Not Bound by Trifles
"Young master, you're at it again. If Madam finds out, she'll have my head."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You can go now."
"Aigoo, really—what's gotten into you lately?"
The very next day, as soon as dawn broke, Gongsun Yan headed to the construction site to finish yesterday's work. Calling it a "construction site" felt a bit embarrassing—it was just a bunch of scattered pits dug here and there. Still, he'd brought plenty of tools and even baskets for hauling dirt, so by this era's standards, it could hold its own against a skyscraper build.
"Alright, everyone grab a shovel or a hoe. You know what we're doing today, right?"
"Yes~!"
And the workforce manning this site? Not grown men, but the neighborhood kids. With their spindly little hands, they snatched up the shovels and hoes Gongsun Yan handed out and hopped into the pits like it was second nature. Anyone else might cry child labor or abuse, but Gongsun Yan had zero regrets. In a world where "play" meant just running around the village, digging holes was practically prime entertainment, wasn't it? Besides, his body was only eight, so this was just kids playing with kids. Body follows mind, or wait, mind follows body? Whatever. Gongsun Yan muttered excuses to himself he wouldn't even believe.
"Young master, if we finish today's work, do we get something tasty again?"
"Of course."
"What is it this time?"
"Tofu. Finish quick, and I'll give you extra. So hustle today."
"Hey! Young master's giving out tofu if we finish today's work!!!"
And it wasn't even a total lie. In Yangpyeong County's castle town, Gongsun Yan was the ultimate kid influencer among influencers. He fed them, gave them jobs, and as a modern guy, shared fun games and stories. To Yangpyeong's children, he was a god—invincible. Thanks to that, Gongsun Yan was living out delinquent fantasies from his past life that he'd never dared try, all in ancient times, with no one getting hurt. The perfect world... except for Lady Wang, who was probably fuming over her son's nonsense right now.
With the work done, he should've headed home, but Zhang Bai lingered nearby, watching the site with something nagging at him. Spotting Gongsun Yan, he approached in awe.
"I knew you were popular with the local kids, young master, but it's amazing every time I see it."
"What's so amazing? Kids love whoever feeds them and plays with them."
"Even you're just a kid yourself, yet you talk like some old soul. Or maybe it's your gentle nature?"
"Me? Flattery."
Zhang Bai wasn't wrong. Sick of staying cooped up at home, Gongsun Yan roamed the neighborhood without a shred of the arrogance typical of Han noble brats. Kids were people too—who'd want to hang with someone looking down on them? Especially here, where underdeveloped social skills meant they dodged outright instead of hiding it. But for Gungsun Yan, with even a speck of modern ethics left, he couldn't brush off those grubby, starving kids coldly. Wandering around, he'd spot neglected or overworked ones and scoop them into his crew. Before long, hundreds had joined at least once, and dozens trailed him constantly—a gang bigger than an elementary school.
Of course, he'd been raiding the kitchen to invent new snacks, stuffing the household larder into kids' mouths, which probably fueled Lady Wang's rage. Yeah, that tracks, Gongsun Yan realized with a sudden pang of reflection. Her anger wasn't that unreasonable.
Anyway, the top young master of Liaodong's elite running around like this? How could other noble kids resist? Especially when it looked so fun.
"Young master, what should I do?"
"You know that spot I scouted before? Take the kids there and start digging. Oh, and don't forget to feed them."
"Yes, young master."
Thanks to that, even silk-robed noble kids trickled in, eventually acting as mid-level managers under Gongsun Yan's orders. Feeling bad about him footing every bill, they started sneaking family supplies for snacks and tools. From modern Lee Yeon's view, they made perfect foreman material—fair and square. This wasn't Emperor Ling's corrupt office-selling; it was straight capitalist common sense, with Lady Wang as the investor.
"What about Seona? What do I do?"
"Just stay put—that's helping."
"Haha, exactly, little wife. How could we make a lady do rough work?"
"And you? Not a lady either—why not grab a shovel?"
"A scholar concerns himself with the great Way, not petty labors. Has any learned man ever wielded a shovel himself?"
Still, no matter the food or tools, some pampered types were total dead weight: girls, foreigners, weaklings, dimwits, slackers. Some checked multiple boxes. Assign them work, and it backfired spectacularly, so Gongsun Yan just parked them nearby to watch. Sure, complaints about slackers might arise, but this era's rigid class system nipped that. The others didn't bat an eye. Only modern-minded Gongsun Yan felt uneasy at first—but now? Meh.
These delicate darlings just peppered him with questions—Why do this? What's the point? Why that way?—offering unsolicited advice as he fielded them half-heartedly and kept digging.
"Ha! There you are."
Another noble-clad boy, more kid than teen, approached and hailed Gongsun Yan.
"What brings you here, brother?"
"Who're you calling brother? I've got no runt like you."
"Then how should I address you?"
"Not an ounce of respect in you, you impudent whelp. That's why you're scheming so openly."
It was Gongsun Huang, eldest son of Liaodong's Grand Administrator Gongsun Kang—and Gongsun Yan's half-brother. He scanned the hundred-odd kids swarming the site with disgust.
"The moment Father falls ill, you gather buqu retainers and door guests like this? Filial piety be damned—what vile heart drives you?"
"Buqu and door guests?"
"Yes. Draining the family coffers to amass this crowd—what plot is this? That vixen fox told you to crush me by force, not poison?"
(The "vixen fox," for reference, meant Lady Wang.) Gongsun Yan had only learned after arriving here: he and Gongsun Huang shared no mother. Lady Wang was a remarriage after Gongsun Huang's died young—not the first wife—which explained their five-year gap. Naturally, Gongsun Huang had always been hypersensitive toward him. A headache for Gongsun Yan. What did he care if this guy seized the administrator post? King of beggars? Pass—he didn't even want it.
So Gongsun Huang's wild accusation drew a sincerely aggrieved response.
"Misunderstanding, brother. Would buqu or door guests be that young? I'm just hanging with peers, doing simple construction."
"Young? By the time you grow, they'll be past capping ceremonies—moving in sync like elite troops. How's that not buqu?"
Gongsun Yan couldn't fathom it. What made this ragtag crew of snot-nosed ten-year-olds—barely drilled to elementary-school discipline under his efforts—look like an elite legion to him? Paranoid much? Gongsun Yan inwardly tsked at his brother's delusions.
"Look now! They dig and shovel on your guests' orders like pros—not normal kid play! If this is play, are Liaodong generals clowns?"
But here, Gongsun Yan was wrong. Everyone else in Yangpyeong saw it the same way. To them, his moves screamed ambition: As Gongsun Kang aged and slowed, this kid roamed openly, rallying poor urchins and ambitious nobles' sons. Feeding them, organizing, drilling synchronized earthworks—even appointing noble heirs as commanders. If not an army, what? Rumors swirled: Lady Wang's prepping buqu and guests via her son; those "projects" are military drills. And unlike Gongsun Yan's obliviousness, Lady Wang quietly backed the group activities (snack costs never stopped, after all). To politically cornered Gongsun Huang, it all looked sinister—especially with major families sending their own boys.
Even if Gongsun Yan knew the misunderstanding, he'd shrug: So what? This work mattered way more than petty politics. His curt reply was inevitable.
"Brother, out in the distant West, they say: The noble eye sees nobles everywhere; the pig's sees swine. If my deeds look foul, that's your mindset."
"You bastard!"
A slight jab, and Gongsun Huang lunged with a roar. Online in the 21st century, he'd lose every flame war—but Gongsun Yan had forgotten keyboard battles stayed online. The charge was clumsy, and while Gongsun Yan lacked martial training past or present, the five-year age gap meant a real mismatch. Take one hit?
"Yeon! No hitting! Bad!"
One "dead weight"—Seona—barreled into Gongsun Huang, blocking him.
"And who're you? What girl jumps in like that?"
Seona. Han or Yemaek noble girls rarely ventured out, let alone to boy gangs—but she'd shadowed Gongsun Yan forever. Her halting speech first suggested disability; turns out, she was Gojoseon Korean. Surprising, but plausible under Gongsun clan's sway over Lelang.
Even a girl was tricky; a foreign one clinging fiercely left Gongsun Huang flummoxed. Beating his brother in public was one thing—assaulting a strange girl in broad daylight? His face would be mud.
"Enough, First Young Master. Airing family laundry in the streets isn't dignified."
"Indeed, young master. Even if your brother's manners lack, discipline him at home—not before the rabble."
Gongsun Yan's "dead weights"—sons of respected scholars—chimed in righteously. Gongsun Huang's scowl deepened. Swallowing "brother-beater" was one thing; "girl-beater" was a no-go. After wrestling with Seona, he shoved her off and stormed away, pride salvaged.
"Birds of a feather, huh. That sly vixen bitch's spawn now drags in barbarian wenches. Can't stomach watching more."
Gongsun Yan ignored the mental gymnastics, sighing as he turned to Seona first.
"What kind of girl charges in? Hide behind them next time. You can push back, though."
"Hehe."
"You lot standing like posts? Words are cheap—come watch the kids. She's covered in dirt and dust."