In the ancient days of the Eastern Jin Dynasty, a time of rigid social structures and deep philosophical shifts, there lived a young woman named Zhu Yingtai in Shangyu, Zhejiang. She was the only daughter of the wealthy and influential Zhu family, and while she was trained in the arts expected of a noblewoman, her heart burned with a different fire. She craved the knowledge found in the classics, the debates of the academies, and the freedom of the scholar's life—a life strictly reserved for men. Yingtai was not a girl to be easily dissuaded by tradition; she spent her hours arguing with her father, the elder Zhu, until she finally devised a plan. She would disguise herself as a young man and travel to Hangzhou to study at a prestigious academy. After much convincing and the demonstration of her flawless disguise, her father reluctantly agreed, fearing for her safety but respecting her indomitable will.
Setting out on the road to Hangzhou with her loyal maid, who was also disguised as a servant, Yingtai encountered another scholar traveling the same path. This was Liang Shanbo, a young man of modest means but exceptional character and kindness. They struck up a conversation and found an immediate, profound intellectual connection. Before they had even reached the city gates, they felt as though they had known each other for lifetimes. Beneath the shade of a pavilion, they performed a ceremony of sworn brotherhood, promising to care for one another and study diligently side by side. Liang, possessing a pure and somewhat literal-minded nature, had no inkling that his new 'brother' was actually a woman.
For three years, the two were inseparable at the academy in Hangzhou. They shared the same desk, walked the same garden paths, and spent late nights discussing the nuances of Confucian ethics and the beauty of Taoist poetry. Yingtai found herself falling deeply in love with Shanbo, admired not just for his brilliance but for his gentle soul and unwavering integrity. However, the secret of her gender remained a heavy burden. She had to be clever in her daily life, avoiding communal baths and maintaining a modest distance during the night. Shanbo, seeing her reluctance to engage in more rowdy activities, simply assumed his friend was of a more refined and delicate constitution, and he treated her with even more protective care.
Their time at the academy eventually came to an end when a letter arrived from the Zhu household. Yingtai's father was ill and demanded her immediate return. The news was a double blow to Yingtai; she feared for her father, and she was devastated by the prospect of leaving Shanbo without revealing her heart. As she prepared to depart, the schoolmaster’s wife, who had long ago deduced Yingtai's secret, offered her a symbol of hope, promising to help when the time was right. Shanbo, heartbroken to lose his closest friend, insisted on walking Yingtai eighteen miles on her journey home—a tradition of farewell that became known as the 'Eighteen Miles of Departure.'
During this long walk, Yingtai made desperate attempts to hint at her true identity. Every time they passed a pair of birds or a scene of natural beauty, she would compose a poem or make a remark about the pairing of male and female. She pointed to a pair of mandarin ducks on a pond, symbols of lifelong fidelity, and remarked on how lucky they were to be together. She even compared them to a couple in a romantic legend. But Shanbo, in his innocence and devotion to the bond of brotherhood, missed every metaphor. He would simply agree that the ducks were beautiful or that the legends were moving, never once suspecting that his brother Zhu was speaking of herself. Frustrated but still deeply in love, Yingtai finally told him that she had a 'ninth sister' at home who was her identical twin, and she urged Shanbo to visit the Zhu manor as soon as possible to propose a marriage to this sister.