Yīng Kingdom
Between Central and Eastern China
Around 400 CE
Shangqing Daoist School For Girls
The bright blue sky above the main schoolyard was alive with kites of every shape and shade – from birds to dragons, flowers to tigers. Shouts and laughter of merriment echoed across the courtyard and bounced from building to building until they reached the ears of one small girl standing alone in a quiet corner.
With a sniff, she covered her ears and squeezed her eyes tightly against the unwelcome sights and sounds. She would have been content that way until everyone had gone home, but something suddenly struck her arm and she quickly looked to find what had happened.
“Orphan!” called out a girl around her age.
She slowly lowered her hands from her ears and looked around at the group of seven children standing before her. They were various ages, between six and eleven, and all dressed in their best robes.
She smoothed down her school uniform – a simple grey robe to symbolize her fasting – and gave another glance toward the other girls. Instead of their regular blue robes, they wore bright colors with embroidered flowers and symbols of their families. It was Family Day at the school for girls, and once again, she was alone.
“Is she really an orphan?” another girl asked the first.
“Do you see her family?” sneered an older girl. “I was here the day she arrived three years ago. There was no family, only a driver to see her inside the gate. No one has come to see her on Family Day or any other time.”
The first girl who spoke from the group gave a jeering snicker as she spoke to the girl who asked the question. “You’re new here. You’ll learn that the only girls who come here without families are orphans of our kingdom’s enemies and daughters of dishonorable women who became pregnant by mistake.”
“Which one is Mîn Jíng?” a fourth girl asked.
The eldest among them shrugged. “The nuns won’t tell us. They say it isn’t our concern. Our lessons are why we are here, not idle gossip.”
“The nuns tells us everything,” remarked another. “She must have done something really bad.”
“I would imagine so if a child doesn’t deserve love,” the first presumed.
At that, Mîn Jíng ran away from their teasing, leaving them to laugh and throw more clumps of mud at her retreat.
She didn’t stop until she reached her favorite room on school grounds. There, she huddled beside the largest penjing tree planted in a giant pot beside the table she used to draw and paint and write.
After some time of crying against her folded arms, she heard someone enter. She didn’t look up as she held her hands against her ears again. She couldn’t bear more reminders of her family’s neglect.
“Mîn Jíng?” called a gentle voice, but she couldn’t hear. “Mîn, dear?” the voice called again with determination to be heard.
She heard but she remained stoic against the summons.
The much older woman stopped approaching and slowly sighed with a shaking head. She sat onto a stool behind Mîn Jíng and stroked back her young student’s shiny ebony hair. She lifted it and began braiding the long silky locks as she spoke.
“I was told what happened,” she began. “Those girls will be harshly reprimanded for their behavior and their parents spoken to. Their conduct reflects poorly on our teachings.”
She took a deep breath as Mîn Jíng quieted to listen.
“I know it’s of little consolation for their words, my child, but they haven’t the knowledge of who you are to know better.”
“I’m still alone,” Mîn Jíng sniffed. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and straightened so the nun could complete the braid. “I feel like an orphan, Daoshi Wèi Quán. Today is my birthday. I’m eight years old, and I haven’t seen my family since I was five. It’s my birthday and Family Day, and I haven’t seen anyone who is supposed to love me.”
Daoshi Wèi Quán gave another sigh as Mîn began to cry again.
“Mîn Jíng, you know your mother and father and brothers would be here if it were safe,” she reasoned.
“I traveled all right,” Mîn Jíng argued. “I was dressed as an orphan and the guards pretended to be delivery drivers arriving with food at the same time as me.”
“Yes,” agreed the nun as she patted the young girl’s head. “The roads have become harsher. Your arrival came just at the right time. It was the last season of peace in these mountains. Your mother’s dreams have borne fruit. The safest place for you is here, and the safest place for your family is in the palace.”
“You said my oldest brother is now the youngest lieutenant in Father’s army,” recalled Mîn Jíng. “Surely he would be safe to travel. He fights wars and wins battles.”
“He is and he does,” Daoshi Wèi Quán replied with a compassionate smile. “What would you imagine anyone may think if they saw him here? A soldier has no place visiting a Daoist school for girls. If they looked more closely and recognized him as Crown Prince Féng Wěi, not only would his life be in danger. They would know who he came to see, and the hidden princess would be revealed to the kingdom’s enemies.”
Mîn Jíng huffed at the wise words of her teacher and looked down as she unraveled the newly twisted braid.
“Daoshi Wèi Quán,” a voice called from outside of the art room doorway.
“Daoshi Wèi Yang,” greeted the first nun.
Mîn Jíng watched as the younger nun entered the room. She tilted her head to better see a girl walking in at her side.
Her oval eyes weren’t as large and round as Mîn Jíng’s, but they were just as black. Her face was a bit longer and thinner than Mîn Jíng’s, though the two girls were the same size everywhere else. Even their height was close enough to consider the same. Mîn Jíng smiled at the idea they might even pass as sisters.
“This is Sī,” the girl was introduced. “She’s a new arrival from the capital. Her parents have been called to their next life.”
Mîn Jíng stood as the girl who appeared her age stared curiously around the room. As she looked Sī over a bit longer, she realized her blue robe was from one of the newly sewn ones Mîn Jíng helped to make. She smiled at seeing the success of her needle work.
“Oh, I see,” Daoshi Wèi Quán sadly replied. “What took them from this life?”
“A deadly illness currently spreading around the poor in the capital,” Daoshi Wèi Yang answered. “Daoshi Wèi Wén will be joining you soon to discuss the benefits of some of your teas. She has been tasked to find a cure.”
Daoshi Wèi Quán gave a nod of understanding while watching the two students and their interaction.
“Daoshi Wèi Wén is wonderful with her botanical research,” she remarked, happy to see the two girls smiling at each other. “I’ll go immediately to my tea room to set up my supplies.
Mîn? Would you kindly show our new student around the classrooms?”
Mîn Jíng quietly nodded and returned her teacher’s appreciative smile.
“Sī, this is Mîn Jíng,” introduced Daoshi Wèi Quán. “She is somewhat of an orphan. I believe the two of you would suit each other well as companions while you’re here. Mîn is a wonderful storyteller. In fact, her recent tale of a butterfly and a crane is here at her desk. I believe she was going to make paintings for it.”
“Yes, Daoshi Wèi Quán,” agreed Mîn Jíng. “Sī can help me if she likes.”
Mîn Jíng smiled at the girl, whose expression brightened at finding a friend among her sadness and strange new life.
“May I?” Sī quietly asked Daoshi Wèi Yang.
Daoshi Wèi Yang looked down into Sī’s pleading eyes and smiled.
“Of course, child,” she permitted.
As the nuns left them alone to meet with Daoshi Wèi Wén, Mîn Jíng guided Sī to the nearby table. When she unraveled the story written on scrolls, Sī gasped in wonder at the beautiful calligraphy.
“Can you write?” asked Mîn Jíng when her reaction suggested otherwise.
Sī shook her head.
“Can you paint?” she asked further.
Sī watched as Mîn Jíng pulled over a beautiful flower she’d painted on hemp paper.
“No,” she answered and reached down to gently touch the painting. “This is beautiful. What is it called? Is it some kind of orchid or peony?”
“I don’t know yet,” Mîn Jíng shrugged. “It’s a flower I wish to make that will cure all diseases.”
She smiled at Sī and watched her brush away a tear.
“You can do lots of things,” Sī remarked and looked around the room again.
“Oh, yes,” Mîn Jíng agreed. “I learn writing and art,” she began as she noted each class on her fingers, “botany, music, zoology, cooking, and even archery. My uncle already taught me some things about the bow. I was only four when he put my first bow and arrow in my hand,” she giggled.
She watched Sī wipe at more tears and try to blink them away before they fell.
“You’ll get to do lots of things, too” she continued. “The nuns have so many classes, but not every girl takes them. I’m the only one. I can have them agree to let you take the classes with me, though, as a favor to my mother. They are … were friends with my family.”
“I would like that,” replied Sī.
She watched Mîn Jíng spread out inks and ink stones and a long sheet of paper to paint on as they spoke.
“My parents didn’t have many skills, like reading calligraphy or writing it,” Sī explained. “My mother could embroider very well, though, and my father built bassinets for officials and even the royal family!” she said with pride.
“His most honored bassinet was for the princess, herself. He made one just like it for me. She and I are almost the same age.”
Sī giggled at the joyful revelation and Mîn Jíng’s eyes grew at the news.
“Sī,” she said as she took the girl’s hand. “I think we’re going to be friends. I think we’re going to be the best of friends, like sisters. When I leave here, I want you to come with me. Would you like that?”
Sī patted Mîn Jíng’s hand and smiled at her offer. “I would like that very much. If I get a family first, you can come live with me!”
Mîn Jíng, remembering to keep her secret, only giggled and nodded enthusiastically at the offer.
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