Liu Yun spread the silk on the table. Upon it he laid the Book of Changes, the ancient text that interpreted the oracle’s messages, and bowed to it three times. He ground the ink and readied paper and brush. He lit incense in a brass burner. While the fragrant smoke rose to the ceiling, he sat at the table, opened the lacquer container, poured out fifty long, thin yarrow sticks, then voiced his question to the oracle:

“Should I proceed with my planned venture?”

He performed the elaborate ritual of dividing, counting, discarding, and grouping the sticks until he had three piles. On the paper, he inked a broken line, which corresponded to the numbers of sticks in the piles. Then he repeated the process. His hands moved automatically; his thoughts drifted. Once again, memory carried him into the past.

He saw himself and his brother as young men—Hsi, tall and robust; Liu Yun the slight, refined scholar—walking together down a country road beneath golden autumn foliage, returning home from the provincial capital where they’d taken the civil service exams that would determine their futures.

“I don’t care about failing those stupid exams.” Scowling, Hsi kicked a rock.

“But what will you do?” Liu Yun said. “You’ll never get a government position now.”

Hsi flung down his pack of books and clothing and glared. “Elder brother, how many times must I tell you? I don’t want to be a bureaucrat. Anyway, it’s over. You passed your exams—you be the family success.”

“Repeat the exams,” Liu Yun pleaded. Since childhood, he’d dreamed of their getting posts in the same government office. “I’ll tutor you. Your score will be higher next time. Please—”

Hsi grasped Liu Yun’s shoulders. “Listen. A war is coming. When we were in the capital, I heard that the Manchus have already conquered Shensi and Honan Provinces. Eventually they’ll invade Peking. I plan to join the emperor’s army and save our kingdom from this foreign scourge.” His childhood dream—of being a soldier—hadn’t changed, either.

Liu Yun had dismissed the news as gross exaggeration. “The Ming emperors have ruled China for almost three hundred years. The northern tribesmen will never take Peking. Father will never let you join the army. Nor will I!”

Hsi shouldered his pack and stalked down the road; Liu Yun hurried to catch up. “No regime is invincible, elder brother,” Hsi retorted. “That much history I’ve learned, even though I failed the exam.” Then he halted in his tracks and pointed. “What’s that?”

From over the hill drifted black smoke. The brothers broke into a run. They reached the family estate to find the house and outbuildings on fire. Through the wreckage galloped mounted Manchu troops, clad in leather and fur, long queues waving as they carried away loot and trampled fleeing servants.

“Father! Mother!” Liu Yun cried.