The Scar That Remembers

Gongsun Bai and I exchanged a glance; neither of us had the appetite to continue.
Moments earlier, we had watched Su Yue toss her little brother Su Ruoyun out the second-floor window with her bare hands. Thankfully, the servants below had caught him, so no harm was done. But the thought chilled me—if either of us were thrown like that, we had no servants to catch us. For poor folk like us, it would mean broken bones at best. So we sat quietly, chewing as though on wax.

Just then, a familiar voice called from outside, followed by hurried footsteps.
“Eighth Young Master! Eighth Young Master!”

It was Shi Wen.

I hadn’t yet worked out who “Eighth Young Master” meant, but Gongsun Bai coughed in embarrassment. “What is it? Why are you here?”

Shi Wen bounded up the stairs, panting and dripping sweat. “I finally found you! You must come back to the manor at once—our young master, he—” His words dropped to a whisper in Gongsun Bai’s ear.

“I’ll go immediately.” Gongsun Bai’s expression sharpened at once. Something serious had happened. He turned to me. “Zhang Qi, come with me.”

I could hardly contain my relief—at last, an excuse to flee this place of needles and pins. Yet to my surprise, Su Yue was even quicker to leap up. “What happened? I’m coming too!”

Gongsun Bai pressed a hand to his forehead in despair, then forced a smile and sat back down. “Ah, I haven’t finished eating. The fish here is excellent. Shi Wen, lean closer.” He muttered something too low for us to hear. Shi Wen nodded furiously, then dashed away.

Soon, another table of dishes was brought.

As we ate, Su Yue launched into a tirade against her blood brother, Su Ruoyun.

To outsiders, Su Ruoyun was a golden prodigy, a boy born with the light of genius. To Su Yue, he was little better than a lunatic.

He had been precociously solemn from an early age, spouting wisdom far beyond his years. Even as a toddler, he would sit with furrowed brows, musing, “Where did I come from? Where am I going?”—the airs of a philosopher in swaddling cloth. Had he been consistent, perhaps Su Yue could have tolerated him. But the only trace of childishness he ever showed, he poured entirely into pestering her.

Clingy—that was the modern word for it. A sister-obsessed little leech.

He shunned martial training, to his father’s disappointment. General Su had once tried to pass his skills on, but the boy was too frail and utterly talentless. So the lessons stopped. Yet when one door closes, another opens—Ruoyun had a gift for books. The dryest, dustiest tomes that would send Su Yue straight to sleep enchanted him utterly.

To Su Yue, this was proof: her brother was a pervert. Who else could enjoy such drivel?

Years of study transformed him from “perverse” to “pedantic,” a little scholar in a child’s body. Worse, his obsession shifted—from philosophy to his sister.

Everything about her offended his sensibilities. What proper lady dresses like that? What maiden wields weapons? What girl dreams of leading armies, of becoming Nanchuan’s first female general?

Criticism soon turned into suffocating concern.

When Su Yue practiced with her nunchaku, he’d perch on a stool, book in one hand, watching with the other. “Careful, sister, you might hit yourself—”

Whack! She did, for the first time in her life, a great lump rising on her forehead.

When sparring with a martial tutor, Ruoyun would thunder, “My sister may strike you, but you must not strike her! Men and women must not touch! If you so much as graze her little hand, I’ll tell Father you molested her and have him cut off your paw!”

The poor instructor blushed scarlet and dared not fight back, earning himself a thrashing at Su Yue’s hands. Within days, unable to endure being her punching bag, he resigned. Only afterward did Su Yue discover what her brother had said.

Thus had the boy’s overbearing protectiveness taken root. She sought freedom, he became the weight chaining her.

Slapping the table, Su Yue fumed, “If he weren’t my brother, I’d tie him like a crab and throw him in the river just for some peace!”

Listening, I couldn’t help laughing. Blood ties—one side protecting, the other rebelling. It reminded me of Wan Ling and Kun Hong, though theirs was far darker: one chose to protect, the other was forced.

Gongsun Bai drawled, “If you tried, I’m sure General Su would chop you into dumpling stuffing and feed you to the fish.”

Su Yue wilted at once, collapsing onto the table like a frost-bitten eggplant.

And then—footsteps again on the stairs. With them, Ruoyun’s anxious voice: “Sister, are you finished eating? It’s nearly dark—let’s go home together.”

Thump! Su Yue nearly toppled to the floor, scrambling under the table in reflex. I fumbled, startled; even Gongsun Bai stiffened.

But then he gave me a sly wink, tugged my sleeve, and led me out the back door.

I realized then what he’d whispered to Shi Wen: he had summoned Ruoyun here on purpose. Su Yue feared nothing in this world—except her own brother.

The thought made me laugh aloud. These siblings truly were treasures.

The wind whipped past as Gongsun Bai dragged me down the street at a run.

“Now I see,” he panted. “Su Qi—your family is the same. You fear nothing but your sister, Su Yue. And Su Yue fears nothing but her brother, Su Ruoyun. Truly, the likeness runs deep.”

“You’ve guessed?”

“Yes.”

“…Then don’t you want to ask?”

“I’m not one to pry. I don’t dig for secrets. I prefer confession, freely given.”

“Good. When the time is right, I’ll tell you everything.”

But I thought to myself—that time will never come.

We arrived at the gates of the Western Jin Prince’s manor. Shi Wen was already waiting, bowing us inside.

“How is Lord Yanshu?”

“You’ll see,” Shi Wen murmured grimly.

In a desolate garden, once the Pear Orchard, we found him. The plaque was gone, the trees all felled to stumps.

Seeing our puzzlement, Shi Wen explained, “Three days ago, my lord came here while walking. He stood before the orchard a long time, then ordered: ‘Destroy it. Leave no trace.’ We cut the trees at once, and were about to tear down the houses too—but today, we found him here, lying pale as death. I fear his old wound has returned.”

“Old wound?” Gongsun Bai frowned. “What wound? Why didn’t I know of it?”

Shi Wen’s face tightened. “About a year ago, my lord vanished for four months. When he returned, he was covered in injuries. His left arm nearly severed. From shoulder to chest, a terrible scar. We asked him, but he only laughed and said, ‘Such wounds win a lady’s heart.’ I believe it was inflicted in Guokan.”

He produced a shell.

Gongsun Bai picked it up, eyes narrowing. “Shell coin. Guokan’s currency.”

Though the Four Kingdoms shared Yichuan, the wild Eight Regions lived differently—backward, bartering still. Only Guokan minted its own shells.

Closing his hand over it, Gongsun Bai said, “I understand. I’ll see him.” He pulled me along.

Inside the ruined orchard, the air was bleak, lifeless. Gone were blossoms and pear scent—only stumps and a dim sun. The house was sealed with paper, choking in darkness. The smell of mold clung.

On the floor lay Gongsun Yanshu, curled in weakness. Light struck his face. He squinted. “Close the door.”

With a kick, Gongsun Bai knocked it down.

“Brother Eight, what are you—”

“Saving you.”

Yanshu sneered faintly. “There’s nothing here to save. Shi Wen always panics. I only slept two days, and he quakes.”

“Two days? And in this state? What of your old wound?”

He shrugged. “A scratch. How I got it, I forget.”

“Show me.”

Slowly, he tugged at his robe. Then looked at me with raised brows. “Miss Zhang, I must undress.”

I sighed. “Do as you like. Your body doesn’t interest me.”

He blinked, then laughed it off. In moments, his robe was gone. His frame was lean, scar carved deep from shoulder to chest, like a centipede nesting at his heart.

“How did this scar come?”

He paused. “I’ve forgotten.” Then softly, “I’ve forgotten many things. Too many. Some don’t matter. But this—this scar—it pierced my heart. And still I forgot.” His fingers brushed it, face uncharacteristically grave. “If I told you a woman gave me this scar, would you believe?”

Gongsun Bai snorted. “All your wounds involve women. Why should this be different?”

Yanshu’s bravado cracked. He sighed. “I dream of her. A warrior woman, drenched in blood, armor shining, holding me as she whispered, ‘I believe you. I believe you truly love me. Endure, live on. When I am free, I will come to Nanchuan to find you. I swear it.’ Then she kissed this scar.” He fell silent. “Yet I cannot recall her name. Nor her face.”

I felt the sting of pity. Memory curses never erase completely. The scar had stirred what words could not.

Yanshu chuckled bitterly. “So a woman once swore herself to me, and I forgot. What a pity.”

“You’ve never lacked women,” Gongsun Bai said.

“But I wanted only her.”

“And so you haunt this ruin, because it recalls her?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop lingering. If you wish to see her, I’ll take you.”

At that, Yanshu trembled. “You mean… that cook?”

“One word,” said Gongsun Bai. “Yes.”

Yanshu’s face twisted, voice shaking. “All say I was mad. That I wed a seventy-year-old cook, carried her before my ancestors. I don’t know why I did it—poison? sorcery? madness? My mind feels carved hollow. My chest—” He pounded the scar. “Why? Why am I like this?”

I sighed. “Because she spared you. She took your memories, so you would not drown in grief. That cook was your Lady Li—the Blade, Wan Ling.”

I told what little I knew: how they met, how he courted and was refused. But why she later aged, why she became his cook, I could not say.

When I finished, my throat was dry. Gongsun Bai handed me tea. I pointed at the silver pendant he wore. “You forged this for her.”

Yanshu froze, disbelief etched on his face. “If she wanted me to forget, why come to my manor?”

“Because she loved you,” I said simply. “And you loved her. Enough to marry her despite her years, to carry her proudly past your ancestors’ shrine. Had she been young still, your tale would move maidens to tears. Only… she broke the tale by making you forget.”

“Love?” He laughed coldly. “If it were love, why wait until after? After I had bled, despaired, suffered for her? To cut my memory then—it is the same as stabbing my heart, then bandaging after.”

I had no answer.

He roared, clawing the floor, nails breaking, eyes bloodshot. “My memories—they are mine! What right had she to take them?”

Blood-tears welled, dripping down his face.

Gongsun Bai turned to me. “Can you restore him?”

I shook my head. “The curse cannot be undone. But it never truly erases. Memory remains, linked to scars, to objects. All we can do now is guide him—to accept.”

I looked at Yanshu, clutching his head, crimson tears streaming.