Chapter 1: A Caged Bird in Silk Chains

Disclaimer:

Please read this before you proceed!

This is a work of fiction inspired by historical settings, cultural elements, and creative storytelling. While the story may reference real-world events, places, and sentiments, it does not intend to promote or endorse any political, national, or cultural biases. Any depictions of conflicts, rivalries, or differing perspectives are included for historical accuracy and narrative depth, not as a reflection of personal beliefs or present-day viewpoints.

The inclusion of Chinese, Japanese, and French elements—along with any tensions portrayed—serves only to enhance the authenticity of the setting and characters. Readers are encouraged to approach the story with an open mind, understanding that it is a fictional interpretation and not a commentary on any modern relations or identities.

Thank you for reading with the spirit of historical context and storytelling in mind.

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The halls of the Liang estate were always cold, even in the sweltering peak of summer.

Sandalwood smoke curled through the air, laced with the sharp tang of ink and the faint sweetness of jasmine tea. Beyond the shoji screens, hushed voices murmured—servants whispering about the General's daughter. About you.

The disgrace. The pawn. The girl about to be sold like a well-trained hound to a master she did not choose.

Your reflection wavered in the polished vanity mirror. The maids had dressed you with practiced precision—a silk cheongsam embroidered with golden cranes, every fold and stitch a testament to wealth and discipline. Delicate hairpins, adorned with pearls, gleamed beneath the lantern light, heavy against your scalp.

A picture of refinement. A woman sculpted into obedience.

A prized possession, not a person.

But beneath the layers of silk, beneath the fragile illusion, you were suffocating.

"Miss Liang," a servant murmured from the doorway, bowing low. "Your father is waiting."

You rose, the weight of duty pressing against your shoulders like an iron shackle wrapped in silk. A gilded cage, tightening around your ribs with each careful step.

Tonight would be the last time you walked these halls as Liang Yue, the obedient daughter of General Liang.

The grand reception hall was a shrine to power.

Towering wooden beams stretched toward the ceiling, carved with dragons that coiled in silent judgment. Ornate screens painted with mist-covered mountains concealed the outside world. And at the heart of it all, behind the seat of the man who ruled this house, hung a calligraphy scroll, its ink bold and unyielding:

"Honor above life."

Your father, General Liang, sat at the center, his military uniform pristine, medals gleaming like cold stars. His gaze—sharp, unwavering—pierced through you.

Beside him, your mother sat stiff-backed, fingers wrapped too tightly around her porcelain teacup, as if bracing for impact. When she saw you, she eyed your expression warily and gave a weak smile that formed wrinkles around her tired eyes.

To my father's right stood Hasegawa Kenji.

Your betrothed.

A Japanese officer, draped in wealth, influence, and the quiet cruelty of a man who always got what he wanted. He studied you with unreadable eyes, his posture relaxed—as if he were assessing the worth of a newly acquired piece of land.

"The wedding is in three days." Your father's voice was steel, sharp enough to cut through bone. "You will conduct yourself as a woman of the Hasegawa household."

Three days.

Three days before you were handed over like property.

Three days before you were bound to a man whose empire had stolen everything from your people.

Three days before you lost yourself completely.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. This was it.

Your last chance.

You lifted your chin, steadying your voice.

"Father," you said, "I refuse this marriage."

Silence.

Like the breathless moment before a blade falls.

Your father's grip on his glass tightened. A soft crack splintered through the still air as porcelain shattered against his palm. His voice, when it came, was dangerously quiet.

"What did you say?"

You met his gaze, unflinching. "I refuse."

The air in the room thickened, suffocating. Your mother turned pale. The servants stilled, their eyes darting between you and the general as if watching an execution unfold.

Hasegawa, for his part, did not move. He merely tilted his head, lips curling in something that might have been amusement.

Your father exhaled slowly. Measured. Controlled.

"You overestimate your worth," he said. Cold. Final. As he got up and walked towards you. "Without this family, you are nothing."

Your fingers curled into fists beneath your silk sleeves.

"Then I will be nothing."

The back of his hand struck your face before the words had fully left your lips.

Pain exploded through your skull, snapping your head to the side. The taste of blood filled your mouth, metallic and sharp.

A gasp rippled through the room. No one dared to move.

You pressed trembling fingers to your cheek, feeling the heat of the forming bruise. But you did not crumble. You did not break.

You lifted your chin, gaze burning.

Your father loomed over you, voice like distant thunder.

"Ungrateful girl. You will obey. Or you will not live under my roof."

The command slammed into you like a verdict. Like a guillotine blade descending.

Slowly, you straightened.

Every inch of your body ached, but your pride burned brighter than the pain.

You met his gaze one last time.

And then, softly, with unwavering resolve, you whispered—

"I choose exile."