Exchanging Names
Breakfast was thin rice porridge barely bubbling white, paired with salt-pickled vegetable jangachi. It was the kind of meal common folk in that era ate.
Extremely simple, but in those times, even this was a precious feast. It was heartbreaking to think how many went hungry without even that much.
To these people, it was a treasured meal. Sharing it with me was a sign of trust. I had to accept it gratefully.
"Thank you for the meal."
I expressed my gratitude to the old man.
"Hmph. Enough of that. Didn't you save us yesterday?"
The old man grumbled curtly. His tone was similar to when we'd first met, but the hostility had faded. Maybe he was starting to see me in a more favorable light.
"I was worried when Ha Hui said she'd bring back a skilled ronin... but it looks like she found a decent one."
The old man scooped up his porridge and stared at me intently.
"I doubted she'd have an eye for people and bring someone worthwhile, but she chose well."
His gaze shifted to the sword at my waist.
"How many years have you been at that life?"
"...Father. Isn't prying into someone's personal history rude?"
The white-haired beauty tapped her father's thigh to stop him. So her name was Ha Hui. I wondered what her family name was.
"About five years."
Ten years since transmigrating. I'd spent my early years until fifteen as a kid, then started as a mercenary. I'd just turned twenty this year. That was the rough timeline.
It was the first coming-of-age for a modern man in this era, but my humanity had dried up too much for any sentiment. Surviving five years somehow was a relief—that was all the pride I felt.
How many more years can I hold out?
If I lived my whole life as a ronin, would I always worry like this? No, anyone surviving this era would grapple with that doubt forever.
Whether generals or soldiers under some faction, ronin, farmers, or merchants—it was the same for all. Everyone was living day to day.
"Five years, huh. You look pretty young for that."
The old man eyed me as he continued eating.
To lighten the slightly awkward mood, the woman spoke up.
"How much longer do you plan to stay in Yeongcheon, sir?"
My schedule, in other words.
"Until General Huangfu Song arrives."
Once his main force showed up, the chaos in Yeongcheon would end. The Yellow Turbans were dominant now only because the main army hadn't arrived yet, but they were just untrained bandits and peasants. No way they could beat a proper armed force.
Huangfu Song would lead the main army, push back Pa Jae's forces head-on, and the board would clear. Mercenary work would dry up then. I'd take a few remnant-hunting gigs during the war's end and move to another region.
"Until General Huangfu Song arrives..."
Her face darkened. She probably wanted to hire me as guard for as long as possible, so this must have unsettled her.
"Why not leave this place?"
I suggested it as a small kindness.
Yeongcheon would face even greater crises ahead. I knew from future history.
Yellow Turban remnants would turn bandit, raiding Yeongcheon periodically. Groups like the White Wave Bandits would prowl near Yeongcheon and Luoyang for regular plundering.
And then a massive famine would hit amid the bandit chaos. A great famine of the central plains, recorded even in history books. Adding insult to injury, or perhaps the region's fortunes had utterly collapsed.
And a few years later, Dong Zhuo takes Luoyang.
The anti-Dong Zhuo coalition would then wage their "righteous war" against his army, turning the area into scorched earth again. From a third-party view of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, it was epic history—but for the common folk living it, the story was different.
This woman would be raped by soldiers or bandits; the old man murdered. Everything in the house looted. Or they might starve in the famine first.
That was why locals like Xun Yu and Xun You moved away quickly. Yeongcheon's scholars mocked them, but their judgment was right. This place was doomed.
"You should relocate. This isn't the end."
I suggested it to the old man, but his expression hardened.
"I've lived here since I was a boy. Hard to believe looking at me now, but we were well-off once. Made money here, met my wife, had my child. Everything I have is in this place. How could I abandon it?"
The old man's resolve was unyielding.
"..."
The woman's face fell as she listened. I could read the room from that. She wanted to leave deep down. But the old man stubbornly clung to the spot. Out of respect, she couldn't oppose him outright and just gazed at her father. He knew her wishes but deliberately ignored them.
Something like that, probably. Just my guess.
"Anyway, I saw you handle that sword well yesterday. Where'd you learn?"
The old man awkwardly changed the subject.
Clumsily dodging the sensitive topic.
"Yes. There was an old man in my village when I was young. He taught me."
A mysterious elder who gathered orphan boys and taught us martial arts and literacy with utmost sincerity. My benefactor. Thanks to him, I could read hanja roughly and gained the fighting skills essential for survival.
***
After that superficial chat, I geared up for work.
"Um... when you go out, when will you return?"
The approaching woman asked in a worried tone. Ordinary thugs usually came at night, so she hoped I'd be back by then.
"By dinner tonight."
If thrown into positional or annihilation battles, I'd roll in the field for days or months, but I had no plans for that.
"Ah..."
Her face lit up at the promise of my return today.
"Th-then, please come back safely."
She bowed to me, then glanced up and added softly.
"My name is... Ha Hui."
She introduced herself. I understood the meaning behind it.
"I see. I'm Yu Hyun. My courtesy name is Hyungeom."
I returned the introduction as solemnly as possible. That was my name in this world.
For the record, yes, Liu clan—but not from some influential house. Back when I'd just been reborn into the Three Kingdoms world, I'd gotten excited seeing my surname. But reality was harsh. In this era, imperial blood meant little.
The Liu imperial clan was huge to begin with. Tens of thousands scattered nationwide. Not all could hold office. Only a tiny fraction of Lis had ranks like Marquis Within the Passes; the rest were no different from commoners.
Plus, it was a chaotic age. Surnames and origins didn't guarantee everything. What mattered was land as a base and military power.
Even modern analogies fit. A Kim doesn't strut around claiming royal pride. That's me—just a guy with a common surname.
Liu Bei was a mat seller, after all.
A guy like Liu Bei sold mats for a living, while I was a wandering mercenary. The Liu output was truly pitiful...
"Yu... Hyun. Got it. So from now on, Yu Hyungeom?"
She smiled brightly, repeating my name over and over.
"Yes. Call me whatever's comfortable."
Hyungeom. I didn't like my courtesy name much. Literal translation: bowstring and sword. Too fierce for a courtesy name. Who picks two weapon hanja for theirs?
But my benefactor had named it himself. "It suits you perfectly," he'd laughed heartily. That smile lingered, so I kept it as given.
"Then, Hero Yu. Safe travels."
She beamed and waved me off.
A truly beautiful smile.
"..."
Suddenly, a fierce will to survive and return surged in me. I wanted to come back and see that smile again. A childish, primal wish took root.
***
Finding work as a mercenary was simple.
Check the postings near the imperial army's camp—the "bulletin board" was just a massive plank hammered into the ground—and pick a decent job.
Near the board, mercenaries and volunteers from all over swarmed.
The trick was eavesdropping on their talk while scanning postings. Rumors there separated good gigs from bad.
Listening in, I got the sense quickly.
Three solid options for mercenaries, each with pros and cons.
First: scouting Pa Jae's Yellow Turban main force. Paid well, but survival rate sucked. Tons of mercs and volunteers had died on it.
Second: delivering supplies from Yeongcheon County Seat to distant outposts and guerrilla units. Simple escort for a few wagons overland. Paid less but safer.
Third: mopping up stragglers or remnants split from the Yellow Turban main. Balanced—medium risk, medium pay.
Other jobs existed, but word was bad. Holding out as meat shields for the army to seize points. If early birds skipped it, no-go.
Pick one of the three. Time to decide.
As I pondered, a strange presence approached.
A man in similar gear, a bit older-looking, eyed me.
"You there. Look like you can handle yourself. Job hunting?"
He boomed the question.
"That's right."
His gear was shabby, but he seemed skilled. I could tell by feel.
"Ha! Perfect. Me and three comrades are hunting Yellow Turban remnants. Join us? Five total should make it smooth."
"Hm."
Five including me. I'd never planned solo. In messy wars, fighting with allies was safer.
If I had godlike strength for solo rampages, sure—but I was just a regular ronin. Ronin stuck together. Picking solid comrades marked a pro merc.
This guy seemed solid. His crew? Unknown, but birds of a feather. Probably not total trash.
"Let's hear more."
"Haha! This way, then!"
He laughed heartily and led me off.