Chapter One: Shall We Switch Identities?

Early summer, and the sun blazed high in the sky.

In the small Wen family courtyard, a figure clad in black darted about like a tireless panther, twisting and leaping in the stifling heat.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air—the red-tasseled spear in her hands became a flash of crimson lightning. Each sweep was punctuated by a piercing whoosh, the spear’s tip grazing the flagstones. Chips of stone and fallen leaves spun up together, swirling through the air.

Sweat had long since soaked through Wen Changning’s thin black attire, clinging to the lithe, powerful lines of her young body. Her long, jet-black hair was tied high with a dark ribbon, revealing a smooth brow and a pair of strikingly bright eyes. There was nothing of maidenly shyness in those eyes—only a searing intensity and untamed spirit.

With a final flourish, she spun, withdrawing the spear and placing it into the rack with a solid thud. She wiped the sweat from her chin, her breath steady and deep despite the exertion.

She walked to the shade of the grape arbor, grabbed a coarse earthenware dipper, and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold water. The chill rushed down her throat, bringing fleeting relief, but could not quench the burning frustration smoldering in her chest.

Exhilarating. The delight of stretching her muscles and bones to their fullest—this was the only way she could briefly forget her restraints.

Beneath the thick shade of the arbor, Wen Changkong lounged on a bamboo chair. Dressed in a robe of pale cotton, his skin seemed even whiter than snow, like a fine carving of mutton-fat jade. Strands of black hair were held up carelessly with a jade hairpin, a few locks falling over his cheek, lending him a languid, delicate beauty.

He held a storybook open on his lap, fingertips idly turning the pages. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shadows across his focused profile, long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. When he read something amusing, his lips would curve in a quiet smile, tranquil as an immortal in a painting.

His features were identical to Wen Changning’s—the same phoenix eyes, the same fine nose, the same graceful lips. Yet his skin was even smoother, his throat softer, and a natural allure danced in his gaze, transforming his beauty into something breathtaking.

The same face: one moved with the force of thunder, sharp as an unsheathed blade; the other was calm as autumn waters, gentle as moonlight.

“Brother, what are you reading? So absorbed?”

Wen Changning strolled over, picking up his dropped storybook: “Eighty-Six Strategies of the Capital’s Poison Maiden to Capture the Scheming Prince.”

Wen Changkong flushed and snatched it back hurriedly. “It’s-nothing!”

Outside the courtyard wall, the teahouse owner, hearing the commotion, threw his rag onto the greasy table.

“Detective Wen is forcing his son to practice martial arts again? At it since dawn, and now it’s almost noon! Can’t he let the child rest?”

The tofu seller shook her head and sighed, “That father’s fixated on having his son pass the military exams and earn a name for himself.”

“He still finds time to dream of glory!” scoffed a man fanning himself. “The Blackwind Bandits grow bolder every day—so many villagers butchered by the roadside, their corpses left to rot, and no one dares collect them!”

“At this rate, Qingxi Town will be devoured soon enough. The government will conscript men for a bandit sweep—no family will be spared.”

The teahouse owner spat on the ground. “In times like these, staying alive is blessing enough!”

These comments pierced Wen Changning’s ears like needles. She clenched her fists, nails digging deep into her palms.

The mockery of outsiders. The threat of bandits.

Her father’s obsessions.

Her own skills, with nowhere to be unleashed...

All tangled together, stifling her heart with pain.

“Changning! Changkong! Come eat!” her mother, Yun Tianjiao, called from the main house.

At the table, the air was heavy. Yun Tianjiao, dressed plainly, sorrow etched between her brows, silently served her children food. Her gaze lingered with concern on her daughter’s sweat-soaked clothes and her son’s pale face—worried, yet helpless.

Wen Zhenshan sat at the head, his brow knotted, face dark as thunder. His eyes were sharp as an eagle’s, lingering on Wen Changkong, then Wen Changning, before he let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

That sigh brimmed with the anguish of unfulfilled expectations.

“Kong’er,” Wen Zhenshan’s voice was as heavy as stone. “Did you make any progress in practice this morning?”

Wen Changkong’s hand trembled around his chopsticks, lashes lowered, voice soft and trembling. “Father, I practiced... horse stance and fist forms... I feel my footing’s steadier.”

“Steadier?” Wen Zhenshan slammed the table, making the dishes rattle. “You practiced all morning and didn’t sweat a drop? Not even a hint of heat on your back! All your hard work has run off onto your sister?”

Wen Changkong shrank back, startled, eyes reddening as he looked to his sister for help.

Wen Changning rolled her eyes inwardly. With her father in this mood, pleading would only make things worse. She calmly picked up more vegetables, ignoring her brother’s silent plea.

Seeing his sister unmoved, Wen Changkong steeled himself. “Father! You should worry about Sister first!” His voice trembled with grievance. “She plays with swords and spears all day, won’t touch embroidery or the women’s code—who would dare marry her?”

Wen Changning lifted her chin defiantly, her voice clear and bright. “I won’t marry anyone!”

“Become an old maid?” Wen Changkong cried.

“What’s wrong with being an old maid?” Wen Changning shot back, brows arching, eyes blazing. “If I’m not welcome here, I’ll wipe out the Blackwind Bandits and start a new clan of justice!”

“Unfilial son! Unfilial daughter!” Wen Zhenshan’s chest heaved with rage as he shot to his feet. He pointed to the door, voice rising until the bells under the eaves jingled wildly. “Wen Changkong! Teach your sister the women’s virtues! Wen Changning, teach your brother martial arts! If either of you can’t recite the code or hold a horse stance, both of you get out of the Wen family!”

Yet deep in his eyes, there was a flicker of hidden tenderness.

Looking at his son’s flushed face, he sighed inwardly. The boy was so delicate, more radiant than any candidate’s daughter in the county. His voice was pure enough for opera, and he excelled in every refined art. If only he were a girl, he’d be the most sought-after lady in Qingxi County, with suitors lining up at the door.

But he was born a boy, and hopeless at such things!

His gaze shifted to his stubborn daughter under the grape arbor, and emotion caught in his throat. At one year old, she’d grabbed his spear and refused to let go; by three, she could beat up all the neighborhood boys; now she was a master of the spear, memorizing military texts better than he did.

Yet the times would not allow a girl to make her mark.

Both children were good, just cursed by fate to be born into the wrong bodies.

“Changning, a woman’s path is to be gentle and serene,” Wen Zhenshan said, his voice softening. “Kong’er, the Blackwind Bandits are growing ever more ruthless. If this continues, the government will conscript men. If you don’t practice, forget about military exams—the army will...”

He sighed and left the room.

…

Back in her small courtyard, Wen Changning reclined on her bed, leafing through the storybook she’d confiscated from her brother. Her finger paused on a particularly racy page, clicking her tongue in amusement.

Qiuqiu, squatting nearby, was sobbing. “Miss! Say something! Master was truly angry just now! If he really throws you out, you might get by fine, but as for me... If I’m sold, well, with my cleverness I could always be a favored maid somewhere else. But what about Erxia? That boy is so foolish he trips into mud holes—who would want him? Last time he chased the Zhang family’s chicken straight into the outhouse! Without the Wen family to protect us...”

“Mm.” Wen Changning responded without looking up.

Qiuqiu grew ever more anxious. “Miss! How can you still read at a time like this? Why not recite a bit of the women’s code? Just to appease Master?”

“Recite that?” Wen Changning closed the book, sunlight filtering through the grape leaves and lighting up her dazzling eyes. “I’d rather go to Blackwind Mountain and challenge the bandits to a spear fight.”

She waved the storybook, arching a brow. “A woman should rely on her own strength and wits, not on learning submissive virtues.”

Just then, a figure in pale blue drifted down the corridor.

Wen Changkong approached, the hem of his robe brushing the stone steps and carrying a faint scent of soapberries. He held a blue-covered book—none other than the women’s code. Spotting his lost storybook in Wen Changning’s hand, he raised a delicate brow.

“Sister, you seem quite at leisure.” He sat across from her, the soft rustle of cloth between them. His eyes, identical to hers, curved into crescents. “Father sent me to supervise your studies, but you look like you’re scheming something.”

Wen Changning glanced up at him: the pale robe emphasized his slender shoulders, dark hair loosely tied, a few stray strands by his cheek, and a boy’s smooth throat.

Suddenly, she laughed and waved the storybook. “Brother, with your looks and bearing, you’re the perfect image of the Poison Maiden in this tale.”

Wen Changkong reached for the book, sleeve slipping to reveal a slender white forearm. “Mind your manners.” He touched the page, then withdrew, cheeks tinged with red, his tone softening. “Let’s be serious, Sister.”

He leaned in, voice lowered, almost pleading. “If you could somehow get Father to give up on making me practice martial arts...”

He hesitated, glancing at the storybook in her hand. “All the books I’ve hidden in my trunk—‘The Cold-Faced General and the Charming Scholar,’ ‘The Demoness’s Thousand Schemes’—dozens of them, all yours.”

Wen Changning’s gaze drifted from his nose to his flushed lips, then she said slowly, “With Brother’s looks, if you dressed as a woman and set out to win over the prince, you’d outdo the Poison Maiden herself.”

But inwardly she pondered: with our identical features, if I dressed in my brother’s clothes and took the military exam, would the seasoned examiners see through the disguise? This is just like those stories where the servant takes the master’s place at the exams!

Wen Changkong’s cheeks reddened, and he reached for the storybook again, flustered. “So, will you help your brother or not? Do you want the books or not?”

“Of course I do.” Wen Changning slipped away from his grasp, fingers twirling the spear’s red tassel. “But I’ve got something to do first. Keep them safe for me.”

Outside the walls, talk of Blackwind Mountain lingered in the air—her father’s worries about failed campaigns, her brother’s risk of conscription. The moonlight was cold as it spilled over her tightly pressed lips, illuminating eyes burning with wild determination.