The Southern Bumpkins' Sightseeing in Laling (4)

As Dong Zhuo ground his teeth and returned to Luoyang, I was connecting the prototype barbed wire we'd brought just in case to the trench lines when I received a letter from Liu Ziahui, Administrator of Laling.

“A marriage proposal? With His Highness the Prince of Bohai?”

That bastard Yuan Shu must have lost his mind. His own half-brother had just gotten his head chopped off for treason, yet here he was sending a marriage proposal. No person capable of rational thought would make that kind of call.

Or… maybe he’d fled all the way to the south after being pushed out by Dong Zhuo and was throwing the dice on one last gamble to flip the board? I couldn’t be sure. I really couldn’t.

If it were me, I’d have poured everything into redevelopment projects using the Yangtze’s abundant hydropower and aimed for a comeback. But reading the thoughts of the idiot son of a ruined ducal house—someone with zero foresight like Dong Zhuo, and definitely not a transmigrator, possessed-heroine, or regressor type—was no easy task even for me.

“I’ll have to meet them to know for sure. Ziahui has them right now?”

“Yes, sir. Sun Bofu, son of Marquis Wucheng Sun Wentai, and his friend Zhou Gongjin arrived as messengers.”

“Hmm… I can’t exactly refuse to see them. The barbed wire’s all laid out anyway. Jeonhae, go teach Liu Bei how to use the barbed wire and go over the precautions with her. Seon-gyeong, you head over to Grandpa Dadun and find out what the hell happened. The south is such a backwater that even the old man might not know much, but the Jingzhou crowd is using Wuhuan cavalry units too, right?”

Dadun’s Wuhuan were descendants of the Donghu, who had been destroyed by the Xiongnu long ago. Those Xiongnu had been split in half by the Han Dynasty about a century earlier and wiped out. The Northern Xiongnu, who had somehow clung to existence, were torn apart and destroyed by that living weapon of this era, Uncle Tanshihuai. The few Xiongnu who survived blended with the remnants of the Donghu they had once destroyed, forming the people now called the Wuhuan. Old Man Dadun, one of the Wuhuan’s great elders, had been defeated by me seven years ago when I was still a merchant in Liaodong and absorbed into the Liaodong army.

Of course, the Liaodong army back then had been a total backwater that couldn’t possibly feed every Wuhuan mouth. Most of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠those who couldn’t settle in Liaodong scattered across the Central Plains to feed their families, becoming a kind of mercenary cavalry. Or rather, dragon cavalry? No, just plain mercenaries.

At first they had scattered everywhere to earn money, but as Liaodong grew and became the State of Yan, their roles reversed. The mercenaries, now freed from financial constraints, changed their stance and became an intelligence network using the human intelligence they had built up over the years. Cavalry dying in battle was surprisingly uncommon, and even if Wuhuan riders were captured, their nomadic horse-handling skills and veterinary knowledge were high-level techniques. In this chaotic age where every single rider was precious, most of them had survived and were now serving as eyes planted all across the Central Plains.

…I hadn’t originally planned for things to go this far, but when they offered to learn espionage in exchange for me setting aside a dedicated section in the research institute’s library for Wuhuan historical texts, there was no reason to turn down those soft-spoken horse-riders.

‘Nomads must travel light and cannot carry many books to pass down the past. Our stories will soon be forgotten, remembered by no one, and disappear. Elder, please preserve our tales. If you do that much… this one, Dadun, will serve you as Great Elder and pledge loyalty.’

It hadn’t been a difficult request, so I agreed. The Wuhuan came to me and became my Fourth Special Task Force.

The State of Yan lay in the northeast, while Jingzhou was a distant region south of the Yangtze. No matter how widely the Wuhuan had planted their riders across the realm, it would still be difficult for them to have sources there. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Yes, sir!”

My subordinates scattered. I boarded the boat moored by the river and turned its bow. Time to hear what nonsense these southern bumpkins had brought with them.

---

“Um… excuse me…”

“Chief Administrator Liu? Is something wrong?”

“Are you both settling in comfortably?”

“Yes… thanks to you, we’re quite well.”

“I’m glad to hear it. His Grace has arrived. He suggests you join him for dinner.”

The lodging near Laling Harbor where Sun Ce and Zhou Yu were staying had taken on a strange hybrid form, mixing architectural styles from every corner of the world. Because the culture of sitting on the floor still remained, the ground was covered in soft Parthian carpets that brushed gently against the soles of the feet. At the same time, beds topped with Greek mattresses had been prepared for foreigners accustomed to raised furniture.

It was far too extravagant a place for two young men, but Liu Ziahui—who had not seen a young man in several years—had used her overflowing wealth to purchase their goodwill. The two boys were enjoying a level of luxury they had never experienced in their lives.

Hey, Gongjin… that woman… it’s that, right?

Probably… No, it’s definitely that.

Both of them were heirs to powerful men. They naturally met many people and had plenty of experience sensing both favor and hostility. Unless their eyes were mere knotholes, it was obvious Liu Ziahui was trying to win their goodwill. Yet whether that favor stemmed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from simple physical attraction, a desire for their political power, or some kind of trap, they could not accept her hospitality at face value.

However, flatly refusing a request to provide lodging as part of guest reception would appear rude, so they had no choice but to accept. That was how they ended up in this outrageously luxurious accommodation.

“Very well. Is there anything specific we should prepare?”

“Let’s see… His Grace isn’t the type to fuss over formal etiquette, so there shouldn’t be any major issues. However, he does prefer cleanliness. I recommend taking a bath before you go see him.”

“Understood. Would it be possible to have hot water brought up?”

“Ah, there is a hot spring nearby. I recommend washing there.”

It was true that people of the Central Plains in this era did not wash often, but the main reasons were the arid environment of northern China and the poor water quality of the Yellow River. People living in places like Liaodong across the sea, with its many clean rivers, washed thoroughly once a day. Merchants influenced by Greek culture also made an effort to purify their bodies whenever the opportunity arose.

Fortunately, the Laling region had a great many hot springs. Merchants who had experienced Greek-style public bath culture rented land near the springs and built bathhouses. In an era when bathing at sea was naturally difficult, the hot spring facilities near Laling—frequented by foreign merchants—were packed with customers every single day. This created greater demand for surfactants, which in turn created more jobs for nomads who gathered the horse sweat that served as the surfactant of this period.

To collect horse sweat, the horses had to be exercised until they worked up a lather. The merchants turned that exercise into spectacles—equestrian archery demonstrations, mounted spear competitions, horse races—and generated profit from the entertainment. Once the northern nomads tasted the profits that fell their way, they chose to become honest taxpayers rather than riskily raiding other people’s homes. The free people of the steppe gradually began to assimilate with the settled peoples, but that was a story for another time.

In any case, taking a bath near Laling was not particularly difficult. After leaving Laling Harbor and walking for about one shichen, a grand Greek-style building made of massive marble pillars came into view. For no reason other than it looked impressive, the men’s and women’s baths were divided by statues of Jupiter and Venus. The clerk collecting fees in the center handed out long towels along with entrance tickets.

“The towels also serve as entrance tickets, so please leave them in the laundry bin over there when you exit. The male statue marks the men’s bath, and the female statue marks the women’s bath.”

“Thank you. Is this a foreign style? Quite extravagant.”

“It comes from the distant state of Daqin. They have real skill in both aqueduct technology and construction.”

The bathhouse was located a short distance from Laling’s actual hot spring source. The spring water was too hot for direct bathing, so the merchants had hired hydraulic engineers to channel it through aqueducts until it reached a suitable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠temperature. The Romans normally used lead pipes, but because a certain duke had a pathological hatred of lead, they were forced to use expensive copper pipes instead. Still, there wasn’t a single bold merchant with the nerve to defy an order from Gongsun Zan, living descendant of the Xuanyuan line and bearer of that long list of titles.

They placed their removed clothes in baskets, slipped on wooden clogs, and entered the bathhouse. Quite a few people had already gathered inside. Water flowing in through the aqueducts poured down along bamboo branches and lotus roots, creating a kind of shower facility. Guests who had lightly scrubbed themselves near the showers then soaked in the central main bath to ease their fatigue.

“Ahh… this is nice. Gongjin, couldn’t we build something like this back in Jiangnan?”

“It would be difficult without a hot spring nearby. If we had to boil the water ourselves… well, the fuel cost alone would run to tens of thousands of gold coins a year.”

“Tsk, that backwater really doesn’t have anything… Sigh. Speaking of which, have you heard anything about the Duke of Yan?”

“Nothing but things that are hard to believe. Claims that he’s a descendant of the Yellow Emperor, that he broke through a million Yellow Turban troops… If he’d really done all that, he would have made himself Emperor instead of staying a mere duke on the frontier.”

“That’s true. In the end he’s nothing but a coward who didn’t even join the anti-Dong Zhuo coalition. I’ll acknowledge his authority, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“Hey, brat. What did you just say?”

The two had no idea, but among the northern nomads, insulting Gongsun Zan was akin to insulting their own parents. It was only natural. He was the man who recorded and preserved their history in their stead, the benefactor who sold them salt at absurdly low prices, and the employer who had created an enormous number of jobs through coachmen positions, mounted spear competitions, and the like.

He was the Great Elder who had eliminated the need to risk their lives crossing the Great Wall to feed starving families, and at the same time the big brother who looked after the families of their comrades scattered across the Central Plains. He was the powerhouse acknowledged by Hualian, Queen of the Xianbei Empire—the greatest power among the northern nomads of this age—and the avatar of Tengri who could hurl stones that summoned lightning.

Even a youth without patriotism would feel a surge of anger if an outsider insulted his president. To insult a benefactor, a big brother, a Great Elder—a man respected enough to earn that long string of titles—was simply not something nomads who had lived as barbarians until just a few years ago could tolerate.

“Who are you, sir?”

“I am Alaban, who eats horse fodder for a living. And who are you two, daring to insult the Great Elder by calling him nothing more than a warlord? You don’t look like people of Yan.”

“From our perspective, we cannot help but view the Duke of Yan—who did not lend a hand to the great cause of suppressing the traitor Dong Zhuo—in an unfavorable light. What, does that displease you?”

Sun Ce was not the type to avoid a fight that came looking for him. His belligerence, which paid no heed to time or place, was his greatest flaw. Having inherited the martial prowess of his father—the Tiger of Jiangdong, Sun Jian—he had never lost a single fight. His life without defeat had gradually shaped his temperament into something closer to that of a conqueror king.

“Bofu! Bofu! I’m sorry… We are from Jingzhou, and we bear some grudge from last year’s events. Please forgive us, sir.”

“Gongjin, that’s not wrong! If the Duke of Yan is truly a hero, he should have crushed the traitor Dong Zhuo and restored the Han dynasty’s altars!”

“You’ve said enough, you little shit!”

The nomads who had been washing in the bath began to rise one by one. Sun Ce loosened his shoulders in response.

“Can’t you say what you want with that gaping mouth of yours? Or does it embarrass you to be called the subordinate of a coward?”

“Bofu! We’re supposed to meet His Grace the Duke of Yan soon—why are you starting a damn brawl!”

“This won’t do. Let’s teach this tiny rat a lesson.”

“Do you think this Sun Bofu would run from a fight that’s come knocking?”

“Oh, a fight.”

“A brawl?”

“Looks like it…”

The hot spring’s main customers were sailors and local elders. Sailors the world over were rough by nature, and when rough men met, fights were practically a scientific law. Fistfights breaking out inside the bathhouse was a scene that occurred almost every other day.

Since they were naked, there was nowhere to hide weapons. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠warm water reaching their knees made footwork difficult. Most people relaxed against the edges of the pool rather than gathering in the center, so a fight in the middle of the bath made for excellent entertainment.

“Innkeeper! Bring a bowl of cool takju over here! Put it on the Park Company’s tab!”

“Innkeeper! Bring a dried squid over here! Put it on the Yu Company’s tab!”

A brawl erupted in the blink of an eye. Of course, the two of them were supposed to meet Gongsun Zan in a few hours, but with blood rushing to his head, Sun Ce wasn’t thinking that far ahead. In the original history, the man had died from a mere scratch on his face. There was a reason for that.