Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The first time I saw my own name in a case file was in a hidden compartment in my father’s study.

Not as a signature.

As a confession.

On the paper, it read: Lin family daughter Qingcai privately altered the testimony in the Luo Family Case, causing an innocent person to be wrongfully imprisoned. Knowing her crime is grave, she is willing to bear the full responsibility alone.

The handwriting was an excellent imitation.

Even my habit of drawing the last stroke of the character “Cai” inward by half an inch had been copied to seven or eight tenths.

Rain was still falling outside the study. Water dripped from the eaves onto the bluestone steps, one drop at a time. A lamp burned beside Father’s large rosewood desk, nearly out of oil, its flame pressed low, casting the words “willing to bear the full responsibility alone” in a sickly yellow light.

I was still holding a cup of ginseng tea.

Mother had sent me to bring it.

Beyond the screen, Mother’s voice was soft, as if she were afraid of startling someone.

“Qingcai is a girl. If she takes a step back, she’ll still have a way to survive. Cheng’an can’t be ruined. He still has to sit for the Ministry of Personnel Examination next year.”

The room went silent for a moment.

My brother, Lin Cheng’an, said, “Once the storm passes, I’ll bring her back.”

He spoke slowly, as if leaving room for himself, and also as if trying to comfort Mother.

Father did not answer at once.

Only after a long while did I hear him set down his teacup. The porcelain base touched the tabletop with a soft clink.

“She has copied case files at my side since she was little. If the yamen asks, that explanation would stand.”

Mother started crying.

Not loudly. Just one sharp catch in her breath.

“It’s cold in prison,” she said. “I’ll make her a thicker cloak. Silver fox fur. Lighter on the shoulders. Her health is weak-she can’t stand the cold.”

I stood before the hidden compartment, my fingers pressed against the edge of the confession.

It was fine Chengxin paper.

Last winter, I had wanted to buy a quire of paper like this, but Father said it was too expensive, that our household had no need for such fuss.

And now, here it was.

I folded the confession back up and pressed it along its original creases. When the compartment closed, the wooden catch clicked softly, quieter than the rain.

The ginseng tea had already gone cold.

I carried it out from behind the screen.

Mother saw me first. The tears on her face hadn’t had time to disappear. Her lips moved, and she rose on instinct, her sleeve knocking over the sewing basket at the table’s edge.

A bundle of bluish-gray fabric rolled out, landing in a soft heap by her feet.

Silver fox fur.

Father glanced at me, then his expression quickly steadied.

“When did you get here?”

I set the tea down by his hand.

“Just now.”

Mother bent to pick up the fabric, her hands trembling badly. My brother sat at Father’s right, his fingertips pressed against his knee, not looking at me.

Father lifted the ginseng tea, took a sip, and frowned.

“It’s cold.”

I lowered my head. “I’ll make another.”

He gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, just as he always did.

I turned and left the study.

Under the corridor, the wind made the lantern sway, and slanting threads of rain blew against my face. By the time I reached the courtyard gate, I heard Mother ask in a hushed voice behind me, “Did she hear?”

No one answered.

I didn’t look back either.

There were two desks in the Lin Family study.

One stood in the open: broad rosewood, with a Shoushan stone seal pinning down one corner. The people who came to seek help with lawsuits sat across from it, called out “Master Lin” first, then pushed a silver packet toward Father’s hand.

The other stood beneath the west window, shorter, against the wall.

In winter, the wind reached that one first. In summer, the mosquitoes found it first too. A long old crack ran across the desktop. I’d made it when I was thirteen, copying testimony, when my inkstone slipped and smashed into it.

Back then, Father had just taken on a land deed dispute. He had been reading through it all night until his head ached, then casually handed the papers to me.

“Qingcai, look at these two deeds and tell me where they differ.”

I spent the whole night on them. The next day, I told him the character for “mu” in the second deed was missing a trace of ink, as though it had been filled in later.

Father took the deeds to the yamen. When he came back, everyone outside was saying Master Lin’s eyes were like torches.

At dinner that night, Mother put a chicken drumstick into my brother’s bowl.

And a piece of fish belly into mine.

“Your father says you’re meticulous,” she said with a smile. “For a girl, that’s a good thing. You’ll have an easier time managing a household in the future.”

My brother had only been fifteen then. Sleepy from his studies, he laughed when he heard that. “From now on, little sister can go over Father’s cases for me first. That’ll save me the trouble.”

Everyone laughed.

I laughed too.

After that, more and more things became convenient.

Father said my handwriting was steady and had me copy legal petitions. My brother said I had a good memory and had me memorize testimony. Mother said I didn’t get sleepy easily at night and brought me longan tea.

The Lin Family’s guests never saw me.

All they saw was Father sitting in the main hall in a plain blue robe, listening to the details of a case, pondering for a while, then lowering his brush to write.

And sometimes, it was my handwriting on those papers.

After I finished, Father would add the signature himself.

Lin Huaizhang.

Three characters, upright and elegant.

From the age of sixteen on, every petition, testimony, and deed that passed through my hands, I copied again for myself.

When I first began keeping those papers, I had no thought of harming anyone.

I was only afraid.

I wasn’t afraid of Father scolding me, nor of my brother blaming me.

I was afraid that one day, if something went wrong with the Lin Family’s papers, the first person pushed out to take the fall would be the one who had never once sat in the main hall.

But I also knew that fear was one thing, and producing those copies was another.

For a woman to secretly keep case files was already wrong.

And besides, most of those papers bore no official seal, no yamen endorsement. If things really blew up, Father would only need to say, “My daughter secretly studied legal documents without understanding the gravity of such matters,” and I would become the first one accused of breaking the rules.

So all these years, I copied, I hid, and I said nothing.