Chapter 2

The next day, I went to town alone. I found a broker and told him I wanted to sell myself.

I did not care who bought me, so long as the price was high.

He found a hunter who lived in the mountains, and I agreed to the sale.

What price could a life command?

They said the Prince of Zhennan had rebelled because his son died in Chang’an.

The life of the prince’s heir was worth an army of a hundred thousand, limitless gold and jade, and the lives of untold common people.

And mine?

One string of cash. Twenty jin of grain. One piece of candy I begged for on top of the bargain.

I took everything home. The money and grain went to Mother, and the least-patched set of clothes went to my little sister.

She seemed to understand that if I left, we would probably never meet again. She clung to me and refused to let go.

“Sister… Sister… don’t go…”

I pushed the candy into her mouth.

She went still.

I took her little hand. “Erniu, remember this taste. This is called sweet. Remember sweetness. It gives you a reason to stay alive.”

Yes, those were our names: Daniu and Erniu.

Every village had a dozen Danius and a dozen Ernius.

Women did not need names. They needed only labels.

My brother, Zhang Guangzuo, stood in the doorway.

For once, a trace of shame appeared on that scholar’s face.

I followed the broker north, away from the Lian River. It seemed the safer choice.

We walked for more than ten days. The soles of my shoes wore through and every step was agony, but I dared not ask to stop.

One day, a troop of soldiers came barreling down the road, some on horseback and some on foot.

The broker and I were forced apart. Trapped amid the chaotic press of soldiers, he reached an arm toward me.

One pull. Just one, and I could have dragged him free.

But then what?

Another four or five days with him, and we would reach the mountains he had spoken of.

What fate awaited me there?

I hesitated for no more than an instant. In that instant, one horse knocked him down and another brought its hoof down on his head.

I fled in panic—through woods, fields, and the official road—running without a thought for the bloodied blisters on my feet.

I do not know how much time passed before I stopped. The broker’s red-and-white skull rose before me. What was that stuff that had spilled from inside his head?

I did not know. I shook my head violently, trying to cast the sight out of my mind.

One instant. One pull. That was all the difference.

I hid beside the river and cried for a while. Then I loosened my hair, tied it up with a ribbon, smeared mud over my face, and disguised myself as a man.

It was not difficult for me.

Years of labor had made me tall and powerfully built.

And because I was plain, there was almost nothing feminine about my face.

I wanted to go home, so I followed the river downstream.

When I was hungry, I ate wild grass and greens. When I was thirsty, I drank from the river.

Three or five days later, I ran straight into a group of soldiers rounding up conscripts.

—I looked like a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old “man.” Why would they let me go?

They marched me back to their camp, where the registrar asked my name.

Daniu, of course, was out of the question.

Nor did I want Zhang, the surname of that useless father of mine.

They had caught me beside the river, so I said, “My name is Jiang Ping.”

From that day on, Jiang Ping was my name.