Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 33

The mountains were sealed by snow, and the roads had turned treacherous.

Kou Jing led his men forward, marching alongside the other rescue teams. Occasionally, they passed a house built near the roadside. When they pushed the doors open, everyone inside was already lifeless.

The farther they went, the quieter they became. The group gradually dispersed as the path split in different directions; soon, only Kou Jing’s unit remained.

Hulu Village lay roughly seventy or eighty li from the county seat. Under normal marching conditions, they would have covered more than half the distance in an hour and a half—but now, after all that effort, they had barely gone twenty li.

The snow reached past their knees. Each step demanded lifting a leg high just to move forward. Even the army’s sturdy boots were soon soaked through.

Fine flakes still drifted down from above, fluttering softly—a beautiful sight to anyone else, but to these men, it looked like the face of a demon.

Life in the army was never easy—training in the bitter cold of winter and the blazing heat of summer—so every man here was tough and enduring. Yet despite their resolve, the conditions were brutal, and not one of them uttered a complaint.

The snow thickened, and visibility grew poor. Kou Jing ordered a halt to take shelter.

Ahead stood a tall mound—actually a roadside pavilion built long ago for travelers to rest from the rain or sun. They had seen several such pavilions along the way, all donated by wealthy county families. The structure was solid, built of fine timber, and despite the heavy snow, it still stood firm.

They crowded inside, packed shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps it was the mere comfort of having a roof overhead, but everyone suddenly felt a little warmer.

Taking advantage of the break, the men pulled out their dry rations and began to eat quietly, knowing they might not get another chance later.

As one young soldier chewed, his eyes wandered around—and suddenly he let out a shrill cry, face twisting with fear.

“What the hell are you yelling for?” an older soldier snapped, smacking the back of his head. “Nearly made me drop my bread!”

“Feet! There are feet!” the boy shouted, voice cracking in panic.

Everyone turned to look where he pointed—and sure enough, a pair of stiff, twisted feet jutted out from beneath the long bench of the pavilion.

“Pull him out,” Kou Jing ordered.

Two men stepped forward, dragging the body out. 

It was a man—stiff and frozen, face pale as ash. He had been dead for some time.

His arms were folded across his chest, head bowed low, back arched like a drawn bow. His legs curled inward so tightly that his knees pressed against his chest—his body locked into the posture of someone who had fought desperately against the cold.

How cold must it have been for a grown man to crawl into such a narrow space, curling himself up like a frightened child?

The young soldier began to sob. “Wuwu… I don’t want to die like that…”

“Enough crying!” the older soldier barked hoarsely. “If you’ve got time to weep, use it to help dig a grave.”

No one spoke further. They dug silently, shoveling away the snow until the black earth appeared below. Just as they prepared to lay the man to rest, Kou Jing suddenly said, “Wait.”

Everyone paused.

Kou Jing knelt and searched the man’s frozen body. Inside his coat, he found a small bundle—within it, a wooden box. Opening it, he found a silver bracelet with two tiny bells attached. Inside the lid were six carved characters: “For my beloved daughter, Yun Ying.”

The soldiers fell silent. Even the gruff old veteran who had scolded the boy turned away and wiped his eyes.

“When his family comes looking,” Kou Jing said quietly, “leave this as proof.”

They placed the man in the grave, each taking a turn to shovel a bit of soil over him. 

Soon, the snow began to fall again, covering the mound until it looked like a soft white blanket—beautiful and cruel.

“Move out!”

At Kou Jing’s command, the group left the pavilion and pressed on.

They marched quickly for nearly two more hours before reaching the foot of the mountain where Hulu Village lay. It was only a quarter-hour’s climb from there—but before them stretched a blinding sheet of white, where one could no longer tell mountain from road. At least the snowfall had finally stopped.

Hu Jun stepped forward. “We’ll go up from here. After about a stick of incense’s time, we’ll reach the small path I mentioned. I grew up walking this route—I could find it even blindfolded. Just follow my footprints closely, don’t stray.”

He took the lead, stamping each step firmly so the men behind could tread safely in his tracks.

They advanced without mishap and soon reached the narrow hunter’s trail.

“Be careful,” Hu Jun warned. “This road’s used only by hunters. There may still be traps around—don’t step off the path, and stay right behind me.”

Everyone nodded and followed.

After some time, a muffled groan rose from behind them. They turned, but no one appeared injured. They resumed walking.

Kou Jing, sensing something wrong, deliberately slowed his pace and fell to the rear, watching as the men passed him one by one.

Then he noticed Chang Hu, the young soldier at the end of the line. Despite the freezing cold, sweat poured from his brow, and his face twitched now and then in pain.

“…Hold onto this.” Kou Jing offered him the shaft of his spear.

Chang Hu looked down, tears spilling over. His foot was bleeding. He had accidentally stepped into a metal trap, one of those left by hunters. Though he had managed to pull free, his foot was badly mangled.

He had joined the army because his family was too poor. Being the youngest, everyone looked out for him. But he’d already caused trouble several times on this mission—and now, hurt again, he’d hoped to hide it, not slow them down.

He hadn’t expected Kou Jing to notice—and even less, to quietly help him keep his dignity. Gripping the spear, he leaned on it heavily, and the weight on his injured foot eased.

Kou Jing bore half his weight without a word as they climbed together. 

After several more turns, Hu Jun shouted from ahead, “We’re here!”

Before them, several thatched huts came into view—half-buried under snow, two of them completely collapsed beneath it.

All eyes turned to Hu Jun. His face was ashen with grief, and the men’s hearts tightened with pity.

He staggered to the nearest hut and used his knife sheath to scrape away the snow blocking the door. His hands trembled as he pushed it open—no one inside.

“Empty!” he called out, voice cracking.

The others quickly searched the remaining huts—also empty. A few sharp-eyed soldiers noticed that the food stores had been cleared out.

“They must’ve gone somewhere to take shelter,” Kou Jing said. “Is there anywhere nearby that could hold a large group?”

Hu Jun shook his head. Their village was poor; few had courtyards, let alone a clan hall big enough to shelter all. Then his eyes lit up.

“There’s a cave—not far behind the mountain! When we were kids, we explored it. It’s big enough to hold hundreds of people.”

Hulu and Modou together had fewer than two hundred residents—it would be enough.

Encouraged, they checked a few more houses to confirm and then set off toward the cave.

Before long, faint voices drifted from ahead—two women arguing.

Since entering Mobei, they hadn’t heard a single living conversation. The sound of human voices lifted everyone’s spirits, and they quickened their pace.

“…That’s clearly my chicken’s egg! Your old hen hasn’t laid in months!”

“Who says it hasn’t? It laid one just yesterday!”

“So that’s why I didn’t find an egg yesterday—you stole it! Give it back!”

“Mother! Aunt Chunhua!” Hu Jun’s eyes filled with tears as he ran forward. The loud woman with the ruddy cheeks and booming voice was his mother.

“Goudan! Didn’t you go off to be a soldier? Why are you back? You didn’t do something bad, did you?” she asked anxiously, forgetting her quarrel.

“No, Mother,” Hu Jun explained breathlessly. “We came to rescue you!”

Once she understood, she broke into a broad smile. “Ha! I knew my son was capable! We’re fine here, all thanks to the old patriarch—if he hadn’t insisted we all move into the cave together, we’d have frozen to death in our homes.”

Inside the cave, the elderly sat around fires chatting, children sprawled on their laps listening intently. The men chopped wood or repaired tools, while the women bustled about, arguing over trifles but laughing moments later.

After witnessing so much death along the way, this sight filled the soldiers’ hearts with warmth. It felt like stepping out of hell and back into the world of the living.

By December 6th, the snow finally stopped, and the sun broke through the sky that had been gray since mid-November.

By December 10th, the imperial disaster relief forces arrived. The Ancheng troops’ rescue work was complete, and the survivors were relocated to Mobei’s county seat for centralized care.

In addition to grain, the court issued consolation payments—for every person aged seven or older who had died, families received six hundred copper coins for burial expenses. Moreover, Mobei was granted two years of tax exemption to recover.

Under Minister Gu Yuan’s leadership, reconstruction began according to the plans laid out in Chu Ci’s disaster strategy. Everything was slowly moving toward recovery.

But apart from Hulu and Modou Villages, which had not lost a single soul, the other settlements suffered devastating losses. 

Chu Ci’s grim prediction—“nine of ten won’t survive”—had come true.

Of the original twenty to thirty thousand people, only five or six thousand remained alive. The worst tragedy was a family from Xiayuan Village—over ten members starved to death in their home. The household tools bore deep bite marks; clearly, they had eaten anything they could before the end.

When Kou Jing returned to camp, he happened to glance over the casualty ledger. One entry caught his eye:

“Yun family, seven members—six deceased. Names below: Yun Ying, infant. Eldest son, Yun Dalang—missing.”

Kou Jing silently took out the silver bracelet he had found earlier and handed it to the clerk in charge of relief registration.

“Yun Dalang died on the road,” he said. “If any relatives come looking, give this to them.”

May they all find one another again—in the world below.