NOVPUBChiwaco felt a tinge of envy. It didn’t matter that the house looked nice; the key point was that it was sturdy and spacious. If he had such a large house, he could have everyone live together, support each other, and feel much more at ease. He hurried on his way and finally arrived at a rather large thatched hut. He bid farewell to the two militiamen with a smile, with only Wei Zi following sullenly.
This was a new house in the Capital City, acquired with the help of the Warrior Captain, and it was the home that Chiwaco cherished and protected. The inside of the hut was pitch black. The seasoned militiaman softly called out twice before he heard some noise in a corner. Then, moving closer and holding up a torch, he found his daughter huddled in that corner.
"Luwei," he called, "why didn’t you respond when Daddy called you?"
Little Luwei sat with her head down and her legs hugged to her chest, nestled in a pile of straw in the corner of the house. She was only thirteen years old—oh, she had turned fourteen after the new year—but she was still a tiny thing. At that moment, with most of her hidden by the straw pile, only her small head was visible, much like a slender reed. In fact, the term "old" militiaman was relative; he was a little over forty, but years of exposure to the elements and relentless toil had aged him prematurely.
Seeing Luwei silent, Chiwaco sighed. He approached and affectionately touched his daughter’s head. She trembled all over, shrank back out of fear, and only relaxed slightly when she recognized her father’s face. Then she lowered her head again, buried in her knees, remaining silent.
The old militiaman looked tenderly at his daughter. She was his own flesh and blood, whom he had only just managed to find in the logistics camp, nearly having been offered to the ferocious Tekos. He was filled with dread at the thought, knowing well the fates of those women. 𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙥𝒖𝒃.𝙘𝙤𝒎
"Luwei, my Luwei, you’re all I have now, and I’m all you have... Your brother was in the second batch of conscripts, having gone to the southeast frontline long ago. That scoundrel from our village was in the third batch; he too has been sent to the battlefield, and likely he’s already perished. There was another batch a few months ago... You’re my last hope now."
Chiwaco muttered softly, his heart aching. He had heard from the Capital City’s samurai that the southeastern frontline was exceedingly brutal, even the nobility were dying like weeds, and there was no replenishing the depleted militiamen. His son, inexperienced in battle, was likely a lost cause. Still, without seeing a body, he clung to a thread of hope. His daughter, whom he had finally recovered, was his only solace.
The old militiaman stroked his daughter’s slender face, filled with distress. He took out a cornbread that had been issued that morning and offered it to Luwei. The bread was missing a corner, marked by a few bite marks. He had only nibbled on it twice in the morning, saving most of it for his daughter. Following the Warrior Captain meant a stable source of food, unlike the commoners in the city who struggled to buy even a scrap of provisions.
Luwei took the bread, her eyes lighting up. She bit into it with effort, then let out distressed whimpers. The cooled coarse bread was too hard, and she was too frail to bite through it.
Chiwaco sighed again. He took back the bread and lit a fire, boiling a pot of water. He carefully softened the bread in the water, checked the temperature to ensure it wasn’t too hot, and then handed it to his daughter along with the clay bowl.
Luwei blankly watched her father busy himself. Then, her eyes sparkling again, she lowered her head and carefully nibbled on the bread, like a tiny hamster. The old militiaman watched his daughter with a smile on his face. Wei Zi, with a wrapped headscarf, stood a couple of steps away, silently observing the old militiaman watching his daughter, the corners of his mouth slightly lifted.
After a long time, not until Luwei had finished eating and retreated back into the straw pile, did the old militiaman finally pour himself a bowl of hot water and drank down the leftovers. Then, he turned around with a sober expression and asked.
"You blockhead, have you still not found your wife and child?"
Wei Zi sadly shook his head.
"Uncle, I can’t find them anymore."
Chiwaco looked at Wei Zi for a moment before asking quietly.
"Why don’t you want a woman when the nobility ordered you to take one?"
Wei Zi stood silently for a while before shaking his head again.
"Uncle, I don’t want to. I... I’m afraid of losing again."
The old militiaman lowered his eyes and sighed deeply once more. He glanced at his daughter in the straw pile and then at Wei Zi, who stood motionless, before finally speaking.
"Blockhead, you’ve lost your wife, I’ve lost my son; let’s just muddle through together! Help me look after Luwei."
Wei Zi remained silent for a long while, not saying anything, just nodding his head firmly. After a long time, he finally asked.
"Uncle, if our lords are defeated and the Mexica come, what will we do?"
The old militiaman turned around, removed his leather armor, and hung his pointed cap properly. Then, gripping his long spear, which he never left behind, he said slowly.
"We’ll take it one step at a time. I must find a way for you, for Luwei, to survive!"
As he spoke, he looked through the holes in the thatched hut toward the towering Palace of Wind with an intense gleam in his eyes.
In the heart of the Capital City Qinchongcan, the majestic Palace of Wind still stood tall as if it were in the heavens, looking down upon all beneath it. The wind in the Capital City howled, the battle situation was dire. The commoners were adrift in the storm, the tribal militiamen were restless, the samurai held their weapons aloof, the nobility ceased their song and dance, but the priests continued their all-night chanting, praying with even greater fervor.
The Chief Minister Jinjinni, with his hands clasped behind his back, stood at the top of the palace, gazing at the flickering lights of the Capital City, like a Divine Envoy imposing upon the mortal realm. The long wind billowed, sweeping over the old man’s white hair and brushing across his aged face. The Chief Minister embraced the chill of the night wind, silent for a long while, like a statue set in stone.
