Once upon a time…

Our clan carried carp scales sewn into our sleeves. In our town, folks said river spirits count such scales to judge a family’s luck. One autumn, the border patrol dragged Father away for a tax he did not owe. The river ran low that year, showing old jade stones like green teeth. Mother said, “The scales will guide us.” We set out: Mother, my sister Yao, and me.

There was a rule on that river. At dusk, one must turn their boat three times in the eddy by the peeled willow. They called it the Counting Turn. If you missed it, the fog took your way and your name. We turned, and the eddy spun up a drift of carp scales, not ours, shining like coins. We followed their trail to a ruined courier post.

Inside, a hawk-keeper hid prisoners for bribes. Yao fed his hawk our carp-thread ribbon. The bird broke its jesses and flew, striking the man’s eyes. We freed Father and the others. On the way home we made the Counting Turn again. The fog bowed, and the river kept our scales, and our luck.