Chapter 2: Natural Disaster, or Human Misery?

The sixth year of Longwu, the Wei residence.

Suddenly, the courtyard erupted in chaos—chickens flew, dogs barked—and a small figure darted through halls and around pillars at breakneck speed. Behind him, the steward chased frantically, shouting: “Slow down, slow down! Young master, little ancestor! If you fall and hurt yourself, you’ll kill me!”

The boy was Wei Yuan. Though only three years old this year, he was unusually tall; rural children in the mountains were typically thin and stunted, so he already towered over many seven- or eight-year-olds in town.

At that moment, the scent of food drifted from the main hall. The running little Wei Yuan halted mid-stride, as if snatched midair by a fishing line, and instantly changed direction.

In the main house, Master Wei the Benevolent and his two wives sat at the table, meals already laid out. Two earthen pots stood on the table: one held a few steamed buns and brown mixed-grain buns, the other a yellow porridge of coarse grains. Four small dishes flanked the meal: pickled beans, salted radish, stir-fried radish shreds, and a tiny dish of pickled wild chicken.

This was the midday meal of the county’s prominent family, Master Wei the Benevolent.

Little Wei Yuan was ravenous. He tore open a bun nearly as large as his head, stuffed chicken meat inside, then buried his face in it, devouring it clean in moments. One bun wasn’t enough—he ate two more buns and a bowl of porridge before finally feeling full. After eating, he leapt off his stool, bowed to Master Wei and the two ladies, and vanished out the door like smoke.

Master Wei and his two wives barely touched their chopsticks until little Wei Yuan had finished eating and left the room. The third wife said: “Yuan’er is growing so fast—he eats like an adult now, and he’s polite too. It’s just that he never talks. If Fourth Sister were still here…”

The second wife tugged her sleeve urgently. The third wife instantly realized her mistake and fell silent.

Outside, little Wei Yuan paused for a heartbeat, then ran forward as if he’d heard nothing. Along the way, maids, maidservants, and servants bowed and stepped aside when they saw him. But from farther away, the servants’ whispered gossip drifted clearly into Wei Yuan’s ears.

“The young master is growing so fast—he eats more than adults. Too bad his mother’s gone.”

“Quiet! The master said not to let the young master know about this.”

“What’s the harm? Who doesn’t know Fourth Mistress ran off with another man soon after giving birth? The master only says she died, even built her a fake grave. But who’s fooled?”

Little Wei Yuan kept walking, passed the rear courtyard, and entered the front yard. The front yard was noisy—laborers, cooks, and retainers moved back and forth.

He walked into an open area where stone weights and spears lay scattered—normally used by the guards for training. As soon as he stepped inside, he heard more murmurs.

“The young master has a fine face, but he doesn’t look much like the master.”

“Do you think… maybe Fourth Mistress had a bastard with some outsider…”

“Quiet!”

“What’s the point of being quiet? No one’s around. Who’d hear?”

Wei Yuan tried to shut out the voices, yet he heard every word clearly. The two guards whispering were ten paces away—their voices were low, and under normal circumstances, no one could have heard them. But Wei Yuan heard them perfectly. In truth, no matter where he stood, he could hear half the household’s movements.

In his memory, at some point when he was very young, he suddenly began hearing these voices. After hearing them often, he soon understood most of what they meant.

In the countryside, servants’ private gossip about their masters was never kind.

Since he could understand speech, Wei Yuan grew increasingly silent. He understood what others said, but he didn’t understand why they said it that way.

As usual, Wei Yuan went to the stone weights and lifted the ten-pound weight he often played with. But after a few lifts, he felt an itch inside his body—a bone-deep itch that only running or carrying heavy loads could relieve. Yet the light stone weight in his hands was no longer enough to ease it.

Little Wei Yuan walked over to a much larger stone weight nearby—fifty pounds, the heaviest one the guards used for training. He gripped it with both hands, pulled hard—and the stone lifted slightly off the ground.

At that moment, a voice rang out from afar: “Put it down! Quick, put it down!”

Little Wei Yuan turned and saw Master Wei running over, panting: “How dare you touch such a heavy weight? What if you injure your tendons or bones? I know you like playing with these—I had a better one made just for you.”

Saying this, Wei Youcai pulled out a small stone weight carved from white marble—delicate, exquisite, weighing exactly one pound.

Little Wei Yuan reluctantly took the jade weight.

Though it felt weightless in his hands, he sensed his father’s concern. So, though unwilling, he left the heavy stone and pretended to play with the small jade weight.

Wei Youcai wiped the sweat from Wei Yuan’s brow. All this fuss left him drenched in sweat himself. He squinted upward—the sky was cloudless, the sun blazing down, pouring fiery heat onto the earth.

Wei Youcai told little Wei Yuan to play on his own, then called the steward over. “Isn’t today the beginning of summer?”

“Master, yesterday was the beginning of summer.”

Master Wei frowned. “Already? How are the fields?”

The steward grimaced. “The crops are just forming ears, but it hasn’t rained in two months—they won’t survive! Fields near the hills are already barren. Fields by Tonghe River are better, but drawing water from the river is deadly—two men have already collapsed and died in the villages below!”

“Prepare a donkey. We’re going to the village.”

Moments later, Master Wei, the steward, and a retainer headed toward the valley mouth. From the Wei residence to the valley mouth was only eight li. Beyond lay Xihe Village, bordering Tonghe River, home to the county’s finest fields. If it didn’t rain soon, Xihe Village might be the only one in Ye County with a harvest.

Outside the gate, the world was blindingly yellow.

The fields were yellow, the roads were yellow, the trees were yellow, the mountains were yellow—even the wind was yellow.

The only green left in this land was the ancient tree behind the Wei compound. If not for guards watching it day and night, the tree would have been stripped bare long ago: in a single night, its bark could be peeled off entirely.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept up a haze of yellow dust and slapped it across Wei Youcai’s face.

Wei Youcai spat several times, clearing the dirt from his mouth. He wiped his face, dismounted, and walked to the fields on either side of the road. He dug hard into the soil with his hands—only dry earth came up. The seedlings on the ridges were all dead.

Wei Youcai pushed himself up with trembling knees, and the steward rushed to support him.

Wei Youcai caught his breath and asked: “How are the tenant families faring?”

“Master, last year it was just hotter than usual. The year before, rain was scarce, harvests failed, and the imperial court didn’t reduce taxes. Households exhausted their grain stores and now owe us grain. This year, with the way things look, harvests will vanish entirely. But our own stores are running low too—we’ll have deaths…”

Wei Youcai’s face darkened. “If we don’t distribute relief soon, it’ll be too late. Any news from the county?”

The steward said: “A few days ago, I went to the county office and spoke with Secretary Zhao. He said no relief orders have come from above—and this year, new taxes are being added: Foot Armor Tax, Pacification Tax, and Ox Tax.”

“What? Ox Tax?” Master Wei rubbed his ear.

“Ox Tax.” The second steward nodded. He’d confirmed it with the secretary several times.

Wei Youcai frowned. “Do we even have oxen in this county?”

The second steward replied: “Not in decades, not that I’ve ever heard.”

In truth, not just Ye County, but Fengyuan Prefecture had never had oxen. The land bordered southern mountains with unique qi—oxen couldn’t survive here. Farmers used a creature resembling a donkey, but smaller: the dingluo. Not just Fengyuan Prefecture—across the entire Ji Kingdom, only two or three out of ten regions had oxen. Unlike northern states, where oxen were everywhere.

“No oxen at all—then why tax oxen?”

The second steward glanced at Wei Youcai’s face and whispered: “Secretary Zhao says even without oxen, the court can still levy the Ox Tax.”

Wei Youcai asked coldly: “Explain.”

“He says the court has appointed a northern Confucian scholar—famous for his writings. Since arriving, he’s pushed reforms, proposing ‘Equal Tax per Household’—taxes based on headcount. Every fifty households are counted as owning one ox, so they pay the Ox Tax. Even fishermen and boatmen must pay it.”

Wei Youcai laughed bitterly. “Even demons and monsters are crawling out now! Can write essays? Can write essays and still do such vile things?”

The steward growled: “Maybe it’s precisely because he can write essays that he’s so vile!”

Wei Youcai cursed a few more times, then fell silent. After a long while, he said: “Let’s go back.”

“Not going to Xihe Village?”

“No. The storm’s coming soon. Go into the mountains and bring back Old Six.”

The steward gasped. “Bring back Sixth Master?”

“In a great famine, refugees will come. Without Old Six, we’ll have to flee.”

The steward’s face paled. He dared not ask more, took the donkey’s reins, and rode back under the blazing sun.

Secretary Zhao’s news was accurate. Within two days, the imperial decree on new taxes arrived in the county. Ye County, remote and distant, received it last—other regions had gotten the edict half a month earlier. Instantly, public anger boiled over. Many, seeing no hope of survival, began seeking other paths.

In Yongzhou, no good citizen had ever willingly starved to death.

That morning, after breakfast, little Wei Yuan ran again toward the guards’ training ground. As he reached the edge, two enormous hands suddenly descended from above, lifting him as if he were riding clouds.

It was a massive, bald man with a face full of scars, a long knife-cut slashing his right cheek. He held Wei Yuan aloft, glaring fiercely, his expression terrifying.

Little Wei Yuan looked around—he was higher than usual when carried, seeing only the tops of heads. He burst into delighted laughter.

The bald man turned Wei Yuan’s face toward him. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Little Wei Yuan frowned. “Why should I be afraid of you?”

Though they’d never met before, Wei Yuan sensed that in this compound, the bald man was the third person—after Wei Youcai and the steward—who truly cared for him. So no matter how menacing the man’s snarls, little Wei Yuan only found him amusing.

The bald man roared with laughter. “Good lad! Come on, let’s find your father!”

The man carried Wei Yuan to the corner tower. Wei Youcai had changed into a short tunic and held a hunting bow, testing its string. But clearly unaccustomed to physical labor, he strained after just two pulls and had to set it down, panting.

The bald man walked up to Wei Youcai. “Big Brother, I’m back!”

Wei Youcai looked up at the towering man—head taller than himself—and then at the quiet child cradled in his arms. His weary face finally broke into a smile. “Old Six! Good to have you back!”

The bald Old Six said: “On my way here, I saw many refugees—coming from the northeast. The main group is thirty li out, probably thousands, and they’re led.”

“What’s their condition?”

The bald man’s voice turned grim. “I slipped in at night. The leaders were boiling meat soup. The smell was wrong—likely human flesh.”

Wei Youcai spoke calmly. “When people are starving, they’ll eat anything. Not surprising.”

He thought a moment. “Thirty li out—that means they’ll reach us in two days. If even this remote place draws thousands, the northeastern counties must be utterly depopulated.”

The man said: “Big Brother, I brought three capable brothers, ten sets of leather armor, and three fine strong bows. The refugees move slowly. If we avoid their main force, breaking out won’t be hard. Big Brother—run or stand?”

When refugees pass, nothing survives. That saying wasn’t idle. Their hoes could till soil—or cleave flesh. The Wei compound held fewer than a hundred souls. They faced thousands. If the compound fell, it meant annihilation.

Yet no one wanted to abandon home and become a refugee—not unless forced.

Wei Youcai’s narrow eyes narrowed into slits. After a long silence, he said: “Stand.”

Old Six’s eyes lit up. He grinned savagely. “Good!”

In the remaining two days, everyone in the compound worked tirelessly—raising the courtyard walls by half a foot, reinforcing weak spots with braces.

During those two days, wherever Wei Youcai went, he carried little Wei Yuan. The boy watched the bald man take leather armor and bows from leather barrels, watched guards arm themselves and don armor. On the third morning, little Wei Yuan ate a full meal with everyone else.

Soon after dawn, dust rolled along the road’s distant end—thousands of figures blurred within it. Seeing this, several guards on the wall trembled.

Wei Youcai had already changed into sturdy clothing. He carried Wei Yuan up the corner tower, ordered a high-backed chair placed atop, and sat down with the boy in his arms. The steward and the bald man stood on the tower. Seeing Wei Youcai bring the child up, they froze. The bald man asked: “Big Brother, shouldn’t we keep the child down? What if…”

Wei Youcai waved him off. “No harm. Yuan’er grew up fast—he understands everything now. Let him see blood early.”

The steward said: “Master, you shouldn’t be up here either!”

Wei Youcai grunted. “Don’t worry about me. If the refugees break in, I’ll die no matter where I hide. So today, I’ll sit right here and watch how they break my home, eat my flesh!”

As they spoke, the refugee horde drew near. Every man wore tattered clothes, faces gaunt, eyes filled with savagery. Some carried hoes, others pitchforks. Many bore dark stains—dried blood.

Among them were women, barely clothed. Some young women were bound in chains, their bodies stripped bare.

Seeing the Wei family compound ahead, the refugees’ eyes glowed green. A few among the front ranks wore local clothing, pointing at the mansion.

The steward spotted them instantly and exploded: “That’s Hu Laosan! The bastard! Last year, if we hadn’t given him grain to save his life, he’d be dead!”

The steward’s curses were useless. The refugees, seeing the mansion, could no longer hold back. Ignoring distance, they surged forward in a frenzied mob.

The refugees’ shouts were a chaotic roar—distant, indistinct. But Wei Yuan heard every word clearly. Even as dozens shouted at once, he distinguished each voice, each phrase, perfectly.

“Inside! Food and women! Brothers, kill!”

“We’re about to starve to death, while they’re having fun inside!”

“Kill every wealthy household!”

As the refugees surged forward like wild beasts, Wei Yuan suddenly turned and asked: “Why do they want to kill us?”

Wei Youcai said gently: “Just watch. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before long, the refugees reached the outer wall and began screaming as they climbed. The Wei family’s wall was only one zhang high; strong men could leap and reach the top with ease. The weaker ones were hoisted up by others, barely managing to scramble atop. The Wei family’s retainers stood on the wall. At first, some were afraid, but in the face of life and death, they all turned fierce, screaming as they slashed their knives at hands and heads reaching over—the air filled with spurting blood and flying fingers and palms.

The refugees were too numerous. Those unable to push forward picked up stones from the ground and hurled them at the wall. In moments, several retainers were struck bloody-headed, and some tumbled off the wall. But those who fell bit their lips, climbed back up, and ignored the blood streaming down their faces. Everyone knew that if the wall broke, their fate would be worse than being hacked to pieces.

The corner tower stood three zhang tall. The three bald men who had returned were now shooting arrows down one by one. All three clearly had archery training—fast and ruthless. The steward stood atop the tower, a pile of colored flags at his feet. He waved them constantly, directing the retainers, spotting targets, and shouting: “That tall man in black over there—he’s probably their leader. Shoot him!”

Under the steward’s guidance, the three archers felled seven or eight fierce refugees in moments. But now everyone’s eyes were red with bloodlust; they still charged the compound, climbing over the corpses and severed limbs of their comrades.

Under the steward’s command, the Wei family’s dozens of retainers and strong women supported each other, barely holding back the refugee assault and keeping the wall. The bald giant patrolled back and forth, rushing to any point under threat, repeatedly knocking the refugees who scaled the wall back down.

Wei Yuan sat in Wei Youcai’s arms, watching arrow after arrow pierce bodies and plunge into the ground, still dripping with blood; watching the retainers beside him tremble violently, screaming as they hurled stones downward; watching a refugee with an arrow in his belly roll on the ground, shrieking, desperately grabbing a companion’s pant leg—only for the man to curse him as an obstacle, swing his sickle, and split his skull open, then turn away without a glance and keep charging toward the mansion.

The hot stench of blood mixed with dust rolled over in waves. One retainer on the wall couldn’t hold it—he clutched the battlements and vomited violently. But moments later, a stone struck his head. Dazed, he was dragged over the wall by refugees, torn and bitten, quickly reduced to a bloody pulp, his screams echoing endlessly.

On the corner tower, Wei Youcai sat calmly, as if the bloody slaughter before him were merely children playing rough. Little Wei Yuan leaned against him, like leaning against an immovable mountain.

In moments, the fighting had lasted the length of a meal. The retainers were all gasping for breath, wounded, and their defense began to crack. A group of refugees finally swarmed onto the wall and climbed the tower. A chaotic melee erupted atop the tower!

A burly refugee kicked aside the steward and sneered as he charged toward Wei Youcai. Wei Youcai remained calm, rose, and drew his sword. But years of comfort had made him slow—he had barely raised his blade when a kick to his chest sent him sprawling. The man raised his chopping knife, ready to bring it down on Wei Youcai’s head!

As the chopping knife descended, little Wei Yuan’s mind went blank. He grabbed a short spear from the ground and thrust it into the refugee’s belly!

The man, seeing Wei Yuan was just a child, had paid him no mind—yet this spear struck with unnatural force. Shocked and furious, he kicked the child away and yanked the spear free. A gush of blood spurted from the wound, drenching little Wei Yuan.

The man’s strength drained away like water. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

Little Wei Yuan surged forward, seized the spear, and yanked it back. The strong refugee felt a force in his hands—impossible for a child—and the spear was ripped from his grip.

Little Wei Yuan stepped forward again and drove the spear into the refugee’s chest.

The refugee, in agony, gripped the spear with one hand and struggled against Wei Yuan, while his other hand groped for the chopping knife, ready to swing it at Wei Yuan’s head. Wei Yuan didn’t even look up at the knife—he gathered all his strength and slowly, steadily, pushed the spear deeper into the man’s heart.

The refugee suddenly met Wei Yuan’s eyes—deep as an abyss, hiding another world. The child’s face was utterly calm, as if he weren’t killing, but simply doing something ordinary. Looking at Wei Yuan’s face, the refugee felt an inexplicable chill in his soul. His last breath escaped. The spear plunged with a soft *plop* deep into his heart.

At that moment, the steward and the others finally slew every refugee on the tower and tossed the corpses over the edge. The main refugee force erupted into chaos, their momentum shattered.

Seeing the refugees’ morale broken, the steward seized a red flag and hurled it with all his strength toward the center of the mob.

The bald giant on the wall’s eyes lit up. He sneered: “At last! Brothers, follow me—kill!”

He leapt from the wall, crashing into several refugees as he landed, then charged straight toward where the red flag had fallen. Five more retainers in leather armor appeared from within the compound—they had not joined the wall defense, having conserved their strength. They too leapt from the wall and followed the bald giant into the heart of the refugee horde.

The bald giant roared, and a thick crimson aura erupted around him like a torch of blood. He slashed forward—one stroke split three refugees in two. Then he swung his blade in a circle, cutting down seven or eight more at the waist.

Since the crimson aura had appeared, the bald giant’s every strike carried immense power. With this elite squad, he cut through the refugees as if they were nothing, slaughtering hundreds in moments and breaking into the very center of the mob.

The refugees’ morale finally collapsed. Like a mountain falling, they scattered in an instant.

The steward finally exhaled, collapsing to the ground, muttering: “Thank heaven—they were just a rabble.”

As his guard dropped, the steward felt searing pain—he hadn’t noticed until now that a blade had slashed his back.

In the brief battle, hundreds of refugee corpses piled outside the Wei mansion. Many more lay with broken limbs, still alive, writhing and screaming. The retainers on the wall—mostly ordinary farmers—had never seen such a scene. Some clung to the wall and vomited; others laughed and cried uncontrollably.

Wei Youcai rose, pulled little Wei Yuan into his arms, and checked him for injuries. Only when he saw no wounds on the child—only the blood of others—did he finally breathe out, his face pale with shock.

Wei Youcai patted his own chest, then wiped the blood from little Wei Yuan’s face with his sleeve.

Little Wei Yuan lifted his small face and asked again: “Why do they want to kill us?”

Wei Youcai stood, holding him, and walked to the edge of the tower, pointing northeast: “They were once just like us. But now they’re starving, so they want our grain. But there isn’t enough grain, so they must eat us to survive. If we were starving and had no choice but to go elsewhere for food, we’d become just like them.”

Wei Youcai pointed southwest: “Beyond those mountains, there are many others who look nothing like us—let’s call them people. Whether hungry or not, they will eat us.”

“These are the ones who eat us directly,” Wei Youcai said, sweeping his hand northward. “Far to the north, beyond these lands, lie great cities. The people living at their centers also eat people—just not directly, and more politely. But in terms of how many they consume, they eat the most.”

Little Wei Yuan listened, half-understanding.

Wei Youcai smiled, then pointed upward: “If we stood up there, perhaps we’d see things differently. But from where we stand now...”

“...this is a world that eats people.”

Little Wei Yuan frowned, thinking hard. “Why eat people? People aren’t tasty.”

Wei Youcai swept his hand across the air: “Because the land can’t feed them all. Whether they eat, kill, or starve—someone has to die. When enough are dead, things will quiet down.”

(End of Chapter)