Because it was what she wanted. The rising moon lit the Prince of Radiance’s profile as he gazed out over the water. He was smiling. The moment felt like an indrawn breath: a stillness containing the inevitability of the outbreath. This is what I choose. His eyes still fixed on that distant shore, the Prince of Radiance said in his fluting, unearthly tones, “Liu Futong was never going to rule. But neither will Zhu Chongba.” There was a rustle in the willows, and Zhu knew if she looked she would see the hungry ghost that had been her brother. Unremembered all these years, because his name had been taken by someone who lived. “No,” she agreed. She drew her saber and heard the familiar sound of the blade rushing smoothly against the sheath. Her left hand was stronger now, and it didn’t shake. As the child started to turn, she said softly, “Keep looking at the moon, little brother. It will be better that way. And when you’re reborn centuries from now, make sure to listen for my name. The whole world will know it.” JIANKANG, FIFTH MONTH Nearly two months after Jiankang’s second, more uneventful, capture by the Red Turbans, Ma received word that she should join Zhu in Jiankang. If you weren’t an army, it was only a few days’ ride from Anfeng. Crossing the Yangzi’s lazy summer flow, Ma marveled at the sight of a city verdant with foliage, its streets bustling with industry. Only here and there were still the burned buildings from Little Guo’s first attempt at an occupation. That already seemed a lifetime ago. The sun sweltered as she and Chang Yuchun, her escort, rode past thrumming oil mills and silk workshops and into the center. A clutch of modest wooden buildings crouched around the stone parade ground that was the sole remaining evidence of the ancient dynasties whose rulers had been enthroned there. Yuchun gave the buildings a jaundiced look and said, “Commander Zhu said he’s planning to build another palace. Something more fitting, with a nice stone wall and everything.” Ma said, “Fitting—for the Prince of Radiance?”
An awkward expression flitted over Yuchun’s face. “Um.” “What?” “There was an acci— Well, anyway, the mourning period has finished. We observed a month. For—but we don’t call him the Prince of Radiance anymore. Commander Zhu gave him a proper temple name. I’ve forgotten it; you’ll have to ask him.” Catching sight of Ma’s face, the youth looked alarmed. “What’s wrong?” The depth of Ma’s grief and anger surprised her. For all that the Prince of Radiance featured in some of her worst memories, it was only the most recent that came to her: the protectiveness that had risen up in her as she held that small warm body against her own. The thought that he had been dead for so long, without her even knowing, somehow made it worse. She followed Yuchun numbly into a hall where Zhu stood in a group of men. Then everyone was gone and Zhu was alone in front of her with a serious expression. Apparently she knew better than to touch Ma right then, because she just stood there with her arms by her sides and her left hand open. What was that gesture? A plea for forgiveness, or simply an acknowledgment of Ma’s pain? The witnesses gone, Ma’s tears overflowed. “You killed him.” Zhu was silent. Ma, reading her face, exclaimed, “You don’t even deny it!” After a moment Zhu sighed. “He served his purpose.” “Purpose!” Without having consciously worked to fit the pieces together, Ma realized she already had the whole picture. “The only thing you needed him for was to hand you power. You had to make sure the people accepted you as our rightful leader. After that—anyone else would have still needed him for his Mandate, so they could rule. But you don’t need him for that, do you?” She said bitterly, “Because you have the Mandate, too.” She felt a slap of satisfaction at Zhu’s surprise. “How did you—” “He told me! He said that people with the Mandate can see the spirit world. And I already know you can see ghosts.” She flung the words at Zhu. “So what did you do, throw him in the river like an unwanted kitten?” Zhu said, very controlled, “It was quick, if that makes you feel better.” “It doesn’t!” She thought of that brief moment of domestic joy she had felt that morning with Zhu and the child in her bed. Even that hadn’t even
been real, because Zhu had known all along what she planned to do. She said painfully, “How is this better than anything Chen Youliang would have done? You said you’d be different. You lied to me.” Zhu said, “I had to—” “I know!” Ma screamed. “I know, I know! I know why.” She felt a sharp internal pain: her heart twisting into a thousand loops. “You say you want me for my feelings, my empathy. But when you did this, did you even stop to think about how it might make me feel to bear witness for what you think is justified? Or did you know, and not care that you were being cruel?” Zhu said quietly, “I didn’t mean to be cruel. I’m different from Chen Youliang in that, at least. But I want what I want, and sometimes I’m going to have to do certain things to get it.” The uneven indoors light gave the hollows and points of her face the exaggeration of an actor’s mask. There was regret there, but it wasn’t regret for the child—but for Ma herself. “I promised you honesty, Ma Xiuying, so I’ll be honest with you. I’m not going to stop until I rule, and I’m not going to let anyone stop me. So you have two choices. You can rise with me, which I’d prefer. Or if you don’t want what I want—you can leave.” Ma stared at her in anguish. In that ordinary, ugly little body was a desire so fierce that it scorched and blistered those who came near it, and Ma knew that pain was something she would have to endure over and over again for the transgression of loving and choosing Zhu. It was the price of her own desire. For Zhu, Ma’s pain was worth it. But for me, will it be? The golden flags arrowed down Jiankang’s graceful avenues, coming together into that gleaming, pulsing point of light in the heart of the city. The palace’s parade ground glowed gold under the sun that beat down mercilessly on the roaring, cheering crowd. Encased in golden armor, Zhu stepped out onto the top of the palace steps. The sight of her subjects filled her with an expansive tenderness, as of the man who looks down upon the world from a mountain and feels suspended within himself the fragility and potential of all that lies beneath.
Alongside it was her awareness of all the suffering and sacrifices it had taken to get her here. She had been nothing, and lost everything, and become someone else entirely. But now there was no longer anything to be afraid of, and the only thing ahead of her was her shining fate, and joy. She thought: I’ve been reborn as myself. This time when she reached inside for the light, it came as naturally as breathing. The radiance rushed out of her: an incandescent flame burning from her body and armor, as though she had transformed into a living being of fire. When she looked down at herself, she was greeted by the strange vision of her missing right hand gauntleted in white fire. Apparently the flame followed the outline of what she thought her body was. Her phantom hand made visible as it burned with white fire and white pain. It seemed fitting. Above the crowd’s heads, golden flags bore the city’s new name. Yingtian: a name that claimed its connection to Heaven. And Zhu herself was making that same claim with her own new name. The name of someone who refused any future other than one in which she made history; the name of one who would change everything. The greatest omen of a nation’s future. As Zhu called down to those waiting faces, she heard her own ringing voice almost like a stranger’s. “Behold me as Zhu Yuanzhang, the Radiant King. Behold me as the one who will lay waste to the empire of the Great Yuan, and expel the Mongols from this land of our ancestors, and reign in unending brightness!” Remember me, and say my name for ten thousand years. “Behold the Radiant King!” came the soaring response, and as the echoes faded the crowd fell to its knees with the long sigh of bodies folding upon themselves. From that vast human stillness, a single person rose. A tremulous quiver went through the crowd. Zhu caught her breath in surprise. Ma Xiuying. She hadn’t seen Ma since that terrible conversation, days ago, in which Zhu had given her the ultimatum. Zhu hadn’t wanted to ask after her afterwards, in case it was true: that it had been their goodbye, and Ma had already left. Ma was wearing red, the color of what had been ended so that Zhu could build the new. It felt like a castigation: Don’t forget. Her goldembroidered sleeves draped nearly to the ground. Her upswept hair, as high
again as her head, was crowned with hanging silk ribbons and golden threads that swayed as she walked. In silence she made her way between the bodies prostrated on the stone. Her skirts flowed behind her like a river of blood. At the foot of the stairs, Ma knelt. She was all smoothness and softness in the pool of her madder-dyed silk—but under that surface she had her own kind of strength: a compassion as unyielding as an iron statue of the Goddess of Mercy. Zhu looked down at the naked line of Ma’s bowed neck, and her chest fizzed with oddly sharp relief and gratitude. It hurt in the way that pure beauty hurt. She had told Ma what she preferred, but she hadn’t realized how much she wanted it. “This woman addresses the Radiant King.” Ma spoke strongly enough for the whole crowd to hear. For Heaven itself to hear. “I pledge to stand beside my husband for every step of his journey, even should it take ten years and ten thousand li. And at its end, when he begins his reign as the founding Emperor of our new dynasty—I will be his Empress.” Zhu heard the unflinching demand in Ma’s voice: for Zhu’s own loyalty, and honesty, and difference. As Zhu stood looking down at her, she suddenly saw how their journey would go: Zhu’s desire propelling them higher and higher, until there was nothing left above them but the dazzling vault of Heaven. And for Ma every moment of that ascent would be compromise and heartache and the gradual erosion of her belief that there was always a kinder way. That was the price Ma would pay—not just for Zhu’s desire, but for her own. Because she loved Zhu, and wanted to see her rule the world. Zhu’s heart ached. I’ll make it worth it, for both of us. She looked out at the crowd, and tried with all her effort to impress the sight of them into her memory, so she might not lose it: Ma, and Xu Da, and her captains, and behind them the tens of thousands of others who would follow her, and die for her, until she achieved her desire. “My future Empress,” she called, and the words left her throbbing with the sweet potential of what was to come. “My brother commander, my captains; all my loyal subjects. The world is waiting for us.” She lifted her arms and let the pure white light stream from her until their folded bodies were bathed in a brightness to rival that of the sun. From
inside the coruscating aura of her own radiance the spectacle of them was a vision of the future. It was the most beautiful thing Zhu had ever seen. She said joyously, “Rise.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book began life during a series of brainstorming sessions with friends, in which we all decided to write the books we longed for but could never find. I’m not sure any of us realised then how long a journey it would be, but guys: we did it. To those who were there from the beginning: thank you from the bottom of my heart. Vanessa Len, for trudging every step of the way with me towards the finish line, and for understanding the joys and frustrations of being a mixed-race member of the Asian diaspora. I’m delighted beyond all measure that we’ll be debuting together in 2021. C. S. Pacat, for inspiring us to delve deep to find our stories; for your endless support and counsel; and for your inability to lie about art. Beatrix Bae, for hosting that very first session, thereby starting the food arms race that left the rest of us mentally broken, and then taking us back and feeding us delicious soup. Anna Cowan, what a good friend to have found! Thank you for being my K-drama partner in squee during the hell year of that first draft, and for your pithy character insights. I’ll never think of Ouyang’s sword the same way again. My indefatigable cheerleader with a brain as big as a planet, my agent Laura Rennert: I can’t thank you enough. Like a martial arts master in a training montage, you said, “Again! But better!” even when I thought I was too exhausted to keep going (although unlike a real sifu, you always said it in the nicest possible way). This book is immeasurably better because of you. Thanks also to your wonderful team—Paige Terlip, Laura Schoeffel, and Victoria Piontek—and the rest of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency. My very first editor at Tor, Diana Gill: thank you for your enthusiasm and tireless in-house support for this book. I still can’t quite believe the Tor logo I saw on my treasured fantasy paperbacks will be on the spine of
something I wrote. Will Hinton, Devi Pillai, and the entire team at Tor, including the freelancers: thank you for your magnificent efforts, including the many that went unseen from my end, to bring this book into the world. Bella Pagan and the wider Pan Macmillan team: many thanks for your warm welcome to the world of publishing, and your enthusiastic and dedicated work bringing my book to the Commonwealth and, particularly, Australia. Thank you to the Otherwise Award: the 2017 Fellowship gave me vital encouragement when I still had many miles to go. Thanks to the delightful Ying Fan Wang for help with names and pronunciations. (Any remaining infelicities are, of course, my own.) To Cindy Pon, Jeannie Lin, Courtney Milan, and Zen Cho, whose genre books with Asian protagonists made me believe it was possible for my own to be published. To the patient and welcoming authors in the group chat, who answered my questions and shared in yay and woe alike during this long journey towards publication. To my mother, who always encouraged my writing. And thank you to my two nearest and dearest: John, for years of unwavering support despite my refusals to let you read the manuscript, and for arguing that at least one of the male characters should be a decent human being; and Erica, for sharing time and attention with an older sibling who happens to be a book. Finally, I would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the traditional custodians of the lands on which I wrote the final drafts of this book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Shelley Parker-Chan is an Australian by way of Malaysia and New Zealand. A 2017 Tiptree Fellow, she is the author of the historical fantasy novel She Who Became the Sun. Parker-Chan spent nearly a decade working as a diplomat and international development adviser in Southeast Asia, where she became addicted to epic East Asian historical TV dramas. After a failed search to find English-language book versions of these stories, she decided to write her own. Parker-Chan currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, where she is very grateful to never have to travel by leaky boat ever again. Visit her online at www.shelleyparkerchan.com, or sign up for email updates here. Twitter: @shelleypchan
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. SHE WHO BECAME THE SUN Copyright © 2021 by Shelley Parker-Chan All rights reserved. Cover art by JungShan A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates 120 Broadway New York, NY 10271 www.tor-forge.com Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC. The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows: Names: Parker-Chan, Shelley, author. Title: She who became the sun / Shelley Parker-Chan. Description: First edition. | New York: Tor, 2021. | A Tom Doherty Associates book. Identifiers: LCCN 2021009142 (print) | LCCN 2021009143 (ebook) | ISBN 9781250621801 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250837134 (Canadian) | ISBN 9781250621795 (ebook) Subjects: GSAFD: Fantasy fiction. Classification: LCC PR9619.4.P369 S54 2021 (print) | LCC PR9619.4.P369 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92 —dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009142 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009143 eISBN 9781250621795 Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected]. First U.S. Edition: 2021 First Canadian Edition: 2021
CONTENTS Title Page Copyright Notice Epigraph Map Part One. 1345–1354 1. Huai River Plains, Southern Henan, 1345 2 3 4 Part Two. 1354–1355 5. Huai River Plains, Tenth Month 6. Anfeng, Southern Henan, Eleventh Month 7. Yao River 8. Anyang, Northern Henan, Twelfth Month 9. Anfeng, The New Year, 1355 10. Anyang, First Month 11. Outside Lu, Second Month 12. Hichetu, Shanxi, Third Month 13. Anfeng, Summer 14. Southeastern Henan, Summer 15. Anyang, Summer 16. Anfeng, Eighth Month 17. Anfeng, Tenth Month Part Three. 1355−1356
18. Anyang, Eleventh Month 19. Anfeng, Eleventh Month 20. Anyang, First Month 21. Anfeng, Second Month 22. Bianliang 23. Anfeng, Third Month Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright
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