The Qin and I: A Tale of a wise Yushi

三章 - Chapter Three: Far, far, for Cinnabar

远远求丹砂

When I returned to my chambers, I awaited courtiers who ushered me into my new garments: the attire chosen reflected my new station as Court Yushi. They blended the traditional and the ceremonial, crafted to signify my unique position within the court and beyond its walls.

The principal vestment was a long, flowing robe of deep indigo, a color revered for its depth and the complexity of its dyeing process, symbolizing knowledge and integrity. This choice of color was deliberate, intended to convey a sense of solemnity and the profound nature of my mission. The fabric, a finely woven silk, caught the light with every movement, creating a subtle interplay of shades that seemed to mirror the many facets of my task.

Over this robe, I wore a Yushi's surcoat, lighter in color, a shade of azure that contrasted with the indigo yet complemented it perfectly. This was adorned with symbols of my office—embroidered motifs of the phoenix and the dragon, representing rebirth and imperial power. The embroidery, done in threads of gold, caught my eye with its intricate detail, each stitching a mantra to the skill of the palace's artisans.

Around my waist, I secured a belt of braided silk, from which hung a small pouch containing my personal seals and a few necessary items for my journey. The belt's clasp was a piece of polished jade carved into the shape of a chrysanthemum, symbolizing longevity and resilience. This was a functional accessory and a reminder of the endurance required in the trials before me.

My footwear was a pair of sturdy yet elegant boots made from soft leather, designed for long walks and unpredictable terrain outside the palace. They were a practical choice, balancing the need for comfort during travel with the formality expected of my appearance.

Despite the sense of urgency that propelled me forward, a part of me yearned for counsel, for the wisdom of those who had guided me thus far. The thought of seeking Master Chen's advice flickered in my mind like a hesitant flame. His gentle guidance these past weeks had often been a beacon in the bewildering complexity of court life. Though the thought of burdening him with my fears seemed unjust, an imposition I was loath to make.

Master Liu also crossed my thoughts with his stoic demeanor and unyielding expectations. To approach him, to admit the uncertainty that shadowed my newfound duty, was a risk I was unwilling to take. His teachings had prepared me for many challenges, but the vulnerability of admitting my apprehension was a river yet uncrossed.

I chose not to stop to converse with those I recognized from the palace, nor did I seek out Master Chen or Master Liu. The Emperor's charge pressed upon me, casting me forward. My focus became fixed on returning home, on the solace and strength I found within the walls of my childhood. I remembered the last time I saw my Father's eyes: I would tell them what had happened to me since I was taken and what was to come.

Leaving the palace's imposing grandeur behind after over a month of isolation, I embarked onward—a path that would lead me through the still unfamiliar avenues of the capital. I thought to myself, "The half-day walk home..."

As I navigated the bustling streets, memories of my singular previous visit to the market surfaced, reminding me of the events that had catapulted me into the heart of the Empire's grand designs. That day, marked by chaos and misunderstanding, seemed a lifetime ago, yet the consequences of that "grand spectacle" had undoubtedly altered my life.

The capital, alive with the din of daily commerce and the whispers of passersby, offered no comfort. Their order and pace were a facade, masking the chasm that had opened within me. As I stepped into the capital's lively embrace, where the morning unfurled with the fervor of a marketplace in full swing, the stark division between the secluded corridors of power I had wandered and the streets beneath my feet was startling.