Cao Cao Coin is Discontinued
Spring had passed, and summer was drawing near. That was when I came face to face with a face I had missed.
“My lady!”
“Pfft… not yet, I’m afraid.”
Her auburn hair was neatly braided into a single plait, the tail hanging just low enough to soften her eyes. My wife. Lady Jin. Jinjeong.
“What brings you here after so long?”
“Ah, a letter arrived from Master Lu Zhi. Since Father was coming anyway, I decided to tag along. I’ve already paid my respects to the master and was on my way out.”
“Have you been well?”
“Of course. I hear bandits are causing trouble in Qing Province and Ji Province, but at least You Province is peaceful.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Though… mm, the harvest this year doesn’t look promising. We’re planning to distribute the relief grain we’ve stockpiled, but…”
“That bad?”
“There’s been almost no rain. Ever since you left, in fact. Some people are even saying you must be the incarnation of the Rain God or something.”
“Now that’s an amusing rumor. And the Administrator?”
“I’m right here, you little bastard.”
“Ah, Administrator! And Master? You came together?”
My teacher, still built like a barbarian-slaying general, and my father-in-law, who was no less sturdy, emerged from the inner quarters side by side. Their faces were already slightly flushed—clearly they had started drinking early.
“Drinking in broad daylight, are we?”
“Mind your manners, boy. I only had a cup. The Administrator here wouldn’t stop singing your praises.”
“Lu Zhi! You were the one bragging about your disciple more than anyone! Well done. Once you’ve completed your full year, come up and hold the ceremony. I’ll send word to your parents.”
“Yes, sir!”
“I like that you don’t refuse these things. Hahaha! Son-in-law, that Jincheonroe of yours… can’t you make more?”
“I don’t know. That black sand that catches fire was something I’d never seen before. If there were more of it, perhaps, but I can’t create what doesn’t exist.”
“Son-in-law. The mood in the capital is growing uneasy. Still no interest in taking an official post at court?”
“None. I believe this is a time to keep my head down.”
“Wise choice. Ah, and son-in-law—pack your things. You’ll be traveling with Master Lu.”
“Pardon?”
It was my teacher who answered.
“The Yuan clan has produced a great filial son. We ought to show our faces.”
“…Pardon?”
“The bastard son performed two consecutive three-year mourning periods—something even a legitimate heir rarely does. News only reached us now because of the distance. His filial devotion is being praised as the finest under heaven, and since he’s about your age, it wouldn’t hurt to become acquainted.”
…Six years of mourning? That was insane.
Just as the phrase “even a legitimate heir couldn’t manage two three-year mournings” implied, the three-year mourning period in this era wasn’t about holding funerals for three years. It meant wearing the coarsest, most uncomfortable mourning clothes for three full years while living beside the tomb, unable to work or live normally. Without considerable wealth, it was impossible. Forget heaters or tents—even proper canvas was hard to come by, and surviving winter without padded clothing was no different from saying “I’ll just freeze to death, thanks!”
Even among the Clean Stream faction, which had grown increasingly dogmatic after the Partisan Prohibition, few were mad enough to complete even one three-year mourning. So who was this lunatic who had done it twice in a row?
“A madman, you say?”
“Now, now. It simply means his filial piety runs so deep that he endured two three-year mournings.”
“But he’s a bastard son. Would a bastard even be permitted to mourn his mother for three years?”
“It wasn’t his birth mother, but his adoptive mother. That makes his devotion all the more remarkable.”
…Was he actually insane?
“No, as someone who was born a concubine’s son myself, I know full well that—”
“Enough.” My teacher covered my mouth. “I can guess what you’re thinking. Just leave it at that.”
“Mmph (Yes)…”
“Hah, that mouth of yours is still as reckless as ever.”
“You knew about my son-in-law’s nature, Lu Zhi?”
“Of course. I’ve known the boy for years. That’s why I sent him to you—to learn when to keep his mouth shut. Seems that particular habit is beyond fixing.”
“Still, I do know when to hold my tongue. Right now just doesn’t seem like one of those times.”
“Fair enough.”
Administrator Hu was someone who could serve as my political backer. At the same time, he was one of the few who could see through the modern sensibilities mixed into my reincarnated personality—someone I could be relatively honest with. Ever since my days as a low-level clerk, I had gradually revealed pieces of my true thoughts to him. Though he occasionally warned me when I said things that clashed with the era’s conventions, I was certain he would never report me to the central government or move to impeach me.
And my teacher… well, in an age overflowing with Confucian zealots worse than those of late Joseon, he possessed an unusually progressive mindset. I could also confide in him, little by little.
Jinjeong? We’d only met five times. It still wasn’t the right moment.
“Anyway, once the Administrator and your betrothed leave, we’ll depart immediately. Make your preparations in advance. Sharpen your blade well.”
“Mmph, mmph (Yes, Master)… Phew. So where exactly are we going?”
“Runan. The Yuan clan—the family that produced three of the Three Excellencies and Four Worthies.”
“Don’t tell me this bastard son’s name is Yuan Shao?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“Yes… something like that.”
I knew the gist. The only Yuan clan members whose names I remembered were Yuan Shu the honey-drinker and Yuan Shao. Might as well go pay my respects.
---
“Father! How can you leave this unfilial son behind and go! Sob!”
Near Luoyang, at the Yuan family cemetery, a small thatched hut had stood for the past five years. During the first year, visitors had crowded the place. The second year, the crowds thinned. By the third year, no one came at all. On the fourth year, more people arrived than during the first year. By the fifth year, even more visitors than the first week were coming to see the now-weathered hut.
“Please accept my condolences.”
The Yuan family tomb my teacher and I visited was enormous. As the illustrious clan that had produced Three Excellencies across four generations, it was only natural. The ancestral graveyard itself was the size of a small village. At the end of a long line leading to one corner of the cemetery stood a man in mourning clothes, weeping one moment and greeting visitors the next. That man was the famous Yuan Shao.
I had heard several times on the way here that Yuan Shao was handsome, but his looks were truly irritatingly perfect. With that face and the performance of six years of mourning, it was no wonder the pretentious Clean Stream gentry were completely taken with him. If America had FDR, this primitive ancient Chinatown had Yuan Shao.
…And I had met this man before.
Years ago, at the gates of Luoyang, when I had accompanied my father-in-law.
“Thank you. Master Lu Zhi. My late father would have been pleased by your visit.”
“Please accept my condolences.”
“This is my disciple. He’s about your age, so I thought he might make a good friend and brought him along.”
“So you were Benchu?”
“It’s been a while, Lord Gongsun. I heard rumors that Xiao He had appeared in You Province.”
This guy’s courtesy name. He’d made it completely unpronounceable. Zhuge Liang, Liu Bei—why not just use three characters? Or four? Whatever. And who the hell was Xiao He supposed to be? I supposed I could think of him as China’s version of Brehon B. Somervell. John Reed was great at logistics too, until he botched Market Garden.
“Oh? What are you doing here?”
A clear, ringing voice came from beside Yuan Shao. It was a voice I had heard a long time ago—one I remembered precisely because it sounded like it had never gone through puberty.
“Aman?”
“Tsk. That name’s ancient history. Call me Cao Cao or Cao Mengde.”
“…What?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“You’re Cao Cao?”
“Aman was my childhood name. My real name is Cao Cao. Courtesy name Mengde.”
What kind of childhood name was that… Damn it. If that brat was Cao Cao, then what I said last time was basically calling his father a eunuch.
---
Let’s turn back the clock a little—to when I had only just been appointed as a low-level clerk.
Once a year, my father-in-law, Administrator Hu, had to travel to Luoyang to report on You Province’s situation, and I went along as his attendant. You Province lay north of Luoyang, and once we passed through the northern gate, I was granted several days of free time.
“So, planning to enter the imperial palace during your leave?”
It was a considerate suggestion to stay away from the dangerous palace amid the Partisan Prohibition, and a kindness toward a country bumpkin visiting Luoyang for the first time. Naturally, I headed for the marketplace, but every restaurant I found was a disappointment.
“What are you looking for?”
That was when I met the boy with the high-pitched voice and the handsome black-haired youth.
“Who might you be?”
“This is Cao Aman. As for me… you can just call me someone from the Yuan clan.”
“Is that so? I’m Gongsun Zan of You Province. I was wandering around hoping to find somewhere decent to eat, but it seems there’s nothing of the sort.”
“Hah, looking for food? Then you should head toward the government offices, not the marketplace.”
“There’s nothing here?”
“We’re actually on our way to lunch ourselves. Care to join us? There are a few places a little further in.”
“Why not? I heard it’ll be a while before the Administrator finishes his business anyway.”
“Ah… you came because of that?”
“Something like that. And you two?”
“I’m a colonel at the northern gate. We met when I came to Luoyang last time, didn’t we?”
Had we? I wasn’t the type to remember every passing face.
“And you?”
“My family lives nearby, and I’ve known this friend since we were children. Right now I’m just here as a meal companion.”
So one was a ninth-rank border official and the other a rich young master. Got it. Perfectly understood.
Following Cao Aman’s guidance, we arrived at a small restaurant. Soon, plates of chicken dishes and unfamiliar vegetable side dishes were set on the table.
…I had hoped the capital might be different, but the food tasted almost identical to what we had in You Province. In a word, bland and light—like Pyongyang cold noodles.
“Let’s have a drink.”
“Aman?”
“And let’s drop the formalities. We’re clearly about the same age.”
“…Fine by me.”
“Great. Innkeeper! Bring us a jug of wine!”
The alcohol of this era wasn’t very strong—maybe beer strength at best, or makgeolli at most. Distilled spirits were out of the question. Still, it was alcohol, and after a cup or two, our cheeks were already turning red.
“By the way, Cao Aman… why’s your voice so high? How old are you?”
“How old? I’m already twenty, damn it!”
“Then what… are you a eunuch?”
“You son of a— what?!”
“Pfft! That’s not it. There’s just a reason for it.”
“Oh, really? Sorry, then.”
Wasn’t Cao Cao the son of a eunuch? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have said that. Apologies. He should’ve given his real name from the start.
Cao Cao Coin is discontinued. From now on, Elf Coin rules this place. Rat Coin? If that guy had been good at politics, they wouldn’t have called him a rat in the first place.