundred days of grace. If you're not completely without feeling, when I'm gone—when I'm wrapped in leather and gone—maybe you'll remember something of me. If you cut me off, you'll only be burning paper for me in the afterlife."
I thought he'd distance himself from me after that—treat me poorly or discard me. But he didn't. He was furious, then acted as if nothing had happened.
We still lived together, ate together. He teased me, made love to me, and kept calling me a dead fish. When I had my period, he wouldn't touch me. He brewed me bowls of red-date tonic and watched me drink them, fussing, "That day nearly killed me. Never trust foreign doctors again. A tube of blood—your arm is so small—how could he?"
"Don't forget, I'm just a substitute for your wife. No need to worry yourself."
I snapped back at him on purpose.
"I worry if I want to!"
But Ethan never forgot that I was a stand-in for Vivian. On quiet mornings, he'd roll over, press me to his chest, bury his face in my neck—then whisper, "Vivian."
He would mutter, "Vivian, I'm sorry, I can't help it. I have to kill him." I shoved him away.
Half awake, he'd pull me back and pin me. "Stay still. It's my rare day off. Stay with me a bit longer."
But I wasn't the only thing to disrupt his sleep.
Ten minutes later the phone would ring. Ethan would curse and answer, waking fully, throw on his coat, and rush out, hair a mess.
"What's going on, Ethan? Isn't today your day off?" Vivian asked downstairs, blocking him from leaving; she was playing with Oliver in the living room.
"Something came up. I have to go to the command." He warned, "Things are unstable. When I'm gone, lock the doors and don't wander. I'll increase the guards. Take care of yourself and Oliver."
Then he turned and looked up at me on the stairs, hair unkempt and robe loose. "There's a gun in my room. You know where it is. If anyone dares harm you—" He mimed cocking a gun. "Shoot him."
Big talk. If Vivian ever threatened me, who knows who would end up doing the shooting.
Ethan's trip lasted a long time. Vivian pretended not to care, playing indifference. Normally she was asleep by nine, but that night she stayed on the couch until dawn—yawning but peering out the window again and again.
I woke in the middle of the night and saw the living room light on, so I grabbed a blanket and took it to her.
Vivian didn't appreciate it. She turned her head and spat, "A concubine dragged back from the streets has neither virtue nor heart. Her husband's not even back and she's already asleep like this."
I ignored her and sat down across from her, pulled out a cigarette, and tossed it in front of her. "Have one. It'll wake you up."
"I don't smoke."
Her reaction was sudden—as if I had detonated a landmine. She sneered, "I wouldn't be like you kind of lowborn women."
"We?"
I flicked a lighter, pinched the cigarette between two fingers and let it dangle, letting her embarrassment hang in the air. "We who?"
She said nothing.
When my cigarette burned out, I went back to my room.
Five days later, Ethan Carter returned. He didn't say a word to me—he went straight into Vivian's room.
The door locked, and he stayed in there for a full three hours.
Ethan was an interesting man: everyone knew he liked Vivian; everyone had seen him tease her. But he never even touched a finger of hers, never gave himself a moment alone with her if he could avoid it.
Three hours alone together was enough to let people's imaginations run wild.
Even more fertile for rumor, the door opened and Vivian came out with her hair disheveled and tears streaking her face.
I didn't ask. Ethan didn't say anything either. He glanced at his watch, hurried over, dragged me aside, pinched my cheek and tried to flirt despite everything, squeezing charm into every second he had: "You little thing, you've lost weight again. Have you stopped taking jujube porridge when I'm gone?"
"Are you leaving again?"
I dodged.
"Yeah. I don't know when I'll be back this time."
He shot a worried look upstairs. "You take care of her. Let her have her way for now."
"If she points a gun at me, let her have it?"
"She wouldn't. She wouldn't."
Ethan sighed long and low. "It's not her fault. It's not yours. It's this damned world that's gone wrong. But someday, it'll get better."
Vivian cried by day and by night.
It was Oliver who finally told me what had happened: all this began because her grandfather had been killed.
The powerful Mr. Cai, who ran arms trade and refused to cooperate with the foreigners, had been murdered on a merchant ship. The Cai family was slaughtered—only a handful survived.
People were the same everywhere when disaster came: misery piled on misery.
After that, I took care of Oliver—fed him, put him to bed, played with him, tutored him.
One day, Vivian finally came downstairs. She wore white and no makeup; at a glance she looked more like me than ever.
"Thanks for what you've done today."
That was the first time she called me "Ms. Bennett."
A person's spirit can be drained in an instant.
Vivian's life had once seemed easier than most—yet she couldn't escape an early widowing, then the ruin of her family. She'd been ground down until there was no edge left.
She walked over to the table and picked up the cigarette I'd tossed that night. She looked at it, then suddenly said, "I know you, Ms. Bennett. I've known you from the first."
I shivered involuntarily, as if when she first saw me, I had already understood her everything too.
"To be frank, I hate you. Am I wrong to feel that? If that bullet I fired had gone clean through your head, it would have been justice."
She looked at me, but the fire of hate had dulled. "Right? You're… Lydia Shaw, aren't you?"
I had no words.
That piece of my past—Lydia Shaw—was going to be torn open by her.
"No one probably knows you better than I do. I studied you like a subject, worked on you like a career. Do you know how many letters I read—letters he wrote to you?"
She lit a cigarette, pushed it around in her mouth like she couldn't quite find a place for it. "I know everything. How you went from being used by men for survival, to crossing paths with Henry Carter. How he trained you into what you became—Chinese literature, singing, shooting, intimacy. You learned it all."
"I know he changed your name. He said ‘Shawwood’—that we were two branches of the same root, that we'd support each other. But in these chaotic times, nobody can truly support another. So he followed his parents' wishes, sailed abroad, and you were separated. I know it all…"
I felt exposed, as if every piece of clothing had been torn off and I stood naked before her. What I'd hidden was transparent in Vivian's eyes.
She was right: I was Lydia Shaw—a fallen woman who'd been lifted into paradise by Henry Carter.
"Why didn't you expose me?"
"Was there any point? To show Henry that I was just a substitute, that in his brother's eyes I was worthless?"
Vivian raised her head, smoking in an oddly casual, lazy way. Her voice mixed a brittle pride with pleading: "Ms. Shaw, look—do I even look like you?"
For a moment I didn't know what to say.
She went on: "I learned how to be what he described in those letters. I became exactly like the woman in his words. So why—until he died—did Henry never look at me properly?"
Vivian named the two people she had hated her whole life.
One was Lydia Shaw, a woman she regarded as more shameful than marsh grass—someone who survived by pleasing men and yet had stolen her husband's heart.
The other was her father, Mr. Cai, who ignored Vivian's love for Ethan to force her into marriage with Henry so the eldest son could inherit his military position.
"Back then, all the aristocratic families lined up to marry Henry. But he looked at the portraits and chose me."
Vivian gave a bitter laugh. "Why do you think that happened, Ms. Shaw?"
I choked. Anything I said would wound us both.
She envied me; how could I not envy her? Brief as it was, she had been Henry Carter's wife.
"I never once disobeyed my father. After marrying Henry, I went with him to Japan and forced myself to forget Ethan. I opened my heart to Henry entirely. But however much I tried, he only looked at me when he was drunk. One night, he kept calling for Shaw, and that's how Oliver was born…"
Vivian's tears fell in a steady stream. A person's tears feel endless when sorrow opens the floodgates.
"What could I do? I intercepted letters sent to Lydia Shaw, tried to become what he described in them, imitated her little by little. Ms. Shaw, what else could I have done?"
She lifted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. "So I hated you. I wanted to shoot you. Was I wrong? Was I unforgivable? Have you ever felt what it's like to be treated as a substitute…?"
Uncomfortably, I nodded. "I have. I really have."
It was karma; a cycle of payback and retribution no one escaped.
"Mom, don't cry. Oliver will keep you company…"
Oliver, in the nanny's arms, toddled over and rested his head on Vivian's knee.
"Okay," she said, smiling at him with the warmth she'd hidden when she questioned me.
Before she took him, Vivian looked up at me. "Ms. Bennett, I know why you're here. I know what you want. If you get it, you'll have your wish; if you don't, then it's fate."
"I won't tell anyone. Your identity, your purpose, your past—I'll pretend I don't know. Only one thing I want to remind you: I once wanted the same thing you do. But later I learned many things aren't what they seem."
She stood, took two steps, then turned back and added, "I know you want those letters—those letters Henry sent from Japan that I intercepted. But call it selfishness. Call it me being unable to let go. I'm not giving them back. That's my last revenge."
She laughed at herself: "Pathetic, right?"
When Ethan came back, Vivian and I sat at the same table, clinking glasses like old friends.
She could outdrink me; I collapsed long before she did, while she stayed perfectly sober. Ethan nearly dropped his jaw at the sight.
He looked beaten and filthy, like he'd crawled back from a battlefield.
When he heard Vivian speak of him, he rolled up his sleeves and revealed a large angry new wound. "Yeah, I crawled back from the battlefield. Don't act like you two get to live on my luck and my money while I bleed for this mess."
Hands on his hips, he spat, "That General Cao—what a treacherous bastard, plotting with foreigners to swallow up our land, selling us out."
Vivian shut her mouth in shock, hurried to close a window and hissed, "Is that wound okay?"
"A bullet went through, but I'm fine. Look—I can still move."
He waved his arm despite the pain.
After seeing Vivian off, Ethan couldn't contain himself—he grabbed me and started smothering me with kisses.
I flopped across the table, half dazed, and pushed him weakly. "Stop it. You're bleeding…"
"I don't care if I die for this—I'm going to die in your bed!" he roared.
He dragged and shoved me toward our room, cursing about the sparse dishes and how I'd drunk away the meal.
He forced me onto the bed. I hooked my arm around his neck and crawled into his lap. "Don't go. Don't leave me."
"Okay."
He gave a wry smile. "I don't know if this is blessing or curse—one moment you're a dead fish, the next you're some temptress."
Afterward, he held my muddled self in a lazy doze, drifting in and out of sleep, cursing one moment and grieving the next. He talked—from the Empress Dowager down to the state of the world, to the foreign devils and the warlords.
He asked softly, wrapping me in his arms and holding my hands, "If one day I'm not commander anymore—if I'm trapped and can't even protect myself—what would you have me do with you?"
"Don't go. Don't leave me alone."
I cupped his face and kissed him with wet, pleading kisses, from cheek to lips, over and over. "Please, if you leave this time, take me with you."
"Will you, Henry?"
Drunk talk destroys everything. Two words slipped out and it all fell apart.
Ethan smashed the study at the Commander's Residence into splinters—so badly the whole room was wrecked—and not even Vivian could stop him.
Oliver cried out, terrified. Ethan pointed at him and snapped, "Don't you dare cry. This is all your father's doing!"
He kept cursing to himself, "What a sin, what a damn sin!
Henry Carter and I never saw eye to eye, so why does it have to be over a woman—"
It was a sin. Everyone was a substitute; no one escaped it.
Vivian covered his mouth. "Lower your voice. The child is here."
By the time he finished venting, my drunkenness had completely faded.
Ethan sat across from me, staring me down like an interrogation.
Before he could speak, I beat him to it. "You get to hold me and call me 'Vivian.' Don't I get to kiss you and call you 'Henry'?"
"No. You're not allowed. Absolutely not!"
He ground his teeth, furious. "I'm the governor. I can set fires, but you can't light the lamp!"
Fine. I dropped my eyes and said nothing.
"What are you doing, Claire? How can you betray me and then act like this—like a dead fish?"
He forced my chin up, lifting my face. "Tell me. What did you come here to do?"
"You tied me up and brought me."
He lost patience, voice rising. "Tell the truth."
"To kill you. To get revenge."
"What grudge?"
I raised my head and stared at him, burning. "The commander knows what he did."
"You mean…the thing with me killing my own brother?"
He smirked as if it were light and teasing, but my anger flared.
"All right, all right, Claire, don't get so worked up.
If you make yourself sick, who will care for you in the end?"
Ethan gently stroked my face—more like soothing a frightened animal than anything else. "Yes, you know it—my brother died by my hand. But do you know how he consorted with the foreigners, how he sold out his country, how he cast aside the lives of ordinary people?
If I hadn't killed him, he'd have become commander. Tens of thousands of people would have suffered for decades. Do you understand that?"
Of course I understood.
So many chances had been there, yet I couldn't pull the trigger.
I spat at him, "For the crime of fratricide, you'll rot in hell."
"Yes, I'm guilty, I deserve hell. But as long as I'm alive, I must kill him. I must become commander myself!"
Ethan stood, hands finally resting on my shoulders as he smoothed the tangled hair at my neck. "Claire, I'm more of a man than he was. If it had been me back then, I wouldn't have left you for some damned marriage decree and walked away, leaving you alone.
If one day I ever leave you, it won't be because I don't want you. It'll be because I want you to live."
His words felt like a warning that made my chest tighten.
After that, Ethan didn't go out for days.
He confiscated anything on me that could endanger him—or himself.
When we weren't together, he even handcuffed me to the bedhead.
"Put up with it," he told me. "If I keep a tiger nearby, don't you think I'd be careful? With your marksmanship—who can stand it?"
At night he clung to me like he wanted to squeeze all my life out of me.
"What can I do, Claire? I think I love you," he would repeat, even while my hand was still cuffed to the headboard.
He tasted the helpless body he'd trapped, drunk on it. "I'm not in love with someone like her; I'm in love with you."
I stayed cold and sharp. "Don't fool yourself. You don't love me. You're only drawn to me now because I remind you of Vivian before she became your wife."
I didn't say the rest—that the later Vivian was actually more like the real me. She had been learning to be coy, coquettish, demanding—the kind of performance that lures a man.
"That's bullshit. I love you—I love you, I love you! You don't know anything!" Ethan wouldn't let me deny him. He grumbled, pinning me down and cursing like a madman, "I'm crazy to love you, you dead fish, you woman who only thinks of Henry!"
I turned my face away.
He leaned over me, powerful again. "Say it."
He forced me, like the first time—"Say it. Let me hear you. Tell me you can be happy because of me."
For reasons I couldn't explain, I obeyed.
Afterward he unlocked the cuffs and pulled me into his arms, whispering into my ear in a heavy voice, "Do you know, Claire? You leave me helpless."
"When I think of Vivian, I know how to set her up—property, money, a ticket out. I can arrange everything so she has no worries for the rest of her life."
"But when I think of you, I don't know what to do. Letting you go kills me, but keeping you here puts you in danger, and I can't do that."
I listened in silence.
"Now I finally know what it's like to hold a treasure—you're afraid of breaking it, afraid of it melting away…" He touched my face. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have brought you back like some statue."
He laughed bitterly. "But maybe I'm not drawn to you because I captured you. Maybe you exposed yourself to me on purpose so that one day you'd kill me, right?"
I didn't answer. Some things didn't need saying.
I knew what was happening outside, and I knew these days couldn't last.
I read the newspapers every day—reports about the Japanese, those blurry photos of bayonets and corpses, the words that became desperate, helpless cries.
Gunfire, raging battlefields. Ethan saw it all too; he couldn't sit idly by.
Lately he'd been strange. The whole Commander's Residence felt off.
He was back to rarely coming home. Vivian shut herself away with secretive purpose. She had brought me the jewelry—the set she'd put on me before the gala.
"Returning what's yours," she said, handing it over. "The day you asked about the origin, I realized why Henry loved them. It wasn't so much a gift to me as a adornment to dress me up more like Evelyn Mason. I don't need them now."
I took them, but she refused to return what truly belonged to me.
Everyone seemed to be following a routine while teetering on the brink.
Ethan wasn't home much, but Captain Reynolds visited often.
One day he arrived to take me out, saying Ethan had ordered it—he didn't want me trapped in the house, so he would escort me to school to get some air.
I hesitated but got in the car. The driver sped off.
"Where are we going, Captain? Where are we headed?" I asked, alarmed.
"The docks." He didn't hide it. "War's started. The Japanese have pushed in. The commander doesn't want Miss Bennett staying here. I'm to escort you away. Don't worry, Miss Bennett—Ethan has arranged money and housing. It's too conspicuous with too many people; you must leave alone."
No wonder Vivian had been packing.
"Stop the car."
I demanded.
Captain Reynolds ignored me, as expected.
"Stop," I said again.
He sped up.
"Ethan has no right to decide for me—he still owes me my life!" With that, I threw the door open and jumped from the moving car.
"You're supposed to escort her to safety, not send her hurt, and not bring her here!" Ethan roared when they brought me back.
A medic was treating the scrape on my arm while he lectured Captain Reynolds at the door. "She jumped out of the car. I feared she'd do something else. If she hurt herself, you'd better believe I'd hold you responsible."
"Hurt herself? Do you mean she isn't hurt now?"
Ethan dragged him inside by the ear and pointed at my grazed arm. "Look at this mess! You were supposed to deliver a person and you come back with blood!"
It was hardly more than a scrape—only a drop or two of blood.
"Report, sir," an NCO said, entering. "Everything is prepared and awaiting your orders."
Ethan's face darkened.
Only then did I take him in properly—his uniform, the set jaw—he was going to the front.
"Why did you shout to see me and now you're quiet?" Ethan crouched close, voice soft, entirely indulgent, no Commander's authority in it. "Can't you stay?"
"Do you mean you, or me?" I asked.
"The war will happen. I can't stop you, and I won't try."
I bowed my head. "You still owe me a life."
He instinctively clutched the pistol at his hip, feigning lightness. "Why so stubborn? Still planning to kill me?"
For the first time I smiled at him—just for him. We looked at each other, smiling, sharing some private agreement.
"Commander, we must hurry. There's no time." Captain Reynolds urged.
"All right, enough chatter!" Ethan shoved him out, then turned back to me. "Fine, Claire, if you won't go, then you won't go."
I nodded.
"Claire…" He stroked my cheek with reluctance. "Do you know the day you said you'd kill me, I thought about giving you the gun.
Let you press it to my chest and ask if you could really do it. If you truly had to avenge yourself, you'd shoot. I would bet—bet you'd have feelings for me and couldn't pull the trigger.
Even if I lost that bet, I'd die under the peony flowers—a romantic end. Wouldn't be for nothing."
I kept nodding, letting hot tears track down my face.
"But, Claire, Ethan could gamble. Commander Tang cannot.
Our land is being eaten by invaders. I'm a man with a million soldiers and millions of people behind me. I can't die by your bullet. I must die on the battlefield, bleeding out under enemy shells. Only that would be proper.
So I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry. I can't grant your wish…"
"Mm."
I pecked my head like a bird, dumb and obedient. "I know. I know…"
"It's okay, Claire. Don't cry. You'll have another chance.
Believe me—if I go, unless the war ends and we win, I won't survive. If fate lets me return triumphant, I will personally place this gun in your hand, and then—I'll give you my life."
I stared at him so hard I thought I might see him vanish if I blinked.
"Ethan, remember what you promised today."
"I want you to swear to me—you will do everything you can to keep this life for me. You will not die for me. You will not sacrifice yourself."
Ethan pressed a light kiss to my forehead without saying a word. He blinked, his eyes rimmed red, and forced a smile that didn't reach him. He didn't answer.
Captain Reynolds came in again to hurry him, and Ethan finally nodded.
He turned and left without looking back once.
As if one look would make him unable to go on.
We had met, we had known one another, and only at the end did I realize just how miserly Commander Tang could be.
He couldn't bear to give me his life, and he couldn't bring himself to give me a promise.
He hadn't planned on coming back alive.
After Vivian and her son left, the enormous Commander's Residence felt emptier than ever—only I remained.
I stopped reading the papers. The urge to see them battled with the fear of what I might find, and I couldn't withstand that war in my chest.
Outside, refugees scattered in every direction, famine gnawed at the land.
I put on the white qipao again and went back to school.
Shells exploded indiscriminately, and in a strange way, that was almost a relief.
Maybe knowing I was in danger would make Ethan fight harder. Or maybe it would make him cling to life more.
Years went by like that. One day, a former guard from the Commander's Residence brought me a small box.
I opened it. Inside were letter upon letter—familiar handwriting, a familiar tone. Each one began with "Fusang" and ended with "Henry."
"Who sent these?" I asked.
"Commander Tang."
My heart leapt. "He came back?"
"No. The commander had these prepared long ago."
The guard's face clouded. He looked at me, took a breath, and spoke.
"Before Commander Tang went to war, he gave these to me. He said he was selfish and jealous. Even though he got them back from the first wife, he couldn't bear to give them to you. But if one day he died…"
"Died?"
Silence answered that question.
That night I sat for a long time.
Then I lit a brazier and watched the old letters burn.
The next morning I opened the window.
Frost blanketed the ground.
The End.
Epilogue to be written.
