The Ghost Bride

by Yangsze Choo

masculinity. I liked the moon, with its soft silver beams. It was at once elusive and filled with trickery, so that lost objects that had rolled into the crevices of a room were rarely found, and books read in its light seemed to contain all sorts of fanciful stories that were never there the next morning.

If I were a man and found a serving girl who pleased me, no one would stop me from buying her if she was indentured. Men did so every day. It was far more difficult for women. There were stories of unfaithful concubines who had been strangled, or who’d had their ears and noses sliced off and were then left to roam the streets as beggars.

The contrast between the realization of his neglect and the fondness I had for my father was painful.

Remembering his steady gaze, I felt weak. Was this love? It was like a consuming flame, licking through my defenses at a slow burn.