His father had come to announce his forthcoming marriage. Or at least his forthcoming betrothal, which, all things considered, was a simple formality. There would be a little official procedure – a visit to the matchmaker, a couple of recitations, and then he would be married.

Married.

His father was unwaveringly matter-of-fact about the whole affair. The woman would be of good family – 'impressive military lineage' was one of his favourite phrases – the only daughter of the Honourable Fa Zu. As always, he was aware of his son's nerves, and calmed him without losing face – by listing Shang's achievements. He was, after all, the son of a general, number one in his class, an equal in every sense to the warrior's daughter.

In truth, he had had precious little experience of women of any sort, never mind marriage. Shang lay awake in his tent considering the affair soberly. He had no real feelings about it – except perhaps a nagging sense of unease which must come, at least in part, from the inexperience that was to be expected from his youth. A man of his age ought to have a wife…this was his father breaking into his thoughts again…with a man of your standing, there would never be a problem in keeping her in silk…

He dreamt of his mother as a young boy, hiding in her room before he was sent away to school, the slice of her silk on his skin and the bite of her perfume as she kissed him and he ran towards her, smiling. He had barely any recollection of her – she had died too early for these memories to be anything other than brief, worn out fragments of the nightmares he had had ever since her death. He knew them by heart. Now he was feverish, a little boy too ill to move from his cot as his patient, smiling mother dabbed him with the ice-cold water that made him start. Now he was paralysed, powerless as she sickened before him. The voice of his father behind him telling him his mother had died… his mother's face melting into the giggling concubine his father had installed while he was away at school… she was teasing him, laughing at his boyish clumsiness and call him names… tripping him up in front of his father to humiliate him…

Shang started awake, blushing and shivering at once. That had been a trumpet, and drums. Something serious had happened – it was a signal the army had been attacked. Perhaps the war was about to begin. He was almost relieved and with a wry smile, he sighed as he ran towards his father's, the General's, tent. War was simpler than marriage. At least if there was a mild skirmish, he could postpone meeting his wife. Perhaps by then he might have found the courage to face her…