Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 32

“…Starting from mid-November, heavy snow fell without pause in Mobei for several days. The prolonged blizzard has become a calamity—corpses of the starved lie everywhere, and countless people have frozen to death indoors. Since the onset of the disaster, many senior ministers have repeatedly petitioned His Majesty, urging him to issue a ‘Confession of Guilt’ edict to plead for Heaven’s mercy and an end to the snow. His Majesty has been bedridden since the disaster began and has not attended court for thirteen days.”

The storyteller’s voice rang out loud and clear from behind the screen. His booming tone carried through both the main hall and the private rooms above, leaving every listener hanging on his words.

As soon as he began, all conversation ceased. Anyone who dared make noise earned a dozen angry glares.

“His Majesty has decreed that all affairs of state, great or small, are to be handled solely by the Second Prince, who has also been ordered to draft and burn the ‘Confession of Guilt’ before Heaven. Reports say the court has dispatched large contingents escorting grain and supplies north to Mobei and has transferred the garrison of Ancheng, south of Mobei, to aid in disaster relief…”

In the private room upstairs, Chu Ci listened intently, a strange familiarity welling within him—it felt oddly like listening to a news broadcast, albeit one that was already two weeks late.

From the storyteller’s words, the situation in the capital was clearly unstable. The ‘Confession of Guilt’ was meant to be a sage emperor’s self-reflection, but now it was being used as political pressure—forcing the emperor to admit wrongdoing so Heaven’s warning might be appeased.

The Jiayou Emperor had ruled forty-two years and was now about sixty-five. If his illness worsened, the empire might see a new ruler within the year.

He had few sons: the Crown Prince had died young of fever; the Third Prince was frail and sickly, reliant on medicine. Only the Second Prince was capable of handling court matters—and even his health was rumored poor.

“Alas,” Zhang Wenhai sighed, pulling Chu Ci from his thoughts, “I never imagined Mobei would suffer such a snow disaster. The land’s barren to begin with—how will the people survive?”

“The court’s already sent troops and grain,” Fang Jinyang said, though his tone was not optimistic.

“Perhaps taxes will be reduced next year,” Chen Zifang added, “so they’ll have some relief.”

“I’m afraid even then nine out of ten won’t survive…” Chu Ci murmured. In modern times, with all its science, natural disasters still claimed lives; how much worse must it be here? He could only hope that the disaster relief proposal he’d written had already reached Mobei and could save at least a few.

At his words, the others fell silent, their hearts heavy. They were all fellow countrymen—how could they not feel sorrow for those trapped in the storm?

The food and wine before them suddenly tasted like ash, but none dared stop eating. Wasting food while tens of thousands starved in the north felt like sacrilege. Somewhere in Mobei, people were likely already resorting to eating the flesh of their own children.

They had arrived in high spirits but left the tavern subdued. 

At a crossroads, Chen Zifang took his leave with a bow, and the other three returned toward Clearwater Alley in silence.

Just as Chu Ci had expected, once Sub-Inspector Mo received his disaster relief plan, he immediately rushed overnight to the prefectural city and presented it to Education Commissioner Zhu. 

Zhu then wrote an urgent dispatch to the capital that very same night.

Zhu’s mentor was Zhou Guang, the Minister of Rites, a leading figure of the Reformist (Right Minister’s) Faction.

After receiving the urgent report, Zhou convened his allies, refined the proposal, and pushed it forward. 

The imperial envoy now overseeing disaster relief—Gu Yuan—belonged to their faction as well.

This move severely damaged the prestige of the conservative Left Minister’s faction and, among the many names appended to the plan, one name—Chu Ci—quietly entered the sight of those in power for the first time.

While Gu Yuan led the imperial relief expedition north, the Ancheng garrison had already reached Mobei ahead of them.

The force was commanded by Deputy Commander Tong Yi, who brought along two companies under his command—2,240 men in total.

Each company (qianhu) oversaw ten centuries (baihu), each century two squad leaders (zongqi)—about 112 soldiers per hundred.

“Men!” Tong Yi’s voice thundered above the assembled ranks. “The people have fed us and clothed us for years. Now it is our turn to repay them! Mobei suffers under snow and hunger—our duty is to find every last one of the trapped civilians!”

Below him, silence. Every face solemn, many eyes already red.

Ancheng lay only two hundred li south of Mobei, and many of these soldiers were themselves born there. Now their homeland was buried under snow, their families’ fates unknown. Some might see them again—most would not.

Yet regardless, they would bring the people out. Yes—find them, not merely rescue them.

Mobei was a county with vast, sparse lands—seven towns and over twenty villages under its rule. After the rally, Tong Yi’s two subordinate commanders, Zhang Wenhai Qi and Zhao Qianhu, gathered twenty company captains to assign regions for relief.

The towns would be handled by local yamen runners; Ancheng’s soldiers were to take the surrounding villages. Each baihu would lead men to one or two settlements.

Some villages were near the county seat, roads flat even under snow. Others lay deep in the mountains—steep, treacherous paths where a single misstep could mean death.

“…Here are all the locations,” Zhang Wenhai Qi said, spreading out the map. “Each of you choose your sector. Whichever you take, bring its map.”

The captains hesitated. Everyone wanted the safer routes—better for both rescue and survival. But no one wanted to be the first to reach for a map. The first who picked risked drawing resentment—or worse, picking the hardest path.

Then, from the back, one captain stepped forward. Baihu Kou Jing. He took the maps for Hulu Village and Modou Village—the most perilous region of all.

“Kou Baihu, have you thought this through?” Zhang Wenhai Qi immediately reached out to stop him, hand pressing the map. He was one of the commanders and regarded Kou Jing highly—losing such a capable man to the disaster would be a great blow.

Before Kou Jing could answer, Zhao Qianhu chuckled. “The young have courage—why stop him? The rest of you, hurry up! Stop dawdling like old women.”

With that, the others quickly came forward to claim their territories. After all, the worst spots were already taken; the rest no longer mattered.

Under Zhang Wenhai Qi’s worried gaze, Kou Jing folded the two maps and left.

Once assignments were settled, each company captain gathered his subordinates to collect supplies and depart for their rescue zones.

When Kou Jing returned to his tent, his two squad leaders (zongqi) and ten team leaders (xiaoqi) were already waiting.

“Captain, which villages are we heading to?”

He spread the map on the table and pointed to the two marked in red.

One of the squad leaders looked, laughed loudly, then choked mid-laugh. Tears welled up as he bowed deeply. “Hu Jun thanks the captain—and all brothers—for granting this chance…” he said hoarsely.

Hulu and Modou were small—barely ten households each. The people lived quietly, self-sufficiently, farming by the mountains.

Hu Jun was born in Hulu Village; his mother was from Modou. He had grown up running between the two—his roots in both.

Since hearing of the disaster days ago, he had been restless. By day he forced himself to train; by night he cried silently in his bedroll.

Men were said to bleed, not weep—but that was before their hearts broke. His home, his family, his neighbors—all trapped beneath snow, life or death unknown. No man of flesh and blood could remain unmoved.

When orders for deployment came, Hu Jun had been overjoyed, eager to rush home—yet military law forbade him to act without command. He endured, waiting.

Now that they’d arrived in Mobei, the county seat itself was already a wasteland—empty streets, silent houses, not a living soul.

If the city was like this, what of the villages?

He wanted to volunteer, but he knew the two villages were the most dangerous, the hardest to reach. He couldn’t let personal feelings endanger others.

He had resolved to complete his task first, then go alone if need be—ready to die. But his brothers had already seen through him, joining with Kou Jing to take the villages for him.

One of the others clapped his shoulder, grinning. “Just don’t wet your bed crying again tonight, brother. You wailed so loud last time, the wolves came running!”

Laughter rippled through the tent—even Kou Jing’s lips curved faintly, revealing a rare, gentle smile.

“How can we say we have no clothes? We share our robes as one.”

That was no mere saying. To be tongpao—“of the same robe”—was to share blood and loyalty, life and death alike.

Kou Jing sent two men to collect supplies, then sat with the rest to study the map.

Hu Jun, most familiar with the terrain, traced his finger along the routes. “The main road’s flatter, but the soil’s loose—one misstep and you’re swallowed. On clear days we used to cling to trees just to pass. Here—” he pointed to an unmarked line—“there’s a hidden trail, made by hunters. It’s overgrown but has gentle slopes. If anyone falls, the worst they’ll get is bruised. Plenty of beasts there, but… likely frozen now.”

“Then we take that route. You’ll lead the third squad in front.”

“Yes, sir!”

When the meeting ended, the men dispersed to pack. Kou Jing quietly readied his own gear, tying everything firmly to his body.

Just before leaving, he turned back, unfastened the warm jade pendant from his neck, and set it beneath his pillow—pressing it over a sealed letter.

Then he exhaled softly and stepped outside.

This time his stride was firm, without a trace of hesitation—his back straight as ever, the bearing of a man who had long made peace with life and death.