As a child, gravity and I were constant adversaries.

Gravity only sought to hold me down. It was gravity that pulled me from the roof of the family temple and broke my wrist when I was seven. It was gravity that ripped fragile things from my grasp and dashed them against the ground to shatter into pieces. It was gravity that had me tripping over the hem of my dress so often the other girls called me fēng gǔn cǎo. It was the constant curse that dogged my steps and, in my childish eyes, held me back.

As soon as I left my hair comb in place of my father's conscription notice, it was no longer gravity that left its marks upon me. Now it is fate. Fate has roughened my palms and feet with callouses. Fate has left an angry wound in the flesh of my side, and in the handprint-shaped bruise on my left forearm, though both are reminders of the fate I did not suffer.

It was not gravity, nor was it fate, that stilled Shang's hand.

fēng gǔn cǎo - tumbleweed