Three Visits Returns -1: Caught in a Predicament
I found myself in a real pickle.
Out of nowhere, I'd heard that my wedding date had been suddenly set—without my say-so. And get this: I'm nine years old.
My mental age might be marriageable, sure, but even accounting for that, the groom's pushing fifty-something. That old geezer's got some weird tastes, and it bugs the hell out of me.
This peculiar old man had popped up out of nowhere, offering my father five sacks of rice, and Dad had nodded right along, all pleased.
In this late Han world that could drive even a sane person mad, my worth got haggled over like I was some market hagfish.
"How could you do this?!"
A nine-year-old getting married? That's not normal to begin with. And haggling over buying and selling people? That's straight-up insane.
From the perspective of someone who'd lived 25 years in 21st-century Korea.
"You've hit the jackpot, girl. Goin' to the big house means no more goin' hungry, livin' all cozy-like."
"That's not the point, Dad! Selling your kid for five sacks of rice? How could you?!"
"Ain't sellin'. You're gettin' married, that's all."
"Aaaaaargh!!!"
I swung the brass spoon in my right hand instead of answering.
"Cut it out and eat your damn food. When's the last time we had a spread like this?"
Dad ignored my whining and shoveled a heaping spoonful into his mouth with gusto.
"Eat first, then talk. Got it?"
His words hit home, so I stopped my tantrum and sat properly at the table.
Dad had over thirty years of experience surviving this late Han hellhole, and he was spot on.
In a totally average family of this era where food, clothes, and shelter were never guaranteed, you grab any opportunity that comes.
"What's all this? You even killed a chicken?"
"The big shot sent it over special for you."
"Whoa."
I think stuff like hunger strikes or refusing food is only possible on a full stomach.
Just one year—no, less—of real life-threatening deprivation of the basics. Try it.
After eight years of that, this late Han fried chicken could quiet my rage for a good half hour.
"Still, five sacks is kinda low. Shoulda haggled for ten."
"You think I could haggle with a bigwig? My head'd roll."
"Yeah, fair point."
In this era, status was set from birth. Lowborns like us couldn't achieve greatness.
The ingrained notion of "born low" from the Han dynasty onward was deeply rooted, and an utterly average family like ours? Total nobodies.
Dad was in the position where even talking to a renowned "big shot" felt like an honor.
As I tore into the poached chicken, I pitied my lowborn father—and myself, his kid.
"This is perfect. Now you won't have to suffer, girl."
"No chit-chat, just eat. Sigh... I can already see the rough road ahead."
"Don't say that. No matter how tough, it can't be worse than now."
I imagined myself clowning around in front of that old geezer. Ha... damn... I wanna die painlessly.
"You're ruinin' the meal."
The food's delicious, so why's my heart so heavy? Cognitive dissonance incoming.
"You... you cryin', girl?"
Cry? Hell no.
I'm pissed.
Pissed at this barbaric world where I can't even say "no" properly.
"How could you decide without even asking me? If you'd talked to me, I'd have said no. Why?!"
"I'm your father. Even if I had a thousand mouths, I'd have nothin' to say to you."
I felt his thick hand on my trembling shoulder.
"Get your hand off. Why're you apologizing? You didn't do wrong. Just... the meat's makin' me happy, that's all."
I couldn't be harsh with this man.
We've scraped by together, eating rice with death staring us down all these years.
Sure, he's the typical late Han family man who loves booze and gambling, blowing the savings I'd scrimped with my tiny hands.
Even if his hot-tempered nature led to drunken rages that drove Mom and my two brothers away.
The blood bond of him fighting to keep me alive is etched in my memory. I can't be cruel.
"What's done is done. More importantly, don't waste food or you'll get cursed. I'm gonna step out for air—finish it up."
"Not eatin' more?"
"I'm good. Suddenly lost my appetite."
This lavish spread was something even a gambling dad like his could only dream of on a royal flush, but I set my chopsticks down.
"It'll all work out. Don't worry too much."
I slipped out of the half-collapsed wooden shack without replying to his weak voice.
Clomp clomp along the dirt path. Our house near the bald mountain, surrounded by unkempt, barren trails.
Our village's infrastructure was worse than some charity ad for Africa's poorest tribe.
A bit further, and you'd hit paved roads lined with sleek buildings.
Houses with fancy Hanja calligraphy, bustling crowds.
I loved that poor village contrast.
I was headed to downtown Yangyang in Jingzhou.
Ever since I could toddle around after landing in this world, I'd sneak here whenever I could.
It was the only place to enjoy a sliver of civilization.
People carried bundles of bamboo slips like files, and inside buildings, debates on loyalty, filial piety, righteousness bloomed alongside gossip about ancients and folks' worth.
This was Jingzhou, refuge for countless scholars fleeing war—discussions never stopped.
I loved eavesdropping on their stuffy, pedantic chats.
As these folks might say, didn't some Western sage say he'd plant an apple tree even if the world ended tomorrow?
Even if I married that pedo geezer tomorrow, that's tomorrow's problem—not today's.
There it is.
After two hours' walk, my favorite teahouse came into view, open for business as usual.
The owner spotted me, dropped his cooking, and rushed over.
Makes sense—this was my client too.
"I'm here."
"Sit anywhere."
"Need help today?"
"Yeah! The statue you carved last time? The generals loved it. Can you make more like that?"
"Got a few ready at home."
The owner clapped in delight.
"Perfect! Take it easy! Want some food?"
"Nah, not hungry today."
Before this world, I was a first-year rookie PD at a broadcasting station, but my old knowledge was useless here.
Well, except one thing: my asshole mentor-sunbae had me memorize Romance of the Three Kingdoms under the guise of "research." Super useful.
What did Three Kingdoms have to do with a show renting Chinese restaurants? Whatever—that jerk made adapting easier, so... thanks, I guess. Fuckin' bastard.
"Such talent! How do you carve so perfectly?"
The owner glanced at my rabbit figurine, patted my head, and handed over a perfectly carved peach—unsolicited.
"Thanks!"
I flashed my best grin.
In this Confucian world of loyalty and filial piety, my carving skills beat any variety show ideas for supporting my poor family.
"That's a nonsense answer!"
A rowdy table caught my ear.
I munched the fruit the owner gave me "for a snack" and eyed them.
"'Master of the realm'? No need to get so grandiose."
"Then why bring it up? If there's truly no place for scholars, wouldn't you serve under Cao Cao too?"
"Spare me. That guy's got scholars stacked up—waiting in line. You'd rot in some county post, unnoticed."
The three spat as they debated.
Moneybags, clearly—towering booze stacks and appetizers that'd bend the table.
Born with silver spoons. Their spread crushed my "last supper" chicken in quality and quantity.
That's this world: playground for the strong, hell for the weak.
That's why I hated this savage, uncivilized era.
"If the question's nonsense, maybe the answer is too."
The man in the center met my eyes. He'd been mediating.
"Come here, child."
...?
His gaze was straight at me—no doubt.
"Me?"
"Who else? Not scolding you—don't be shy."
Benevolent gaze, untouched by hardship—classic noble face.
No choice anyway. Insult a bigwig, and it's "off with her head" for offending his mood.
I sidled up, gauging their faces.
"Why'd you call me, sir?"
"Nothing major. But you overheard—worth something. Live around here?"
"Yes. House is poor, so not nearby—tens of li walk."
"Tens of li just to come here?"
"Hearing wise men's words is a joy—no hardship."
My words piqued them. Monkey-gaze upgraded to golden retriever.
"Youth beyond your years speaks fluently. No repercussions—I want your thoughts."
"My thoughts?"
He knelt to my eye level.
"Who'll master the realm in time?"
"Master of the realm?"
I looked puzzled; he smiled gently.
"Poor phrasing. Rephrase: Heard of Cao Cao in Jingzhou?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"His tales never end. Some call him hero to pacify chaos. Your view?"
"Uh... a hero. Even a villain of chaos is a hero, I think."
...Oops. Definitely slipped.
The warm vibe chilled instantly.
"Is that so? Not scolding. Then: what of the realm's future?"
The realm's future...?
"My thought is..."
His voice resonated deeply.
Clear tone pulled like a magnet, invading my mind, stirring, sucking me in.
Trembling from the echo.
High as a kite, words spilled unbidden.
"The realm divides into three, ruled by three states? Like the Three Kingdoms Division."
Bam!
He shot up, slamming the table.
"Jun! Find this child's parents! Yuanzhi! Ziyuan! I must speak with her—go ahead!"
Time froze at his roar, then resumed. He yanked my hand, heading out.
"W-wait! Hold on!"
"Follow! I'll have answers!"
His rough steps sounded like my life ending. Panic mode.
"Sir? Please? Big shot? Teacher? Sorry!!! I misspoke! Spare my life!"
"No chatter—come! I must know your parents!"
More importantly... Yuanzhi? Ziyuan?
"Kongming seems drunk—let's head out too."
Kongming?
"I misspoke! Nonsense, sir!"
"How could such wisdom come from you? I must hear more."
Kongming Uncle's face was beet red, ignoring me.