Chapter 1: Shadows on the Yangtze

The mist clung low over the river, muffling the slap of water against the hull as Yuan guided his father’s ferry toward the southern bank. Dawn had barely crested the distant hills, but already the air buzzed with rumors—of armies, of burning cities, of banners bearing the dragon of Jin. Yuan’s hands shook as he tightened his grip on the pole, the callouses of sixteen years pressing into the smooth bamboo. His father crouched at the prow, eyes narrowed against the fog. “We’ll have to be quick, boy,” he murmured, scanning the far shore. “They’re saying Sun Hao’s men have set fire to the docks upstream. Jin’s soldiers might be here by midday.” Yuan swallowed. He remembered Sun Hao’s banners—red and gold, the last flicker of Eastern Wu, the only rulers he’d ever known. But now, in the year of the Metal Monkey—280 as the scribes reckoned it—nothing seemed certain. The Jin, having conquered the north, were pressing down the Yangtze, reuniting a China splintered by decades of war. As they approached the shore, a small cluster of villagers waited, bundles at their feet. Among them was Mei, her hair plaited with blue thread, her face streaked with river mud. She caught Yuan’s eye and managed a wry smile. He called across, “Are you leaving, too?” “We have no choice,” she replied, her voice wavering. “My uncle says the Jin will spare those who surrender, but no one trusts the word of conquerors.” Yuan’s father nodded. “Board quickly. We’ll take as many as we can, but the current is strong.” As the villagers clambered aboard, Yuan felt the weight of the river beneath him—a current older and stronger than any empire. He wondered if, when the armies arrived, even the great Yangtze would remember the names of those swept away. —

Chapter 2: The Unraveling Banner

The ferry strained under its load, carving a path through the swirling waters. Yuan’s father shouted orders, and Yuan relayed them, his voice cracking against the wind. Mei sat near the stern, clutching her mother’s hand, her gaze fixed on the smoke rising from the north. “You think the Jin will spare us?” she asked quietly. Yuan hesitated. “They say Sima Yan wants to unite all under heaven. Maybe he’ll be merciful.” “Mercy?” Mei’s lip trembled. “They say he’s already executed Sun Hao’s ministers.” Yuan shifted, embarrassed by his own ignorance. The stories changed with each passing boat—some said the Jin offered amnesty, others whispered of slaughter. All agreed that the world was changing, and that they were powerless to stop it. As they neared the southern bank, shouts echoed across the water. Soldiers—Wu loyalists—were waving spears, urging the ferries to turn back. Yuan’s father cursed. “We can’t risk landing here. We’ll go downstream.” “But my home,” whispered one of the villagers, an old man with trembling hands. “My daughter—” “There are no homes left, grandfather,” Mei’s mother said softly. “Not until this storm passes.” Yuan’s heart twisted as he poled the boat downriver, past fields already trampled by fleeing peasants, past docks where the banners of Wu fluttered like dying birds. He realized, with a jolt, that he did not know what would be waiting for them at journey’s end—nor if they would ever return. —

Chapter 3: The City at the Water’s Edge

They reached Jianye by dusk—once the proud capital of Eastern Wu, now a city holding its breath. The docks were choked with refugees, merchants arguing with soldiers, all watched by the stone lions that guarded the palace gates. Yuan helped Mei’s family from the boat, scanning the crowds for a familiar face. The palace walls loomed above, their red paint flaking in the humid air. News traveled fast: Sun Hao, the last Emperor of Wu, had surrendered to the Jin. His surrender, just weeks past, had sent shockwaves through the city. Yuan’s father gripped his shoulder. “Stay close. The Jin may arrive tonight.” As darkness fell, the city’s alleys filled with whispers. Yuan and Mei walked together, picking their way past beggars and peddlers, past the shrines to the river gods. Mei paused before a statue of Yu the Great, his face eroded by centuries. She lit a stick of incense. “Do you think the gods care who rules?” she asked. Yuan shrugged. “The river doesn’t care. It just flows.” Mei looked at him then, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I wish I could be as strong as that.” He wanted to take her hand, to promise safety, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he stood beside her, listening to the distant drums that marked the approach of a new dynasty. —

Chapter 4: The Iron Gate Closes

The Jin arrived at dawn, their banners pale blue and white, dragon-crested helmets gleaming in the morning sun. The city gates were flung open, and the Wu soldiers laid down their arms. Yuan watched as the Jin commander—General Wang Jun, they said—rode through the streets, his expression unreadable. Yuan’s father pulled him aside. “We must decide, boy. The Jin are recruiting local men as guides. It is dangerous, but it may spare us suspicion.” “And if we refuse?” “Then we are just more mouths to feed. Worse—potential traitors.” Yuan looked at the press of bodies—so many hungry, frightened faces. He thought of the river, of how it accepted all who entered, friend and foe alike. He nodded. “I’ll go. I can guide them through the marshes.” That afternoon, Yuan stood in a line with other local youths, waiting as the Jin officer inspected them. Mei found him afterward, her face pale with worry. “Promise me you’ll come back,” she whispered. “I will,” he said, though he was not sure if it was a promise he could keep. —

Chapter 5: Water Roads and Blood Oaths

The next days blurred into a parade of orders, drills, and new faces. Yuan was assigned to guide a detachment upriver, showing them the hidden channels and shallow crossings. The Jin soldiers were wary but not cruel; some even shared dried persimmons with him, asking about the river’s moods and the best places to fish. One evening, as they camped on a muddy bank, Yuan listened to the soldiers’ stories—of battles in the north, of families left behind. One soldier, a grizzled veteran named Luo, handed Yuan a waterskin. “You’re young to be caught in this,” Luo said. “What do you want, boy?” Yuan hesitated. “I want my family to be safe. I want to go home.” Luo nodded. “That’s all any of us want.” The words lingered with Yuan as he lay awake, listening to the frogs and the distant cries of night birds. He wondered if, when the Jin left, anything of his old life would remain. —

Chapter 6: The Surrendered Palace

Jianye was quiet when Yuan returned—quieter than he’d ever known it. The palace, once filled with courtiers and musicians, now echoed with the footsteps of Jin officials. The people waited for word of their future, shuffling through the markets in silence. Mei met him at the dock, relief flooding her face. “My uncle says they’re sending many families north, to Xianyang or Luoyang. Do you think they’ll send us?” Yuan shook his head. “I don’t know. But I heard the Jin are offering land to those who help them.” She looked at him, hope and fear mingling in her eyes. “Would you go? Leave the river?” He looked at the water, at the city’s reflection trembling on its surface. “Maybe. But not today.” That night, the city held a ceremony—Jin and Wu officials together, pouring wine to the ancestors. Yuan watched from the crowd as the last Wu banners were lowered. He felt, for the first time, the pull of two worlds: the old life slipping away, the new one yet unknown. —

Chapter 7: The River Remembers

Spring brought a fragile peace. The Jin soldiers patrolled the streets, but the city began to breathe again. New markets opened; old songs drifted from the tea houses. Yuan ferried grain and passengers, learning the new coins, the new laws. One evening, as the sun bled gold across the Yangtze, Yuan and Mei walked along the riverbank. She spoke of dreams—of traveling north, of learning to read, of a future not bound by old wars. Yuan listened, feeling the river’s pulse beneath his feet. He realized then that he was no longer just a boy swept along by history. He had choices—small ones, perhaps, but his own. He took Mei’s hand. “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.” The city lights flickered in the dusk, and the river flowed on, bearing witness to all that had been lost—and all that might yet be found. —