My elder sister cared more about dignity than anything else.
After our family was stripped of everything, we were sold together to the Red Pavilion as entertainers, and my elder sister, a gifted qin player, declared, “Even if I must sell my art, I will do it with dignity, for my qin is meant for nobles and high officials, not common rabble unworthy of refined music.”
The patron she insulted lunged at her, and I sacrificed my body to preserve her dignity while she went on to become the Red Pavilion’s foremost art courtesan.
When a wealthy merchant took a fancy to her and made her his lawful wife, I begged her to redeem me too, but she only said, “Wait a little longer, and I will take you out once I find a respectable excuse.”
I waited five whole years, until she had become one of the capital’s celebrated noblewomen, yet her rescue never came.
In torn clothes, I stopped her sedan in the street and asked whether she had forgotten her promise.
She looked me over in disgust and said, “I have no sister as disgraceful as you.”
Through my tears, I demanded, “Did I not become this way because of you, and do you truly not understand what I suffered?”
She pouted and replied, “I watched every step that brought you here, so what hardship could possibly excuse you?”
With that one sentence, she turned the whole street against me, and they cursed me as a shameless whore.
Fury overwhelmed my heart, and I died coughing blood.
When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day she refused to play for the patrons.
She was standing there with her neck stiff, arguing with a man.
