Chapter 2 — The General's Wild Daughter

Mother had already fallen asleep, but upon hearing those three words—"the little wooden saber"—she instantly snapped her eyes open.

"Ha Trieu Vien."

Father froze. This was the moment Mother called him by his full first and last name. Everyone in the manor knew that whenever she used this tone, Father was definitely feeling guilty. He pulled his hand back and sat up straight.

"I was only joking."

Mother propped herself up, the corners of her eyes flushed red.

"You promised me you wouldn't teach the child to wield sabers or play with spears."

Father hurriedly supported her.

"I promised."

"Then what was that about a little wooden saber?"

"A decorative trinket."

"You want to leave a saber beside an infant as a decorative trinket?"

Father fell silent. Mother's tears arrived right on cue.

"I only wanted a daughter to keep me company, not to raise another copy of you."

Father instantly panicked. Ordinarily, he could command tens of thousands of troops on the battlefield, but at this moment, he couldn't even find a handkerchief. In the end, it was the wet nurse who handed one to him. Father took it and awkwardly dabbed away Mother's tears.

"That won't happen."

"She will be just like you."

"She will be gentle, fond of adornments, and stay by your side to chat with you."

Mother sniffled.

"Truly?"

Father nodded vigorously.

"Truly."

I gave another kick from inside the belly. The room instantly fell quiet. Mother lowered her gaze to look at her stomach. Father looked as well. After a long moment, Father spoke with difficulty.

"Perhaps she agrees as well."

Mother wept even harder. From that day onward, Father never dared to mention sabers again. He began learning how to coax a baby. The imperial physician had said the fetus could hear outside sounds, so Mother told Father to recite poetry. Father sat by the window holding a collection of poems, reading them in the exact tone of a commander calling roll for battle.

"Guan guan goose, on the river isle."

Mother listened with her eyes closed for half a verse before she finally could not bear it any longer.

"Softer."

Father lowered his voice.

"Modest and graceful maiden, a good match for the gentleman."

Mother was satisfied. I grew quiet as well. Once he finished a page, Father secretly let out a breath of relief. The next day, however, he picked up a military manual instead. No sooner had Mother leaned back against the soft pillows than Father began to murmur in a low voice:

"The art of war is the way of deception."

She instantly opened her eyes. Father's expression did not change as he closed the book.

"I grabbed the wrong one."

Mother stared intently at him. Father hid the military manual behind his back.

"I truly grabbed the wrong one."

Mother was so angry she laughed.

"Ha Trieu Vien, do you find a peaceful life too boring?"

Father hurriedly went to exchange it for a book of poetry. Yet, strangely enough, whenever Father read poetry, I mostly remained completely still. But whenever he practiced martial drills in the outer courtyard, and a shout of command drifted in from afar, I would kick about with boundless joy. Mother refused to believe it. She invited a zither player to pluck soft, meandering melodies. I did not move. She then invited a female tutor to read from the Precepts for Women. Before they had even finished two pages, Mother fell asleep first. I did not move then either. Until one day, Father was testing a newly crafted bow out in the courtyard. The bowstring twanged sharply. Instantly, I delivered three consecutive kicks inside Mother's belly. Her expression changed at once. The wet nurse hastily chimed in.

"Madam, the little master possesses great spirit."

Mother supported her waist, gritting her teeth as she spoke.

"Call the general here."

Father strode in swiftly. He had not yet removed his arm guards, and his forehead was still slick with sweat. Mother pointed at her stomach.

"Come here."

Father was utterly bewildered. Mother said in a cold voice.

"Stand a bit further away and draw the bow once more."

Not daring to ask questions, Father could only obey. The bowstring twanged again. I kicked once more. Everyone in the room fell silent. Mother looked at Father with an icy gaze. Father's lips moved.

"Perhaps it is merely a coincidence."

Mother smiled.

"Then draw it once more."

Father had no choice but to grit his teeth and draw the bow another time. I immediately kicked again. This time, even Father was left speechless. Supporting her waist, Mother slowly sat down. As she looked at the room filled with tiny dresses, the rims of her eyes turned red once more. Father hurried forward to soothe her. Yet the moment he drew near, I kicked out from within Mother's belly once again. This blow happened to land squarely against his palm. Father froze. A moment later, he lowered his head and smiled. That smile was exceedingly faint, resembling the expression of one who had just won a hard-fought battle yet feared startling Mother. Mother caught sight of his smile and suddenly felt a vague sense of foreboding. Sure enough, Father murmured softly.

"Madam, it seems the child recognizes me."

Mother clutched her chest. Deep within her womb, I delivered yet another mighty kick.

On the day I was born, a drizzle fell over the capital. The rain was not heavy, striking the eaves with a dense, pattering rhythm. Mother suffered through labor for an entire night. Father stood outside the delivery room from dusk until dawn. The maidservants urged him to sit; he refused. The steward urged him to drink water; he refused. The imperial physician urged him not to fret; he glanced at the physician, and the physician instantly fell silent. Inside the room, the midwife continuously urged Mother to push, while Mother's intermittent cries drifted out. Father's hand rested habitually at his waist, where a saber usually hung. Today, fearing it might frighten Mother, he had left it behind. Yet after repeatedly reaching for the empty space, his expression grew even heavier. Terrified that he might storm inside, the wet nurse kept a strict vigil at the door.

"General, a woman giving birth is no place for you to enter."

Father's voice was hoarse.

"She is crying."

The wet nurse said in a flurry, "When a madam gives birth, who does not suffer pain?"

Father stared fixedly at the door.

"I will go in by her side."

"You cannot."

"I shall merely stand there."

"Standing is not permitted either."

Suddenly, a loud cry from Mother echoed from within the chamber. Father's expression shifted, and he lifted his foot to force his way in. The wet nurse and the steward each grabbed an arm, holding him back firmly.

"General, you must not!"

"If Madam finds out, she will surely be furious!"

Father instantly halted. He might not fear blades and spears, but he was terrified of Mother's anger. He stood outside the door, his eyes frighteningly bloodshot. Inside the room, Mother gripped the bedsheets so tightly that her entire body was drenched in sweat. The midwife kept shouting encouragement.

"Madam, push just a little harder!"

"It is almost time, the child is nearly out!"

Weeping, Mother began to scold Father.

"Ha Trieu Vien!"

Father answered immediately from outside.

"I am here!"

"This is all your fault!"

Father did not hesitate at all.

"It is my fault."

"You just wait right there for me!"

"Understood."

"I want a daughter just like me!"

Father's Adam's apple bobbed.

"She will be just like you."

Mother gritted her teeth.

"She must be obedient!"

"Obedient."

"She must be dignified!"

"Dignified."

"She must love wearing dresses!"

This time, Father paused. Mother shouted through the door.

"What are you hesitating for!"

Father hastily replied.

"She loves wearing them."

The midwife almost burst out laughing and hastily swallowed it back. Right after that, I finally came into the world. The delivery room fell into a brief silence. Then, I opened my mouth and let out a clear, ringing cry. The sound was so crisp that even the paper on the windows seemed to quiver in unison. Outside, the horses suddenly neighed, and the guards in the courtyard turned their heads as one. Father stood rooted to the spot in a daze. The midwife scooped me up, her voice brimming with boundless joy.

"Congratulations to the General, congratulations to the Madam, it is a young miss!"

Tears still lingered on Mother's face, yet she instantly broke into a radiant smile. She reached out her hands.

"Let me see the child."

The midwife brought me over. At that moment, I was merely a tiny, wrinkled bundle with my eyes still unopened. Yet the contours of my brows and lashes were already exquisitely refined. My nose resembled Mother's, and my mouth was like hers as well. Even the lobes of my ears were soft and white as jade. Seeing me, Mother wept all the more.

"Wonderful."

"She looks like me."

The midwife smiled and said, "The young miss was born with such beauty; in the future, she will surely be the greatest beauty in the capital."

The heavy stone in Mother's heart finally fell to the ground. She lowered her head and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"My little Ninh."

This was my milk name, signifying the hope that I would know peace throughout my life. Hearing this from outside the door, Father could finally hold back no longer.

"May I enter now?"

Mother said weakly.

"Come in."

The door swung open, and Father practically rushed inside. Yet upon reaching the bedside, he halted once more, his hands and feet not knowing where to rest.