The problem with being Dong Zhuo’s son was that I had confused having access to money with owning money.
This distinction became important at approximately the same moment I decided I wanted to flee with it.
“How much money do I have?”
Steward Han looked at me with the concern of a physician whose patient had just asked where his own legs were.
“Young Master has asked me that before.”
“Excellent. What did you tell me?”
“You told me to stop after I reached twelve strings because counting was ruining the afternoon.”
I sat back.
Original Dong Yu had principles.
Steward Han had managed my personal accounts for years. He was a narrow man somewhere past fifty, with an orderly beard, careful hands, and the exhausted patience of someone who had spent much of his adult life converting my bad decisions into respectable bookkeeping.
He had brought three account books and a wooden chest.
The chest interested me more.
He opened it.
Strings of cash rested inside.
I looked at them.
Then at him.
“That’s it?”
“Forty-three strings.”
“Is that a lot?”
“For an ordinary household, certainly.”
“I am not planning to become an ordinary household. They work.”
Steward Han accepted this without comment.
“How long would forty-three strings support me?”
“At Young Master’s present rate of expenditure?”
“Yes.”
He opened the second account book.
That worried me.
His finger moved down the page.
“Until winter.”
I stared at him.
“Which winter?”
He finally looked up.
“This one.”
I leaned back slowly.
There had been theft.
There had clearly been theft.
Possibly by me.
“How much did I spend last month?”
Steward Han hesitated.
“The amount recorded here, or the amount Her Ladyship knows?”
I sat forward again.
“Steward Han.”
“Young Master?”
“I have misjudged you.”
Something almost resembling amusement appeared in his eyes.
He turned the book around.
Wine.
Musicians.
Silk.
Gifts.
Food.
Incense.
Repairs.
I tapped that one.
“Repairs to what?”
“A screen in the eastern hall.”
“What happened?”
“You threw a wine cup through it.”
“At someone?”
“No.”
I waited.
Steward Han did not elaborate.
“That somehow makes it worse.”
“It was a large screen.”
I continued down the page.
“Six strings on wine?”
“Four.”
“It says six.”
“Two were entered under medicinal expenses.”
I looked up.
“You bought medicine with wine money?”
“You had a headache.”
I stared at him for several seconds.
Then closed the book.
“This household has been wasted on me.”
Xu An, who had been standing near the door, said, “Young Master has said that before.”
“When?”
“Usually before spending more.”
Traitor.
I opened the book again.
“Fine. Cash is disappointing. What else belongs to me?”
Steward Han began listing things.
Jewelry.
Twenty-seven bolts of silk.
Several expensive robes.
Two swords.
A carriage.
Seven horses.
I stopped him.
“Go back.”
“Two swords?”
“After that.”
“Seven horses.”
I looked at Xu An.
He looked back.
“Why do I own seven horses?”
“You chose two of them.”
I felt personally betrayed.
“I don’t even like horses.”
“You liked receiving horses.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Three had been birthday gifts from Father’s officers. Two had come from Uncle Min. One had been bought from a breeder outside Luoyang.
“And the seventh?”
Xu An glanced at Steward Han.
Steward Han glanced at the account book.
This was ominous.
“Young Master purchased it last spring.”
“Why?”
“The seller said it had intelligent eyes.”
I waited.
Xu An added, “It bit you.”
I stared at him.
“Did I return it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You said you respected its judgment.”
I had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
At that moment, Qiao’er entered.
She saw the accounts, the chest, Steward Han seated opposite me, and my expression.
“What happened?”
“I own seven horses.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Everyone knows.”
“I didn’t.”
“That has been true of several things since yesterday.”
I ignored that.
“Can I sell them?”
Steward Han cleared his throat.
“Some were gifts.”
“So?”
Qiao’er set down the tray in her hands.
“If you sell Uncle Min’s horse, he will ask why.”
“Tell him I hate horses.”
“He knows.”
“Then he’ll understand.”
“He’ll ask why it took you three years to discover commerce.”
That was irritatingly reasonable.
Steward Han explained that selling gifts from Father’s officers would also attract attention. Not outrage, perhaps, but questions.
Questions were currently my least favorite form of human interaction.
I stared down at the ledger.
“So I own seven expensive animals I don’t ride, cannot sell, and have to feed.”
“Correct.”
“The wealthy live terribly.”
Qiao’er reached over and took a slice of pear from my tray.
I looked at her.
She ate it.
Eight years of service had destroyed fear.
“What else do I own that nobody wants?” I asked.
Qiao’er looked at me.
“Property only?”
The room became very quiet.
Steward Han lowered his eyes to the ledger.
Xu An found something fascinating about the ceiling.
I looked at Qiao’er.
She reached for another slice of pear.
I decided retreat was honorable.
“Property only.”
“There are old furnishings in storage.”
Finally.
Lacquer screens. Bronze vessels. Tableware. A hunting bow. Older robes. Decorative pieces I had apparently once wanted badly enough to obtain and then forgotten existed.
“Sell them.”
“The bow was a gift from General Niu.”
“Keep it.”
“The bronze vessel came from your uncle.”
“Keep that.”
“One screen was given by Minister Wang.”
“Which Minister Wang?”
Steward Han gave the name.
Nothing.
No face.
No famous death.
No helpful little bell inside my head.
“Is he important?”
All three of them looked at me.
I sighed.
“Keep the screen.”
At this rate, my escape from Luoyang would involve a convoy of sentimental furniture and seven horses I despised.
“There has to be something I can turn into money without causing a diplomatic incident.”
“There are smaller gifts from men no longer in the capital,” Steward Han said.
“Dead?”
“One transferred south.”
“Good.”
Qiao’er looked at me.
“For the furniture.”
She returned to my pear.
Eventually we assembled a modest list of things that could disappear slowly without anyone important caring.
Then Steward Han asked the dangerous question.
“Should I reduce Young Master’s household spending?”
“No.”
His brush stopped.
“If I suddenly stop drinking, stop gambling, stop visiting musicians, and begin saving money, what happens?”
Qiao’er answered first.
“Lady Song notices.”
“And then?”
“She tells the Grand Commandant.”
I looked at Xu An.
He already knew where this was going.
“Father decides I’ve matured.”
Xu An nodded.
“And then he gives me responsibilities.”
There it was.
The horror.
There had to be a way to do this without suddenly becoming Dong Yu the Frugal.
I could survive being considered useless.
Useful men received offices.
Useful men received troops.
Useful men woke before sunrise.
Then Father would give me work.
I would rather face Yuan Shao.
I paused.
No.
That was emotional.
I would rather face moderate work.
“Keep the wine.”
Steward Han lowered his brush.
“The gambling?”
“Keep that too.”
“You lose often.”
“Excellent. Nothing says future usurper like being cheated at dice.”
Qiao’er glanced at Steward Han.
“Write down women as well.”
I looked at her.
“I hadn’t said women.”
“You were going to.”
I had been.
This was becoming an abusive household.
Steward Han continued through my possessions.
Cash could be seized.
Property could be watched.
Horses came with feelings attached.
Silk, however, traveled.
So did jewelry.
I looked again at the twenty-seven bolts.
“Keep the silk.”
This time nobody spoke.
Which was worse.
“For gifts,” I said.
Qiao’er took another piece of pear.
“Beautiful women enjoy silk.”
Steward Han’s brush remained still.
I gestured toward Qiao’er.
“Ask her.”
“I am not helping you.”
“Eight years of service and this is my reward.”
“Nine soon.”
I was preparing something devastating when a knock came from outside.
One of Mother’s women entered.
She bowed.
Her face erased the room before she spoke.
“Lady Song asks that Young Master come to her.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“She said only that you should come at once.”
Qiao’er put down the pear.
No one joked.
Neither did I.
Mother was alone.
That frightened me immediately.
No attendants.
No tea.
No embroidery beside her.
She stood near the open lattice looking into a courtyard already sinking into evening shadow.
“Mother?”
She turned.
“The Empress Dowager is dead.”
I stopped.
Empress Dowager He.
I knew this.
Of course I knew this.
I had read it.
Watched versions of it.
Seen her name reduced to another point in the sequence of Dong Zhuo’s rise and collapse.
Deposed emperor.
Empress Dowager.
Coalition.
Luoyang burned.
Chang’an.
Wang Yun.
Lü Bu.
Neat.
Memorable.
Safe.
Mother said quietly, “Your father ordered her death.”
The sequence stopped being neat.
Somewhere inside the palace, while I had been listening to Miss Yue play the qin and worrying about silk, a woman had died because my father decided she should.
I had known it would happen.
I had not known it would happen today.
That difference felt enormous.
Dong Zhuo entered before I found anything worth saying.
Li Ru came behind him.
Father looked tired.
Not enraged.
Not triumphant.
Tired.
That disturbed me more.
His eyes moved from Mother to me.
“She told you.”
Mother answered.
“Yes.”
Father sat.
Li Ru remained standing.
I did the same until Father gestured.
“Sit.”
I obeyed.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Father looked directly at me.
“You disapprove.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I don’t know enough to judge you.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
No.
It wasn’t.
I wished very badly to become nineteen again.
The original nineteen.
The one who broke screens for no reason.
“I would rather not answer.”
“Answer.”
I looked at him.
Two days ago, this man had dropped meat into my bowl and called me useless with genuine affection.
Today he had ordered a woman poisoned.
Both were my father.
“A living Empress Dowager is one woman.”
Li Ru’s attention sharpened.
I continued.
“A dead one belongs to everyone who hates you.”
Silence.
Father watched me.
Then leaned back.
“You think I did not know that?”
“No.”
I meant it.
He was brutal.
That was not the same thing as stupid.
Father’s fingers rested against his knee.
“Alive, she was a banner.”
His voice was calm.
“Dead, she is a grievance.”
He looked toward the darkening courtyard.
“I judged the grievance cheaper.”
My stomach tightened.
There it was.
He had considered it.
There was no monster laughing because cruelty pleased him.
There was a man who had looked at two political costs and chosen one.
That was worse.
Li Ru spoke quietly.
“Some families will leave the capital after this.”
Father nodded.
“Then we will learn which families wanted an excuse.”
I thought of Miss Yue.
Which patrons had cancelled.
Who had sent his household south.
Who had taken chests.
Who had gone east.
Questions I had asked because frightened men leaving Luoyang seemed useful to know about.
Father looked at me again.
“You still want your estate west?”
This morning, west had meant distance.
Now it meant something else.
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
Father studied me.
Then nodded.
“Good.”
Nothing more.
Somehow that was enough.
Steward Han was still waiting when I returned.
The account books remained open where I had left them.
Forty-three strings.
Twenty-seven bolts of silk.
Seven horses.
An hour earlier, the numbers had been funny.
They weren’t anymore.
I sat down.
“Don’t sell anything yet.”
Steward Han reached for his brush.
“First separate what is actually mine from anything gifted, pledged, or controlled by Father’s household. Then make another list of what could become cash quickly without half of Luoyang asking why.”
He bowed his head and began making notes.
I turned to Qiao’er.
“Do the same for Mother.”
She looked at me more carefully now.
“Find out what she has that matters if she ever has to travel quickly. Coin, jewelry, silk, anything valuable enough to carry and light enough not to require its own ox.”
Qiao’er’s eyes stayed on mine.
“You want me to pack it?”
“No.”
“Move anything?”
“Not yet.”
She understood the distinction.
That worried me almost as much as the fact that I had made it.
“Just make sure we know what exists.”
She bowed.
“I’ll see to it.”
Forty-three strings had seemed embarrassingly small when the evening began.
Now I looked at the chest differently.
I had spent the afternoon asking how rich I was.
Wrong question.
The question was how far west forty-three strings could get my mother before somebody closed the road.