After seven years of fighting, what I feared most wasn't dying on the battlefield. It was coming home to find that my daughter didn't recognize me. But I never imagined that when I came home, I wouldn't recognize her either. The servants brought out a little girl with her hair in twin buns. She bowed properly and said, "Your daughter pays her respects, Father." Her voice trembled, and so did her knees. I said nothing, only took a tiger-shaped jade pendant from my robe and held it out to her. My daughter had clutched that pendant ever since she was little. She could feel its chipped edge with her eyes closed. The girl took it and turned it over in her hands, looking utterly bewildered. I snatched the pendant back, then raised my other hand and slapped
The Night I Heard My Roommate’s Thoughts, I Was Scared Stiff