Does the Luan Make Ready to Fly?

Of late, one affair had set all Jingzhou buzzing.

It was the tale of Lady Sun and Zhang Niang.

This was an age with little enough to enjoy as it was. Pile a long war on top of that, and Jingzhou—once a land that basked in wealth and culture—had been worn down into a hard place where survival was the only luxury left. Lady Sun, wife to the Liu Bei who had brought the province peace, and yet forever at odds with him, was as good as a public enemy among the people of Jingzhou. Even Liu Bei himself had failed to check her lawlessness, and everyone had more or less given up—until a girl appeared like a comet and delivered her a lesson she would not forget.

That the girl was none other than the daughter of Zhang Fei, famed as Liu Bei's sworn brother, sent public interest soaring. Commoners worn thin by a hard life seized on a story in which good put evil in its place, and the rumor ran ahead of them.

I did my best to stamp it out. The rumor fattened itself anyway, and changed its shape as it went. Somewhere along the way, Lady Sun coming to find me turned into my going to find her, striking down all one hundred of her maids, and reading her a lecture. Of course, no one with any sense believed that version in earnest. Lady Sun's outrages had stopped, but she still swaggered through the streets in broad daylight with armed maids at her heels, so there was hardly room to doubt which telling was false.

Even so, it was true that I had broken her insolence, and so I found myself enjoying a popularity I had never asked for. At first it was only the common people greeting me with warmth. After that, officers who actually held posts came looking. After that, men called scholars of renown began, one by one, to knock at the gate of the Zhang manor.

And so, at the ripe young age of ten, I acquired something that could pass for a nickname.

Sun Jian had his Tiger of Jiangdong. Guan Yu and Zhang Fei had their Match for Ten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Thousand. Zhou Yu had his Beautiful Zhou Lang. In that company, the name they stuck on me was—

"And what could be troubling our Little Xuannü?"

"Mother. Please stop teasing me."

Little Xuannü. Naturally they had lifted it from the Xuannü of the Nine Heavens, the Taoist goddess said to have taught the Yellow Emperor, Xuanyuan, the military strategy with which he cast down Chiyou. I was not Sun Ce. Little Xuannü? Honestly.

"Mm. Isn't it a fine one? A fitting name for a woman who means to take the field and win merit of her own. Just as she helped the Yellow Emperor accomplish his great work, so you will render great service in helping your eldest uncle accomplish his. This father of yours is rather pleased."

When my parents heard what had passed between me and Lady Sun in their absence, they not only took Chubai on as my maid, but took a thorough liking to the nickname the rumors had pinned on me. Plenty of figures in the Three Kingdoms, whether in the histories or the romances, go about with nicknames attached, and by that standard of taste mine was apparently quite a splendid one.

A nickname meant one's fame had risen to match it, so having one was no bad thing. I simply hadn't wanted anything quite so grand. Something that would stick in the memory and no more—something ordinary, like the Yanren set before my father's name, or the Changshan before Zhao Zilong's—would have suited me better.

Still, it was not without its advantages. The name was so gaudy that more than a few men of renown came around out of sheer curiosity: how brilliant must a child be, for people to go and hang the Xuannü of the Nine Heavens on her?

More visitors asking for me rather than for Father did not dramatically alter my life. I still trained. I still spent time with my family. Now and then I read.

Today was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little different. I was only half listening to Chubai's report that a guest had come for me, until I heard the visitor's name and set my book down.

"Who did you say?"

"H-he gives his name as Attendant Pan Jun. Is he someone you know?"

Pan Jun, courtesy name Chengming. To be honest, I did not know him in any detail. The name itself, though, I remembered.

When I was born again as Zhang Lan and resolved to make my way through this troubled age, I wrote down every scrap of memory left from my previous life and put it away for safekeeping. What I knew of the Three Kingdoms amounted to nothing but fragments, and even among that meager store the name Pan Jun sat near the top. Because he was a man bound up with Guan Yu's death.

Zhang Da and Fan Qiang, who killed Father. And Mi Fang and Fu Shiren, who betrayed Guan Yu—and Pan Jun.

I could not have said precisely what sort of man he was, but the verdict passed on those men of Jingzhou who betrayed Liu Bei had struck me with unusual force, and I could still call it up clear as day.

Shiren rebelled. Hao Pu was deceived. Pan Jun went over.

Fu Shiren, who turned his coat and then worked actively for Wu. Hao Pu, who surrendered after being taken in by Lü Meng's scheme, and was ashamed of himself for it. Unlike those two, Pan Jun never surrendered to Wu—yet in the end he went, worn down by Sun Quan's repeated invitations.

And Mi Fang? He didn't even deserve a place on that list. He was the axis of villainy itself, already plotting betrayal before Lü Meng ever arrived. Granted, there was something to resent in the way a founding meritorious official had been treated, but did it truly call for means that extreme? Had he spoken with his elder brother Mi Zhu and laid his grievance before Liu Bei, he would have been indulged to some degree. Liu Bei was, just as the world said, generous to those who had come inside his fold.

In any case—why was a man like Pan Jun looking for me?

"Show him in, for now."

"Yes, Lady Lan."

I received Pan Jun, as he entered my room, with a courteous bow. Mi Fang and Fu Shiren were one thing. Pan Jun, at least, was said to have refused surrender to the very end. First I needed to see what kind of man he was.

"I am Attendant Pan Jun."

He was young. Late twenties at the outside. He looked nearer the middle of them, and though he was no beauty to make every eye sigh the way Zhuge Liang or Zhou Yu did, he was handsome enough to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠called so—neat of feature, and upright.

After a brief introduction of himself, he took the seat I offered, as master of the room, without declining it.

"Will you take tea?"

"If you offer it, I will receive it with thanks."

"Chubai. Bring two cups of tea."

While Chubai fetched it, Pan Jun and I traded the usual courtesies. Then, around the time she set the tea down and the scent of it began to settle through the room, I asked.

"Even so, an attendant's public duties must keep you busy. What brings you here?"

Pan Jun set his cup down, unhurried.

"I sought the young lady out because there is something I wish to say, and a question I wish to ask."

Pan Jun. Courtesy name, Chengming.

He was a highly regarded official of Jingzhou, trained under Song Zhong, the greatest Confucian scholar of the age. While Liu Biao still lived he had served as attendant of Jiangxia, setting disordered laws to rights and rooting out corruption. His handling of affairs was so strict that the people feared him, and yet their trust and support ran just as high. Disciple though he was of Song Zhong, that giant of classical exegesis, Pan Jun's own temper lay closer to Legalism. He was of a kind with Zhuge Liang, who in later years would champion a doctrine of stern punishment within Shu: a man who followed the teachings of Confucianism, yet conducted the business of government strictly according to the law.

When Jingzhou afterward passed into Liu Bei's hands, Pan Jun passed with it into Liu Bei's service. Liu Bei, recognizing his talent, raised him not merely to county magistrate or attendant of a commandery, but to Attendant of Jingzhou itself.

Pan Jun took pride in having carried out what was entrusted to him, after his own fashion. A scholar dies for the one who knows him—was that not the saying? Pan Jun was precisely that sort of man, and in that respect Liu Bei had shown him trust. He was a disciple of Song Zhong, with whom Liu Bei had been at odds, and still Liu Bei had believed in his ability and made him Attendant of Jingzhou. Pan Jun, in answer to that faith, had done his utmost.

And yet the world contains problems that lie beyond the reach of any man's best efforts, no matter how faithfully he tends his charge. For Pan Jun, the existence of Lady Sun—Sun Lin—was such a problem.

Pan Jun, who held the law dear. Sun Lin, who ignored it. Unlike in his days as attendant of Jiangxia Commandery, Lady Sun was not a person upon whom he could lay a hand. Liu Bei's wife, and the watcher Sun Quan had sent. He understood all too well the justification she carried, and so he had no choice but to swallow, by himself, the anger boiling in his gut.

Then Sun Lin's license stopped dead, as if it had been a lie. She still went about with sword-bearing maids in her train like a pack of ruffians, spreading a menacing air, but the open flouting of the law was gone. It was a thing even Liu Bei, master of Jingzhou, had failed to accomplish. Pan Jun was astonished, and he moved faster than anyone to take the measure of what had happened.

What he found at the end of it was a person he had never expected, and could never have imagined.

"Zhang Lan? That Zhang Lan—the eldest daughter of the Grand Administrator of Nanjun?"

It was not a name he was hearing for the very first time. The story of the daughter who had followed Zhang Fei on campaign during the fighting in Nanjun had spread widely among the soldiers. Unlike her father, harsh with the men, the daughter had shared their hardships and treated them kindly, and that contrast had soothed their worn spirits to no small degree. After the Nanjun campaign, though, he had heard she left the camps behind. Pan Jun had let it pass with the thought that one real battle had finally brought the girl to her senses.

So why was that name surfacing here? The fuller answer arrived with the rumor that spread soon after.

Passing from mouth to mouth, the rumor drifted ever further from the truth and curdled into a preposterous folktale. Pan Jun, already making inquiries, was able to learn the particulars. For some reason Lady Sun had gone to see Zhang Lan, and staked a wager on a bout between her page and the girl. The wager ended in Zhang Lan's victory, and as the price of it Zhang Lan demanded that Lady Sun keep to law and to propriety.

To Pan Jun, it was a shock. A mere young girl had done what neither he nor Liu Bei had managed. And beneath it lay a deeper meaning still: Zhang Niang, whom he had quietly scorned as a tomboy with no sense of the world's terrors, fit only for running off to battle, had asked, as the price of her victory, for the stability of Jingzhou.

The moment he had submitted his report on the affair in his capacity as Attendant of Jingzhou, Pan Jun set out from Gong'an for Jiangling to meet Zhang Lan himself.

The Zhang Lan he met in person was a more grown-up girl than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had imagined. More than that, she was a prettier one. He had heard she followed Zhang Fei on campaign and even earned some credit in the taking of Yu Jin, and so he had pictured a hulking woman in her father's image. The Zhang Lan before his eyes was so slender it was a wonder she had ever been treated as a soldier and sent into a fight. She was tall for her years, certainly, but to Pan Jun, a grown man in his prime, she looked little different from any other girl.

Talking with her, Pan Jun accepted that his judgment had been wrong. And so he could speak with his whole heart in it.

"First, I wish to offer my thanks."

"Pardon? So suddenly—"

"My thanks, for doing in my stead the duty I bear as Attendant of Jingzhou. I hold the post, and still I could not stop Lady Sun's lawlessness. It shames me."

Pan Jun rose from his seat and bent at the waist, offering both his gratitude and his shame. Zhang Lan did not know it, but folded into that bow was an apology as well, for having looked down on her when he first heard tell of her in the Nanjun campaign.

"Please, stand. I didn't do it to be thanked."

Zhang Lan caught the bowing Pan Jun and drew him upright. Here he realized that his certainty—that nothing about her could surprise him further—had been yet another misjudgment.

What is this strength in a girl's arm…

Pan Jun was a civil official, but he had the makings of a military man as well. He had trained in the martial arts to a fair degree, and his body was sturdy. And yet Zhang Lan's strength seemed as though it would not fall far short of his own.

Like father, like daughter, they say. It isn't an empty phrase.

Seated once more by Zhang Lan's hand, Pan Jun gathered his thoughts. She, thrown off by his abrupt thanks, recovered her composure as well, and spoke.

"Then the question you still wished to ask—what is it?"

This, in truth, was the reason he had come to her in person. Thanks alone could have been sent in a letter. Pan Jun asked.

"Does the young lady mean to go on involving herself in the affairs of soldiers?"