Not Bound by Trifles
His mood soured for no good reason, but Gongsun Yan wrapped up the day's construction halfway and trudged home with obvious reluctance.
"Young Master Wang, is everyone who should be here gathered?"
"Yes. These are all the young masters from gentry families worth calling as such."
"Good. Let's share information once more today."
It was an after-party gathering excluding just him—one that might have triggered mild PTSD if Gongsun Yan knew about it. The kids assembled were the mid-level managers he casually dubbed "team leads" or the "idle ones" he grumbled about. They'd be shocked: I've hung out with you guys more than anyone else—how could you do this?
Visually, it would sting too. Every kid here wore silk or at least finely made hemp clothes—no ragged urchins in sight. In other words, it was a clique of cliques, another element that would irk Gongsun Yan if he found out. Sure, one might say even modern folks do the same, but that doesn't make it look any better. Anyone could see it was class-dividing behavior—and excluding him to boot? Good thing he hadn't caught wind of it.
"The eldest young master's deliberate appearance today must have been a show of intimidation, right?"
"Or perhaps it's just signaling that he's aware of the situation. Trying to discipline us on the street like that might've been to emphasize his status as the heir. We intervened, but it could be seen as insolence toward our elder brother—giving Gongsun Huang a pretext."
"Tricky business. Did Chief of Staff Yang leave any words?"
"Sadly, no. But the household atmosphere feels off, and it seems Big Brother wants me attending these meetings often. The tide may be turning."
"Ooh..."
But the conversation wasn't some school chat excluding the outcast or rich kids bonding over small talk. It was far more political, sophisticated, and subtly sinister.
Considering the oldest here was just thirteen, same age as Gongsun Huang, and the youngest only six—two years younger than Gongsun Yan—it was almost startling. If Gongsun Yan had witnessed it, he'd think: What elementary schoolers—or even preschoolers—talking such cutthroat politics?
But this was the chaos of late Han in Liaodong's frontier. The half-baked didn't survive. Gentry kids without this level of political savvy? They'd crumble or die in an instant—even if they were elementary school age. No joke.
Compare Liaodong to a modern state, and it's like North Korea or Stalin's USSR. Think those regimes spared kids for impure thoughts or factionalism? Only ruthless purges and gulags awaited. And unlike those nations pretending at modern justice (no official guilt-by-association), ancient China treated family and kids as one body—implicated as common sense.
An outsider might scoff: overkill for dealing with a middling Liaodong governor ruling maybe four or five frontier commanderies at most. But no, it wasn't overkill. Honestly, Liaodong was worse than those examples, if anything.
Even Three Kingdoms buffs might not know: Gongsun Du, founder of the Gongsun regime in Liaodong, started without firm control as Grand Administrator. In the late Han chaos, local clans dominated everywhere, and to old clans, Du was a lowborn upstart.
Back when he held minor office but was rising, they humiliated him and flaunted superiority by forcibly drafting his son—and de facto heir—Gongsun Kang into a lowly post. "Village headman"—fancy term for what'd be a modern squad leader under a sergeant.
What happened next? Kang bottled the insult, and years later, as his father seized Liaodong's military power, he surprise-massacred over a hundred clans. Not assassinations—dragged them to the market in broad daylight and beat them to death.
One might sympathize if drafted and treated like a dog, but over 100 clans? Even in deep-rooted areas like Yingchuan's "Eternal Heaven Cartel" or the Yuan clan's Yeonam homeland, you'd have 4-5 major clans and dozens of minor ones total. Exaggerated or not, purging 100? From that moment, the Gongsuns were Stalin and Kim Il-sung in Liaodong. Pure control—Cao Cao would look amateur by comparison.
So these gentry kids grew up razor-sharp on politics.
"Everyone, remember this. We're not playing house—we've officially enlisted under the young master, assigned to his command. No turning back now. Our elders decided this, so we must serve him loyally and prudently."
Wang Jian—the eldest, the advisor, from the most prestigious house—urged the others firmly. He had to. After Gongsun Du and Kang wiped out those 100 clans, who filled the vacuum? Administration doesn't stop.
Wang Lie, famed scholar from Qing Province who fled to Liaodong with his clan, was prime example. He'd held top civilian advisor since Du's day; Lady Wang, Gongsun Kang's second wife, was from that Wang clan; even this Wang Jian tagging along with Gongsun Yan was Wang kin.
Beyond them: personal Gongsun retainer clans like Han, Yang, Bi houses; the Yu house practically their secretaries; even the cultured Wei house, elevated post-purge into shared fate.
These families were all-in, no reversal. If the Gongsun regime fell or surrendered, privileges vanished, lives at risk—like maxed-out Gongsun coin holders. Their survival hinged on Gongsun Yan succeeding as next governor. Not Gongsun Huang.
Why not him?
"My father lately laments fewer letters from Central Plains scholars and tells me to serve the young master diligently."
"Same in our house. Seems Central Plains clans still hold grudges over the Zheng affair."
"Gongsun Huang too, then."
"Exactly. It's Confucian loyalty, but also protecting our families—proper qi jia household order. Imagine Gongsun Huang as next governor. What happens?"
As mentioned before, Gongsun Huang and Yan had different mothers. Yan was born from marriage to the Wang clan's most esteemed surviving scholar daughter post-purge.
Huang's mother? Obviously from a purged clan. Modern Koreans would flash to Prince Yeonsan-gun; ancient Han folk knew it better. Gongsun Yan wasn't oblivious—he just didn't care. Kids grasped the politics a 21st-century guy wouldn't miss.
Even so, lounging carefree amid power struggles when losing meant doom? Not normal. Still, if Huang ascended, they'd expect him to purge rootless opportunists who joined his uncle's purge, ditch independent Liaodong, offer it to Wei or such, and snag an office for himself.
Liaodong gentry—from elders to kids—were forcibly all-in on Gongsun Yan coin.
"Yan'er, digging dirt again today?"
"Yeah."
And what was Gongsun Yan—their clan-level all-in coin leader—doing?
"Alright, we've finished the limewash, so now bury this jar. Got it carefully, so don't break it. It's heavy—don't try alone. Sling it on this pole and carry slow as a group. Got it?"
"Yes~!"
Digging toilets again. His gentry tagalongs eyed him like: Is this kid possessed by a toilet-digging ghost? Gongsun Yan ignored them.
Next Liaodong ruler? Central Plains Emperor? Pointless. Become emperor and does this shit-reeking hellscape change? They'd lived like this since "peaceful" eras. Politics? Useless for modern Lee Yeon's baseline goals.
Toilets mattered most. People dismissed them as trivial, but in developing nations, infrastructure starts with sanitation. Korea's growth era fixed toilets first via Saemaul; China's reforms too. India's national policy; African aid builds them first.
Infra yielding 1:2 ROI is gold—studies show toilets at 1:4.7. Not literal cash, but 4.7x returns. Why skip free money?
That's why Gongsun Yan obsessed over toilets, sidelining else. He swore: even if nothing else, proper rollout would skyrocket Liaodong life quality.
But benighted ancients couldn't grasp it. A "idle" scribe-clan kid hesitantly asked:
"Um... Young master. You've convinced me on latrine rules before, but with jars short for commoners, burying one like this—"
"Hey—!!!"
He shot back loud, quashing dissent.
"I've said it a million times: half of illnesses come from bad drinking water or tainted soil. Shit anywhere, it seeps into water and crops—dysentery spreads, people die. Limewash and a jar keep shit-water contained."
The kid nodded knowingly but countered:
"I get that. Eating feces harms health, spreads plague, kills some."
"Right. Smart kid—why ask?"
"But is this worth your attention, young master?"
"You still don't get it. Look how huge the impact—"
"Commoners die without plague or dirty water."
The usually meek kid interrupted for once.
"You know it, young master. Sure, Yangpyeong has sickness and plague deaths, but is that the top killer? Starvation, beasts, cold, work accidents, mystery night deaths."
He glanced warily at Seona, then added:
"Worst: barbarians and raiders swarm and kill. More than toilet-lacking deaths."
The other kids nodded, atmosphere shifting awkwardly. Gongsun Yan could only sigh.
Fair point. Building toilets and clean water wouldn't magically fix this mess. Wei-Qi-Oi warred in the plains; northern nomads stirred. Wars endless, bandits rampant—forcing equal bandit hunts.
"I know you're brilliant and benevolent, young master—hence fussing over trifles. But chaotic times have chaotic times laws. Focus on great causes, not branches?"
Gongsun Yan glanced around—others agreed. Living this hellskin, his antics looked nuts. No different from Lady Wang. She scolded as mom; these kids followed as play since he outranked them, kid-to-kid.
This moment, he keenly felt like the outsider.