Crocodile Tears

Ch 1: The Mistaken Prophecy

Does fate spell life? Or does one write fate?

"By this time next year, we'll have a plump son and maybe a cow too!" My soon-to-be husband looked at me expectedly, flashing two rows of yellow teeth.

I acknowledged his coarse words with a slow nod before returning to the unfinished pile of herbal powder before me. The back of the apothecary was my only sanctuary, but I forgot that he was the son of the owner.

Without warning, he reached for the cup on the other side of the table, brushing too uncomfortably close to me for my liking. I inched away in time, but the herbs I had been preparing were not that fortunate. His wide sleeves swept up a gust of wind, ruining my hard work as thousands of brown specks floated away.

"Men and women should maintain a healthy distance," I said, trying to keep my voice flat so that it revealed none of my inner frustration.

"But husband and wife should not be so," he protested, motioning to touch my cheeks.

"Brother Liu, we are not yet engaged. Until the three days pass without fault, not even the Heavens have approved of this marriage," I reasoned, grimacing internally as I said the words. Though I was never one to believe entirely in superstition, it made for a convenient excuse, especially for a man from a traditional family. And it was true. If anything went wrong in the three days that we exchanged tokens, this union would be said to be frowned upon by the Heavens.

I've heard of some instances where girls purposefully pricked themselves or shattered a plate, but if fate could be so easily altered, then why believe in it in the first place?

"YouShi, our families are of equal social status. Plus, I've known you since you were just this tall," he bent down and motioned by the side of his knee. "It's already been one day since we tucked your token under our altar, and just yesterday, my dormant crops sprouted!"

Somehow, I had known him my entire life, but we were still no more than strangers. Still, if I was going to marry, it was better him than anyone else. He was the son of the apothecarist but instead preferred the idle life of a farmer, claiming that he didn't want the responsibility of human lives on his hands. Quite a gentleman, he would run across town to pick up Sister Wang's newest dress. And if Sister Qian ever needed a hand, he would be the first to be at her door. In the same fashion, seeing me take an interest in medicine, he pleaded with his father for me to become their family apprentice.

But even if he wanted to, he could never wed Sister Wang or Qian. Maybe he could take them for mistresses, but the title of wife wasn't within their reach. Sister Wang was the daughter of a silk merchant, wealthy but of low class, and Sister Qian was the third daughter born of a mistress, not a true bearer of the family name.

So of the girls of unwedded age, only I was left. My uncle, though poor, was unchangeably the brother of the empress. And me, an adopted child, was still the daughter of a deceased lord. A noble birth spoke more than countless riches, so as soon as my rite of passage occurred, I became a valuable asset to be considered.

To hope for true love was impractical. With Brother Liu, I could at least remain at the apothecary and nurture it into the best clinic in the entire kingdom while still bringing honor to my uncle. Next month, I would wed for my dream and family pride, not love.

Sure, I once dreamt too of marrying a hero that dazzled like the evening stars. But as tempting as it appeared, love did not exist outside of stories.

"But if to win a single heart, till white hair shall not part," I accidentally said out loud, too caught in my thoughts. Quickly averting eye contact in case he thought the poem was for him, I looked out the window. A foreign middle-aged man was standing under the blooming peach blossom tree, a folded fan in his hand, as if he was waiting for someone. With a beard and slightly curled hair, he bore the distinct qualities of a Northerner.