Chapter 4
As usual, the roosters crowed at sunrise, their voices faint and muffled by the rain. Li He opened his eyes and pulled the straw mat closer to the youngest child. The old man lived in the other room, and his cold had worsened recently. He didn't know if he had woken up.
Li He lifted the straw curtain and walked outside. The rain had been falling all night and showed no sign of stopping. The thatch was soaked and weighed down, and the water from the eaves kept pouring down. In such weather, it was impossible for the youngest to lead the group into the mountains to look for herbs, let alone cross the mountain to try their luck on the other side. He didn't hear any other noises, so he guessed that the old man was still asleep. The old man's legs were not very good, so if he needed to carry herbs to the shop to sell today, he would have to make the trip in his place.
Li He sat on the ground, leaning against a straw mat. Anything he could do would have to wait until the old man woke up to discuss it. He was counting the days. Winter was only a few days away; once the rain was over, the first snow would soon arrive. The grain collection had been finalized long ago; what he had promised the old man must be done. However, there were rumors swirling in the village: some spoke of the heavy taxes levied on both the grain and the soldiers; some said the Hu people were nearly at Yumen Pass and the capital would soon be captured; and some even said that snow had already fallen in some areas of Longxi, hindering the grain collectors' progress.
He was naturally apprehensive, realizing for the first time that fate never arranged things the way he imagined. Even if there was no grain to be collected, he had to collect it. As for the battle, where to fight, when to fight, or even which tribe of the Hu people to fight, no one could predict it with certainty. Nothing was going as he had imagined.
The old doctor woke up, his coughs growing louder and louder. Li He brought him a bowl of water and patted his back until the old man could breathe and speak. "Young man—I'm getting old and confused. What day is it today?" "It's only three days until winter begins. Do you want to go into town to deliver medicine today?"
The old doctor waved his hand, "The rain hasn't stopped yet, so it won't hurt to dry the herbs for a few more days. My benefactor, you might as well take a day off today. It's rare for my youngest son and I to have a rest." He squatted down and sorted the herbs he had picked yesterday into categories. "Winter is almost here. I just hope the grain envoy can arrive later so that my benefactor can have more time to rest. If God is lucky, we can be exempted from grain collection this year..." After saying this, the old doctor picked up a few herbs and went out to grind them.
Li He went to the back of the house to gather some half-dry, half-wet branches together to make a fire and boil water for his youngest son. The rain had been heavy in the middle of the night. The branches were soaked through and needed to be brought inside to air for a while. As he carried the branches inside, his youngest son turned over in bed, probably about to wake up.
It rained today, so the vegetable soup was much thinner than usual. The youngest child, having slept for a long time, woke up more alert than usual after a good rest. He squatted under the eaves with his empty bowl, playing with the rainwater. The old man leisurely picked herbs. It seemed that, aside from the increasingly heavy downpour, life was no different from any other.
Li He had been thinking this until the village erupted in commotion. The sound of rain enveloped the clamor of voices, the clatter of horses' hooves followed by the neighing of reined-in horses, and the banging of gongs and shouts from petty officials echoed, "The government treasury is collecting grain, allowing it to be kept for the winter. A war is imminent, and people can replace the grain—"
The youngest turned back to look for the old man. Li He clenched the edge of the bowl and bent down to extinguish the embers of the fire. What is coming will eventually come. The old man was right. The grain collection is coming soon this year, and the tax rate has been increased a lot. I am afraid that each household can only hire people to pay the grain tax, at least to save the family for next year. The old doctor, supported by the child, tremblingly handed Li He a small package of tightly wrapped hemostatic herbs, "I wish that my benefactor will return home in glory and be promoted to a higher rank." Even if life and death are determined by fate, it is difficult to fulfill wishes and things in this world are often unrealized. "Youngest, wait for your brother to come back to see me and my father."
Li He rubbed his youngest's head, stuffed the bundle of herbs into his arms, and walked towards the grain envoy. His healed abdominal wound stabbed again for a moment. The heavy rain soaked his clothes and the voices of the people bidding him farewell. He was no different from last time, squeezing into the crowd to be recorded in the household register. Only this time, he could clearly explain the name Li He to the official. He watched the movement of the brush tip, and the character "He" flowed like a river, just as he had imagined.
The incessant clamor of the crowd, along with the rain, cast a hazy barrier. Li He could only make out the footsteps of those in front of him as they followed him down the muddy path, their straw sandals already soaked through. The grain envoy whipped his horse and led the way. He glanced back one last time and could only see the crowds behind him huddling forward, presumably several miles outside the village.
Li He stuffed the medicine bag deeper into his arms again, but the rain still didn't let up. The horses' hooves were mired in the mud, and the two lines of militiamen were mostly silent, submerged in the pouring water. They went over the mountain and headed east. Li He recognized the direction and rubbed his rain-soaked eyes with his hands until they hurt. He knew he had to stop thinking about the past, not about the things that happened to his youngest son and the old man in the past half month, not about his mother's songs and his younger sisters' and brothers' jokes, not about the fact that he had been on the battlefield for a year or two before, and not about where his injuries came from. He should start his life over again, and maybe he would be lucky enough to return home and revisit the past that he had forgotten. At that time, everything could be done slowly, on his own path.
As the journey reached nightfall, the officials ahead halted their horses, blasting gongs three times as a signal to rest. The two lines formed a circle, some bringing stray flints from home, though the drizzle wasn't much of a hindrance. Everyone gathered dry branches and leaves from the surrounding area to add to the burning grass, only to be herded back by the officials' gongs and whips. A feeble fire blazed, illuminating the deserted wilderness. The scattered chirps of birds and animals melted into the gloomy night. Li He sat among them, taking off his soaking wet shirt and holding it close to the fire to dry.
The fatigue of days of traveling still kept him silent, save for the two or three people nearby who whispered about family matters, their speculations about the war. He listened quietly to the conversations around him, from the few wealthy families in the village who could afford the grain tax to his own sons and wives, all dreaming of becoming marquises and generals before heading off to the battlefield. He hoped for a future spent enjoying the comforts of life, with children and grandchildren around him.
Li He couldn't follow the thoughts now. He heard his younger brother beside him worry about how he would fight the enemy. He just turned back and stared at the fire, which swayed left and right in the wind. The linen clothes had dried considerably, so he put them back on and wrapped the herbal bag around him. The horses occasionally neighed, but were then suppressed by the long whip that pierced the air. The night watchman warned them one by one that if they were enlisted, they would be soldiers, and if they deserted, they would be executed.
It seemed only then that they finally realized they had lost their freedom, their taxes simply being paid to the government treasury, a form of corvée labor, but more than just the hardship: they were all being dragged into battle, wielding swords against the barbarians they had only heard of but rarely encountered. They would eventually become dead, but they had never considered how this fate would affect their every moment. All it took was one battle, and those around them, perhaps even their former neighbors, would die, themselves included. After leaving the village and being organized into these ranks, they spent most of their time struggling with the fear of death. The only thing they could finally believe in was their family, or rather, the path home.
Li He had already gotten through this phase. He touched the small medicine bag through the linen cloth, and the bitter aroma of the herbs wafted out, soothing the inexplicable pain from his healed wound. He stared at the flickering flames, the red flames sending thick black smoke rising straight up, warming the fatigue from the journey and his cold, wet clothes.
Before entering the camp, they wouldn't have been needed for night watch. Officials would rotate night watches to prevent any of them from escaping. The horses knelt on the grass, their neighing fading to the sound of voices and the burning firewood. Li He, a smaller man, squeezed in near the firewood, not caring about his half-dried clothes stained by the wet mud. The rain might have stopped, or perhaps it was still falling. Only the fire was clearly visible in the dead of night. The subtle sounds of movement mingled, drifting into the tense expressions of the people, drifting towards the unknown fate of each person, and every moment that would follow.
Li He closed his eyes. He hadn't felt this exhausted in a long time, so tonight he was one of the few who could fall asleep. But in this environment, beautiful dreams wouldn't come to mind. So tonight, he had no dreams. No river in his dreams, no bloodshed in his dreams, no sad and desolate night in his dreams, no long journey home in his dreams...
At dawn, a few distant roosters crowing across the wasteland. The fire went out at some unknown time in the night. Li He was awakened by the noises of people nearby. The early morning bustle brought back the sight of neighbors gathering in the village. People, familiar and unfamiliar, gathered around the official whenever possible. The grain transporter, grudgingly offering the newly harvested rice and flour, instructed his subordinates to select a few skilled cooks to serve as cooks.
The scraps of food were poured into the rainwater pot and stirred, giving the officials their own dry rations. The cooks, following their custom, added various grass roots to the water, gradually turning the already murky rainwater green and then black. Li He cupped his hands to catch a spoonful of food, barely more than vegetable water, and stuffed it into his mouth before the water drained through his fingers.
The crowd huddled to grab their share of the food, sipping it from their hands. The clerk struck a gong, and they formed into two lines again, following the grain envoy's horse toward the nearest camp. Traveling by day and resting by night, Li He counted the days of his journey: four days and five nights, just past the beginning of winter this year.
Before the first snow of Longxi had even fallen on this desolate land, they had already reached the camp. The commissary handed over the household register to the captain, and Li He was considered back in the camp. The groans and lamentations of the wounded echoed throughout the day. They were assigned to different teams according to vacancies, taking over the wounded's bloodstained armor, battered swords, spears, and various wooden tools. Soon they would fight their first battle since entering the camp, the first, and perhaps not the last, battle in which they would both celebrate and lament the fate of life and death.
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