Peixian's Generous Hand
Morning sunlight filtered through the muddy alleys of Huaiyin. The distant clamor of the market drifted in—fishmongers shouting, butchers barking, children laughing. Yet deep within the alley, a strange standoff unfolded, far removed from everyday life.
“Hey, Han Xin!”
A young butcher blocked the narrow path, his greasy face twisted with mockery. “Today’s the day we settle this!”
Across from him stood a tall youth with a sword nearly as long as himself, his expression utterly indifferent, as though none of this concerned him.
……Here we go again.
Han Xin. In Huaiyin, he was known as a useless freeloader. He did no work, loitered about all day, and strutted around with that oversized sword like some self-important fool. Naturally, the entire village treated him as a laughingstock.
“You’re always acting so superior with that sword at your waist, putting on airs like you’re some dangerous man.” The butcher leaned in close, his breath reeking of blood. “Then go ahead and cut me.”
The words were light, almost casual, despite their weight. A few onlookers had begun to gather, murmuring among themselves. Emboldened, the butcher raised his voice.
“What, can’t do it? So you’re a coward after all?”
……
Han Xin gazed down at the man in silence. He could have struck. He could have killed him. At this distance and angle, he wouldn’t even need to draw the blade—just a flick of the scabbard against the throat would silence the noisy butcher forever. Easier than twisting a child’s wrist.
But what would that achieve?
Killing the butcher wouldn’t change his own circumstances. He’d become a murderer, hunted by the authorities, and end up dying like a dog in the street. His mind reached a single conclusion.
The cost outweighs the benefit.
Cold, meticulous calculation. Pride bought no rice. Honor filled no belly. Han Xin’s eyes grew cold.
“Hah, just as I thought—a spineless coward.”
Taking his silence for submission, the butcher’s grin turned vicious. He puffed out his chest for the crowd and planted his feet wide apart, blocking the path.
“Then crawl.”
“……What?”
“Crawl between my legs like a dog. I’m not moving until you do.”
The butcher’s meaning was clear: either cut him down to pass, or crawl beneath his crotch. Han Xin’s eyes narrowed slightly. An ordinary man would have drawn his sword in fury, yet his hand never touched the hilt. Instead, he quietly bent his knees.
Thud.
He dropped to the ground, heedless of the mud staining his blue robes, and lowered his head toward the narrow, foul space between the butcher’s legs.
“Bwahahahaha!” The butcher’s laughter echoed through the alley. “Look at that! Han Xin crawled under my crotch! What a pathetic coward!”
The onlookers joined in.
“No pride at all—just a freeloader!”
“This is why bookish scholars are useless!”
“Why even carry a sword?”
Insults rained down, but Han Xin crawled through in silence. Rising calmly, he brushed the dirt from his clothes with the same detached air he might use to flick away dust—emotions included. No anger. No shame. Only emptiness.
He began walking again, mud-covered, the jeers at his back.
……
How long he walked, he didn’t know. When he reached the quiet outskirts of the village, a low voice called out.
“Stop.”
Han Xin halted. Three unfamiliar men stood behind him—fit, economical in movement, with daggers that spoke of skill. He knew at a glance they were no ordinary thugs.
“You’re Han Xin.”
“I am. What do you want?”
His right hand drifted instinctively toward his sword hilt.
“Come with us.”
The lead man glanced at Han Xin’s hand but offered no further explanation, simply turning away.
……
Han Xin studied their backs for a moment. Who are they? These skilled swordsmen had appeared like ghosts. Normally, one would flee or fight. Yet his instincts told him they were not enemies. They had a purpose—and that purpose likely concerned his future.
Fate?
Drawn as if spellbound, he followed. They led him to a dilapidated empty house on the village outskirts. A pot hung over a crackling fire in the yard.
A pot over the fire… food?
Steam rose, and the savory scent of meat filled the air. The men gestured toward a bench with a proper cushion.
“Sit.”
Han Xin obeyed warily. His stomach growled at the smell. The men lifted the lid, ladled generous portions into a large bowl, and set it before him with a thud.
“Eat.”
……
Han Xin peered inside. White rice drowned in hot bone broth, chunks of meat and green onions floating on top—an unidentifiable dish.
“This is……”
Normally, soup and rice were eaten separately. Mixing them like this was improper. He looked up, puzzled. The men exchanged glances, then spoke an unfamiliar word.
“A bowl of hot gukbap.”
……?
Gukbap. He had never heard of it, but the aroma stirred his appetite. He hadn’t eaten rice in days. Etiquette no longer mattered.
“I’ll eat well.”
He lifted the bowl and drank the broth straight. Slurp—!
……!
When the bowl came down, his eyes shone with unusual clarity. The warm broth slid down his throat, soothing his frozen stomach. The rich flavor of meat, the sweetness of vegetables, the deep savor of simmered bones—all mingled with the softened rice and slid down effortlessly. His senses awakened. The emptiness in his belly filled, and the mud-like regret clinging to him began to melt away.
“……Delicious.”
The words slipped out unbidden, pure admiration without pretense. The men watched in silence.
……
The meal ended in barely half an hour. Starving, Han Xin devoured two bowls the moment he confirmed there was no poison. As soon as he finished, one of the men produced a bamboo slip and a heavy pouch that jingled with coins.
“Read it.”
Han Xin wiped his mouth on his sleeve and accepted the slip. It carried the faint scent of fresh bamboo—a high-quality item recently made. He swallowed and untied the string. A single line flowed across it in elegant script:
Fix that personality of yours a little.
— Tall Uncle
……
Han Xin’s brow twitched. Tall Uncle? A bizarre title he had never heard. No notable figure in Huaiyin would refer to himself so casually. And “tall” at that. He looked up sharply.
“Who sent this?”
“We don’t know.”
“Lies.”
“We truly don’t. We were only given a commission.”
The man folded his arms calmly. His eyes held no deceit.
“‘Find a man named Han Xin in Huaiyin, treat him to a hot bowl of gukbap, and deliver this letter and money.’ That was the entire commission.”
“Then who issued it?”
“We cannot say.”
Han Xin’s eyes narrowed. The tension stretched. Finally, the man relented.
“I’ll tell you one thing.”
“What?”
“The one who sent us knows you.”
……
“They know exactly who you are, what you do, and what you’re capable of.”
Han Xin’s gaze turned icy. Knows me? In Huaiyin, he was labeled a useless freeloader, a sword-toting fool, and now a coward who crawled beneath a butcher’s legs. That was the world’s judgment. No one knew the real Han Xin—the hidden dragon who had mastered military strategy through self-study, who governed the realm in his mind, waiting for the right moment. Until now, not a single person had seen through his ambition and talent.
Yet this mysterious Tall Uncle claimed to know him. Who could it be?
Han Xin looked back at the slip. [Fix that personality of yours a little.] The observation was chillingly precise. Arrogance. The habit of looking down on others. The refusal to compromise, drunk on his own talent. Flaws he knew but had never corrected—summed up in a single line.
“Interesting.”
A rare spark of intellectual curiosity. The corner of his mouth curled upward. The men exchanged odd glances, then turned to leave, their task complete.
“You three.”
Han Xin stopped them. “How many days did it take you to get here?”
“Eight.”
“From Peixian, then.”
Their steps halted. For the first time, surprise flickered across their impassive faces.
“How did you know?”
“Simple.” Han Xin raised one finger. “First, your accent. Not from Huaiyin. It’s from somewhere west in Sashu Commandery.”
……
“Second, those daggers. The blades are roughly forged, with visible quenching marks from limited water—straight, not curved. The work of an inland forge without a major river nearby.”
Their eyes widened.
“Third, your shoes.” He gestured at their feet. “Thick leather edges, wide stitching—suited for rainy, muddy terrain.”
His gaze sharpened further.
“Therefore, you came from west of Sashu—Peixian. A place of frequent rain and marshes.”
He chuckled. “As a bonus, this gukbap. I’ve never seen or eaten anything like it. Anyone who knows etiquette would be horrified. Yet you served it without hesitation, which means the sender specifically instructed you to feed me this way.”
He lowered his finger.
“So my conclusion is this: the sender is from Peixian. And a woman. Likely a merchant.”
……
“Why assume a woman?”
“I already said the gukbap was her instruction. A delicate recipe—nothing a crude man would devise. And this letter.” He shook the slip. “The handwriting betrays it. Forced strength, yet the strokes end softly, the curves elegant. Not a man’s grip on the brush. A learned woman’s script. A highly cultured one.”
……
“Lastly, why a merchant? Your payment. You’re skilled enough to cut down a few bandits with ease. Yet someone sent you all the way to Huaiyin to feed an unknown vagrant. There’s only one reason: the reward was substantial. But your equipment is practical, not luxurious. So the sender isn’t a noble. They have money but value practicality over appearances—a merchant. Merchants prioritize profit over face. They hired you at the minimum necessary cost.”
……
The men remained silent, exchanging glances before looking back at him.
“We can say nothing.”
Yet the man shook his head. “Your deductions were not wrong. We can admit that much.”
“I see.”
Han Xin stood, brushing mud from his clothes. “Then one more question.”
“What?”
“What do you intend to do with me now?”
His heart began to pound. Someone wanted him. Even if it was a woman, even if a merchant—this was the first recognition, the first kindness he had ever received. So what came next……
“We don’t know.”
The answer was firm. The air left Han Xin’s lungs.
“What?”
“No orders beyond this. Feed you, deliver the letter and money. That’s all.”
……
So this was kindness without expectation of return? From a merchant?
……
“Freedom, then.”
“Yes. What you do with the money is your choice. However—” The man met his eyes. “She has expectations of you. That much, we were told to convey.”
“Expectations.”
Han Xin tucked the slip into his robes. His chest felt heavy.
“Interesting.”
Fix your personality. If he abandoned this arrogance, he would become nothing more than a starving man. If he discarded this self-righteousness, he would be an empty shell with nothing. That had been his way of survival until now.
Yet this “Tall Uncle” advised him to change. She had been watching him. She understood his worth. After considering everything, she told him to grow, to expand his vessel.
A test.
That explained it all. She was making him a silent offer: Expand your vessel further. Overcome your flaws. Become a sword that can cleave the realm, and come to me of your own accord.
……
The men studied him a moment longer, then vanished like the wind. Left alone, Han Xin stroked the hilt of his old sword and looked north, toward the sky above Peixian.
“A female merchant of Peixian……”
Unconsciously, he clutched the money pouch tightly.
“We’ll meet someday.”
[Fix that personality of yours.]
The words echoed again and again in his mind.