Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The rules of the Yin Clan were set down in the days of our Grand Ancestor.

Grand Ancestor had been a founding minister of the previous dynasty, and he had watched countless noble houses collapse under the infighting between legitimate and concubine-born children.

On the day he retired from office, he personally carved the ancestral injunction into the walls of the ancestral hall:

“All children of the Yin Clan shall be judged not by birth, legitimate or otherwise, but by talent and learning.”

From then on, for a hundred years, the Yin family followed this principle.

As the eldest daughter of the eldest branch of the legitimate line, I had known since childhood that in this family, whether one was born of the main wife did not matter all that much.

Every twelfth lunar month, the branch families from every region would send in registers of children of suitable age, along with notes on their temperaments and examination essays.

Several highly respected clan elders would gather and read through them one by one.

Those with outstanding promise would be selected and sent to the eldest branch in Xianyang to be raised and educated together.

I began my studies at three. My first teacher was my father.

The first character Father taught me was not heaven, nor earth, nor sovereign.

It was the character “Yin.”

He said, “This is our family name. Yin, as in abundance and substance.”

“Within this single character lies a hundred years of the Yin family’s honor.”

Then Father wrote a second character.

“Fei. Rich in literary grace, ordered and refined.”

“As your father, I hope you will not grow up to be nothing more than fragrant grass leaning against a railing.”

“In the future, there will be many younger brothers and sisters in this residence. Some will be better at studying than you. Some will be better at scheming than you.”

“But you must remember this: you are the first. And the first must carry herself like the first.”

I nodded, only half understanding.

Only later did I learn that according to the clan’s naming generation for girls, which used the grass radical, I should have been called Yin Zhi.

Zhi was a fragrant herb, elegant and beautiful. It was a good name.

But Father made the decision himself and changed mine to the Wen generation used for boys.

That twelfth lunar month, my name was entered into the clan genealogy. A small note followed it.

“Eldest daughter. By special exception, named under the Wen generation.”

From that day onward, every lesson Father taught me was made of words that could take root in the earth.

“Household: the gate of a family, and also the beginning of all household registers under heaven.”

“Registry: bamboo slips bound into records, noting where a person is from and which family owns which fields.”

“Tax: money collected to feed soldiers, and soldiers protect the borders.”

He took each character apart as he explained it.

Its form, its sound, its meaning.

Where it appeared in the classics and histories, what weight it carried in court, and how it was tied to both family and state.

After I had learned ten characters, he would always ask about household matters.

“How much grain was delivered from the estate yesterday?”

“Seven hundred shi.”

“How much is to be kept for use, how much stored, and how much held for sale?”

Then I would have to answer: three hundred shi kept for household expenses, two hundred shi stored against famine, and two hundred shi held back until the price rose.

If I answered correctly, he did not praise me.

If I answered incorrectly, he asked again.

Again and again, until those numbers were carved into my bones and I could recite them in a single breath.

Once he had assigned my lessons, he would wave a hand. “Go on. Your mother is waiting.”