My Little Xinye (5)
Here, hiding his face with mud and dressed in ragged clothes to evade everyone's eyes, was a lone man. Blended among the other refugees, clutching a single bundle with no family in tow, he waited only for the gates of Xinye Castle to open. His name was Yang Hong. Having served under Yuan Shu even before the man declared himself emperor, he had finally abandoned his office and family to flee from Yuan Shu.
To live a new life in a new place. Not as a man of Zhong Kingdom, but as anyone from Han Kingdom—at least, to avoid starving in Yeonam alongside the traitors. He had betrayed his lord and fled in the night.
'I'm not the only one.'
Here in Xinye, there were countless refugees like him. From slaves to low-ranking officials, a huge number from Zhong Kingdom had fled in the night to reach Xinye. He might be the only one worthy of titles like "civil and military officials" or "generals," but if no one found out, who would know?
"Open the gates! Let us live too!"
"Do you think we wanted to live paying taxes to Yuan Shu?!"
"Open the gates! Open the gates! Open the gates!!"
The refugees bellowed at the soldiers atop the walls with all their might. They knew they had no shame, but behind them, fox-like wives and rabbit-like children starved.
"Please, just open the gates! We don't ask for much! Please, let us live together…!!"
Yang Hong was dumbfounded by the desperate cry from the man beside him. The common folk he knew were the type to demand three when given one. So you didn't give them one—you took three away. Only then would they thank the officials, revere them, and finally develop true loyalty to the court and state.
'Crazy bastards. You think they'd give a bed to the likes of you? Give you food, and you'll demand land; give you land, and you'll demand a house—that's your nature.'
Yang Hong's lips curled up involuntarily. At the same time, he gripped his bundle tightly so no one could steal it, holding it as if losing it would cost him his life. He stared at the gates, guarding against pickpockets.
'Come on, open! It's opening!'
Perhaps the refugees' earnest voices reached them, or maybe Yang Hong's heart touched the heavens. With a creak, the gates swung open left and right.
The refugees jumped up in haste, but tensed at the sight of countless soldiers charging out from within.
Clank, clank. They formed ranks left and right, building a formation. Not just one line, but with men behind men, creating something like a wall.
'What the hell?'
Opening the gates just to build a human wall? Yang Hong couldn't understand. But soon, the refugees witnessed something being dragged out on a cart from inside the gates.
"What... is that?"
"Looks like wall rubble."
"Shh. There's someone up on top."
The refugees gulped at the sight of a scholar perched atop the wall chunk, half the height of the gates. Yang Hong scowled at the man in the official hat.
"Hmph. Looks like some playboy wandering around seducing women."
"He's handsome. Must be from a peaceful place where he eats well."
"Handsome my ass. Can't you see that tanned skin? That's from farming in the sun."
"Looks like a scholar but farms? Er... kinda tough life?"
"Who knows."
"Ahem—"
The bronze-skinned scholar cleared his throat falsely to draw eyes. He held a funnel-like wooden device in one hand, gripping the handle below and placing the narrow end near his mouth.
"I am the representative of Xinye Castle's Prefect, General Mun Bing!"
The voice boomed loud enough for five thousand to hear, spreading in all directions—not a lion's roar or a soldier's shout, yet it echoed everywhere.
"What the hell with that voice…."
"Shh. Quiet, ma'am."
"Ah, sorry…."
"You've suffered much on the long journey. Before you arrived, many others had already entered Xinye. You've come here fleeing the traitors' grasp—truly, you've endured greatly."
The warm words of comfort made the refugees' hearts swell unexpectedly. Yang Hong bristled for different reasons but bowed his head silently.
"However! The traitors seek to exploit your hardships once more. There may be spies sent by the traitors among you!"
Murmurs rose. Refugees eyed each other, hastily proving their innocence—vouching for neighbors, insisting on their own purity.
"...Hmph."
Yang Hong snorted. It was mere intimidation. Like closing eyes and saying, "I know who stole—thieves, raise your hands quietly." Who would confess to the end?
"Enough."
Silence fell instantly.
"Stele, down—!"
"""Stele, down—!!"""
At the scholar's shout, soldiers approached the wheels and sliced them off. The wooden wheels under the stele the scholar stood on fell away left and right, crashing to the ground with a thud.
"!!"
Yang Hong read the letters scratched into the stele—no, the wall rubble. Hard to see under the scholar's muddy feet, but clearly "Zhong Kingdom" was carved there.
"Th-that…!"
"What's wrong?"
"Ah, well, that."
Yang Hong pointed the wall rubble to the farmer beside him.
"...It says 'Zhong Kingdom.'"
"What? Then…."
"Some of you can read! Yes! This wall symbolizes the traitors' kingdom that oppressed you! And this stone is from far-off Shouchun Castle, where the traitorous horde rampaged!"
"...Why is that here?"
Yang Hong couldn't comprehend, but true or not didn't matter. What counted was "Zhong Kingdom" boldly carved for all to see.
"This is Han Kingdom's land! We cannot accept the traitorous horde! If you are Han Kingdom's people, show orderly conduct! Prove you are true subjects of this realm!"
"Dad, what does it mean?"
"...Seems they let in those who step over the Zhong Kingdom stele."
Quick-witted ones spread the idea. As murmurs grew, the lined soldiers parted a path toward the stele, flanking it like welcoming a triumphant general. Refugees gulped at the disciplined moves.
"......I am!!"
A hot-tempered man stepped forward.
"A farmer born in Han Kingdom's Shouchun lands, tilling my fields! But overnight, my land became the traitors'!"
Striding boldly through the soldiers' center as if daring fate, no one stopped him.
"......."
The scholar waited silently. The man climbed heavily onto the Zhong Kingdom stele.
Splat. With mud-caked feet, he trampled Zhong Kingdom. Head held high in newfound emotion.
"Welcome."
The scholar spread his arms, embracing the man without minding the dirt on his white robes. He patted him and pointed inside.
"You've suffered in traitors' lands. As fellow Han subjects, I welcome you."
"...Need more proof?"
"Huh?"
"Ask anything!"
"Then…."
The scholar raised the funnel again and shouted.
"All who pass here, shout these words three times! Follow me."
Whispers. The scholar murmured to the man, who grinned broadly, threw arms skyward, and bellowed.
"Yuan Shu is a traitor!" Once.
"Yuan Shu is a traitor!! Yuan Shu is a traitor!!!!" Twice, thrice.
"Good."
"I can say it a hundred times. Hell, even worse!"
"...Huh?"
"Yuan Shu, you bastard!!"
The man roared louder than the scholar and strode inside.
"Yuan Shu, you bastard!! Yuan Shu, you bastard!!!!"
"Oh, oh…."
The scholar unwittingly clapped lightly. Those waiting inside applauded proudly. Clap clap clap clap. Thunderous cheers and applause echoed, drawing refugees forward one by one.
Mindful of "order," they lined by position, slowly stepping over Zhong Kingdom's stele alone or with family, entering the castle.
"Yuan Shu who drove my son to his death, that dog—"
Some spat curses too vile to utter, proving themselves. But all shared one trait: denying Yuan Shu was no traitor.
"Climb up."
Finally, Yang Hong's turn. He ascended on trembling legs.
"...His Majesty the Emperor, long live! Long live! Long live!"
Ah. Once a servant of his lord, how could he curse? Fled for survival, betrayed yes—but he couldn't curse the master who recognized him.
"...What now?"
"Teacher said let all who step on the stele in."
"Right? They'll judge inside. Pass!"
Yang Hong sighed in relief. Heavily stepped on Zhong Kingdom's stele but skirted the strokes, fulfilling his loyalty. Now, I am Han Kingdom's man. So thinking, he entered….
"...Huh?"
Inside the gates, over fifty people stared, clapping yet scrutinizing his face.
Welcoming, but glaring vigilantly.
'No way.'
Too late to turn back.
"Th-that bastard!!"
Suddenly, someone pointed and yelled at Yang Hong.
"General!! That guy's one I saw working in Shouchun Castle!"
"...!!!"
Yang Hong cursed inwardly. Mud on face, dot under eyes—yet recognized.
"Hmph."
The white-bearded elder approached, scanning Yang Hong up and down. The bronze-skinned scholar followed, face awkward.
"Um, General Hwang. About my rudeness earlier…."
"Teacher Kim. What do you make of this man?"
"Pardon?"
"In your eyes, what kind of man is he? Soldier says he shouted 'Long live His Majesty'—not the traitorous Yuan Shu."
"Hmph…."
Called "Teacher Kim," the scholar approached Yang Hong, scrutinizing him, scratching his cheek. His eyes were calm and deep.
"Not certain, but looks like one from Shouchun. Alright, let's do this."
Teacher Kim grinned wide.
"Now, repeat after me. Yuan Shu, you bas—"
Yang Hong was thrown into prison.