Not Bound by Trifles
Jian'an 24th year (AD 219), Liaodong Commandery, Yangpyeong County in You Province. It was a turbulent era when Liu Bei triumphed in the Hanzhong campaign, raising high the banner of Han restoration; Cao Wei responded gravely to Guan Yu's invasion; and Sun Quan of Wu pondered the perfect moment to strike from behind. A modern man named Lee Yeon, living in the remote backwater of Liaodong amid this pivotal time that any Romance of the Three Kingdoms fanatic would go mad for, had zero chance or interest in meddling with the grand affairs of the realm—like Gongsun Yan, whose body he now inhabited after being kidnapped by some bizarre ghost. His only task today, as always, was to finish his routine and return home like a typical well-behaved eight-year-old, greeting his parents.
Rolling the now-familiar classical Chinese through his mind, he bowed leisurely.
"Mother, your son has returned."
The woman who received this greeting from Lee Yeon responded with an attitude so icy it could freeze a gale to a standstill, snapping irritably at him.
"What bizarre nonsense have you been up to this time to come home so late? Don't tell me you've been playing fangshi in the kitchens again!"
"No, Mother. I just gathered the village kids and did a simple errand."
"A 'simple errand'? Then why'd you take lime powder and a shovel? Don't play dumb with me!"
"Well—"
"Do you think your mother a fool? I've already heard all about it—you dragged the kids off to build some filthy outhouse! And you even whitewashed it like it was for the main house!"
Lady Wang's hysteria peaked as she shrieked at the top of her lungs. She was the mother of Gongsun Yan—Lee Yeon's current flesh—and with Gongsun Kang's health hanging by a thread, the de facto head of the household, wielding absolute power. Yet perhaps due to the dismal state of premodern women's education and awareness, she seemed oblivious to modern child psychology: unchecked parental rage harms the child's emotional development. Lee Yeon figured it was a good thing his adult mind inhabited this kid's body; otherwise, this woman would be toxic for any child's psyche. No wonder the original owner had resorted to kidnapping(?)—growing up under her thumb.
Outwardly polite, inwardly channeling the modern art of letting one ear in and the other out, Lee Yeon tuned her out.
"I had such high hopes for you—not just me, but your father, the scholars of Liaodong, the common folk. Everyone pinned their dreams on you! But lately, you're more scatterbrained than ever, playing fangshi and mud-monkey all day. It burns me up inside!"
Half-listening, Lee Yeon pondered tomorrow's toilet construction. The pit was dug to depth; just pack the earth, slap on some plaster, and it'd be functional for phase one. Burying jars for seepage would be ideal, but in an era short on vessels even for people, that might be tough. Might as well do it right while—
"Are you even listening?!"
"Yes, Mother."
"'Yes'? I can't even stand the sight of you—get to your room and stay there!"
She'd mostly pawned off childcare to wet nurses, but maternal instinct kicked in. Spotting his lack of focus from his demeanor alone, Lady Wang banished her son to his quarters with a curt command. A normal kid might panic, but Gongsun Yan housed a 21st-century adult. He knew striding out confidently was the play. Bowing nonchalantly as if nothing happened, he shut the door quietly behind him. Watching this, Lady Wang seethed inwardly.
Why had her son suddenly hit rebellion phase? Especially now, with Gongsun Kang—the family head and Liaodong's ruler—bedridden. He'd always been a bit quirky, but adults unanimously hailed him as a genius, her precious only son. Had she spoiled him rotten? Or had some shady fangshi ensnared him lately? The bizarre antics: gathering beans and commandeering millstones and cauldrons—valuable even to the Ho clan—pouring precious vinegar for weird dishes; mixing rare oils with lye, lime, salt into odd lumps; blending black and white powders into clay for "fireproof" tests, hobnobbing with charcoal burners and potters; building worm mansions and piling manure. Nothing made sense.
Even if it all bore fruit as he claimed, what use in this chaos? With eunuch uncle Gongsun Gong and loathsome half-brother Gongsun Huang eyeing his rightful place, how could he gallivant carefree? Lady Wang could only sigh at the door he'd exited.
Banished to his room? It just meant "reflect," no real abuse. No beatings despite ancient norms, no starving or sleep deprivation.
"Ah, seriously."
To modern man Lee Yeon, this hovel was torture enough. A few premodern East Asian architecture basics: Later eras raised buildings high against monsoons—stilts on foundation stones, practically airborne. But this early—still "ancient"—era favored semi-subterranean (pit dwellings). Even palaces dug tens of centimeters into earth before building up. Pros: underground stayed warm winters, cool summers—a natural thermostat.
But temperature aside... groundwater seeped eternally. Dry winter air amplified capillary/osmotic flow; summer's indoor-outdoor contrast bred condensation. Result: perpetually damp walls. Wood-and-earth structures reeked of rot, sprouted mold—hellish.
And that's not all—hence Lee Yeon's shudders. Roofs: Traditional East Asian used boto—literal dirt layers. Rational: hard to level wood/stone; dirt anchored tiles/thatch. Press it down, stable. Thick layers insulated too. Sounds great, right?
"Squeak—! Squeak!"
"Zhang Bai! Rats again!"
"Yes, young master!"
Rats thrived. Dirt homes. Bugs too: centipedes, cockroaches. Critters scampered between tiles and rafters, thumping like upstairs neighbors—or parachuted mid-meal. Lee Yeon swore any Three Kingdoms warlord chowing down would scream for home if a centipede hit their bowl.
That's why he roamed relentlessly. Outdoors dodged this nightmare.
"Young master, rats chased. Dinner here."
"Thanks, Zhang Bai."
"No big deal."
Living hell solved by wandering? Fine. But food horrors?
With longtime servant Zhang Bai gone after setting the tray, Lee Yeon dropped his facade and sighed deeply. No grimacing in the server's face—basic manners.
His meal: First, rice. Southern Ho clan might differ, but northern China and bordering Liaodong ran on millet (jo)—foxtail millet, bred from grassy weeds. Tiny, gritty grains; sole virtue: thrived in poor soil. Rough was bad; tininess worse. Even later eras like Joseon served brown-rice rougher than modern; earlier, tinier grains? Half-hull, half-grain, sand chaser. Pure millet here—chew for grass and grit.
Side dishes? No better. Beside it, "soup" was gang—like modern rib or beef soup: simmered meat broth. They'd jazzed it with East Asian spices—zanthoxylum, garlic, perilla powder—for flavor. But...
"...Zhang Bai, what meat is this?"
"That? Bi family butchered a cow; got a bit."
"I see."
Tasteless. Ghastly offal stench—like a hundredfold sausage kitchen—despite long simmer to mellow. Bland, chewy, grease-free; tough as chicken breast or beef? Suspected stew cuts like brisket, but shape screamed rib or loin. Yet this. Main dish, ruined.
Rest? Salt-garlic greens (auk—one of era's "five veggies"); ambiguous dujang (bean paste, pre-ferment hell-stink mocking modern home-made); salty pickled fish unfit for lips despite riverside locale.
Bet even solid Joseon yeoman ate better sans modernity. Lee Yeon? Gongsun heir—Liaodong power incarnate, top 0.01% gold spoon. This was gold-spoon life. Food alone appalled; clothes worse, but enough said.
Thus, Gongsun Yan—Lady Wang's sole son, next Liaodong governor—ignored her utterly, slouching defiantly. Past "good boy"? Father watching hawk-eyed; kid-body limited. No webnovel genius/misfit bid for heirship.
Bandit chief? Worthless. To accidental Liaodong transplant Lee Yeon in eight-year-old Gongsun Yan, fixing daily hell trumped empty titles.