F.C. Yee

“What’s mine is mine, Henshe,” she said. “I’m not giving up what I’ve earned. You’d better see to that.”

“Of course.” Henshe hid his scoff with his bow. Noehi acted like she’d clawed her riches from the sea with her bare hands, when she probably had never seen a spiraled oyster that hadn’t already been shucked. Her father had been granted the pearl monopoly simply because he’d had the same calligraphy tutor as the Earth King, and then he died of a heart clutch, leaving the entire business to his daughter.

Earned. That was the thing about these merchants. They feigned enterprise and risk-taking when all they were doing was drinking from a river no one else was allowed to approach.

It was simply unjust. To remember the events of a single life was painful enough. Reliving dozens of lives would be . . . well, it would be like getting caught by a tsunami. Swept away by forces beyond your control.

At the age of eleven, Yangchen had known who she was