ACT I: A New Moon Rises

  Song Chang, as was well known, was not unfamiliar with beaten dirt roads and rickety, well-worn carriages. That was in fact where he’d felt most at home, traversing the land with a sword on his hip and his men riding their horses close behind. He lived for the thrill, the chilly air, the smell of freshly blooming flowers, the breeze toying with his hair, the exhilaration after a victorious battle.

  But seeing now, sitting in a cramped little carriage, where his knees bumped against the wooden sides every time the uneven ground jostled the wheels even just a little bit—suddenly Song Chang didn’t find traveling all that appealing anymore.

  Alas, duty called, whether he liked it or not. No-name Village, as Song Chang called it. Not out of ignorance, or dare one say vanity, but as in the village was truly so unimportant and uninteresting that not even a name had been bestowed upon it. With all the inner turmoil of the nation, the battles for the throne and war with the neighboring nations, its unimportance was probably the reason it had managed to slip by undetected for almost a decade, and successfully avoid paying a single coin or a wisp of a grain in taxes to the county.

  Under normal circumstances, a single village’s worth of taxes couldn't exactly thwart a whole county, but the circumstances of Hepo County were less than ideal as of late. In any case, sending a few tax collectors with some well-worded messages, and then maybe a bored soldier or two should’ve done the trick. It should’ve intimidated the inhabitants enough to scrape together a bag of coins or maybe a small cart’s worth of rice. In fact, Song Chang would’ve been happy with even just a feeble little chicken, or anything really to show that he had tried and the village had delivered.

  Anything, just so he wouldn't have to listen to Li Zhong and Zhan Wei gnawing at his ear about collecting debts and honor of the manor and whatever else those rigid old men liked to bother him with.

  But the tax collectors came back empty handed, shaking their heads and showing their empty palms to the magistrate, while the soldiers merely shrugged their shoulders saying their intimidation fell onto deaf ears—it was useless. No-name Village just wouldn't pay.

  Upon being presented with such, Song Chang faced two choices: continue sending people to bother the villagers until they eventually caved in, or leave the matter entirely and live with the fact he was defeated by a handful of dirty farmers. Any good and respectable magistrate would’ve chosen the first option, and any lazy or cowardly one would’ve gone with the second.

  But Song Chang was neither of those. If anything, he was determined, maybe even a little petty at times. So if the villagers refused to pay, then he would go there himself. No-name Village was only five days worth of travel away, a mere nothing compared to the months he had spent on horseback before.

  He was quite sure his earlier attempts only failed due to the fact he didn’t send the right message. Some well-fed tax collectors and scrawny army-wannabees, the villagers probably laughed themselves to death at the sight.

  So against his better judgement, Song Chang gathered up a few troops, got a trusted attendant here and there, and made the journey.

  The road proved to be a lot more difficult than Song Chang could have possibly anticipated. It was apparent soon after leaving the last major town that this so-called unimportance of the village didn’t only extend to paying taxes. The dirt paths were covered with overgrown foliage in some places, and the trees on the sides of the road leaned their branches so far down that it was nigh impossible to pass, as if they were deliberately trying to keep anyone from entering.

  Song Chang tapped his left foot against the floor of the carriage, fingers bunching up the edge of the curtain as he watched the last of the logs be moved out the way. It was getting unbearably hot inside the small, enclosed space, and the blaring summer sun was most definitely not helping with his already irritable mood.

  Beyond the forest he could already see the outlines of dilapidated shacks and some meager little rice fields. As the carriage finally jolted and the wheels began turning, the county magistrate let out a huff of a sigh, watching with rapt attention as his entourage slowly rolled into the village.

  ○ ? ○

  Yue Xing threw one leg over the other; he rested his head on his palm, hunching over as he sat on the splintery planks of the three-step staircase. He watched wordlessly as the blurs of color danced across his vision, his little sister just some few steps away drawing shapes in the dirt with the same stick he’d snapped off the neighbor's tree earlier.

  Behind him in the house he could still hear the clamor of his mother and older sister arguing, every word loud and clear for all in the vicinity to hear. Instead of listening to the same old fight once more, Yue Xing only closed his eyes. Lowering his head, he brought his knees up to his chest.

  He could hear his sister, silly little A-Qiao babbling away some nonsense and the cicadas sung their tireless tunes just some short distance away in the tall grass. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck, yet as he reached to wipe it, he only managed to smear his dirty hand against his skin. Yue Xing frowned, frustrated and uselessly bored.

  He reopened his eyes. The blob that appeared to be A-Qiao was still drawing circles—or at least something resembling circles, maybe the blaring sun itself—into the dust. Yue Xing was just about to open his mouth and call out to his sister to come inside the shade lest she get sunburnt once more, when over the murmur of the wildlife and the not-so-distant yelling of his mother, he heard a commotion just a few houses down.

  His heart seized instantly, thinking maybe it was Qin Zhi and his group back for one more round of cat and mouse. But after listening for a few moments he realized that couldn't have been the case. That day’s clamor was panicked, it wasn’t anything like the angry shouts that usually accompanied Yue Xing’s troubles.

  There were five, then ten, then twenty voices. Then the shouting grew so loud even his mother and sister stopped in their tracks to peek out the window.

  His mother scrunched up her nose, her sun-kissed cheeks still red from all the cussing she had done earlier. She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the source of the ruckus. His older sister only crossed her arms, leaning against the wall by the window and acting as if she wasn't nearly as nosy as their mother. Yue Xing pressed his lips tightly together.

  “Xing-er,” his mother's voice called out to him. “Yue Xing, go see what's this all about.” She pointed her finger down the street with a stern expression.

  Yue Xing sighed. He could tell from his mother's tone that if he didn't go, and didn't go immediately, then he would be on the other end of her endless berating for another week or so. He couldn't possibly stand that, especially not while his sister would most likely stare smugly at him from the corner of the room.

  Yue Xing stood, the old stair creaking under his weight, he dusted his pants as he walked off. On the edge of the village stood a large group of people—so large, it must have comprised nearly half the village. He craned his neck, trying to get a peek into the middle of the circle where he heard the loudest voices from. The discussion seemed heated, heated enough that he couldn't understand a single word of it.

  Frowning slightly, he respectfully tapped the shoulder of the person nearest—a middle aged man who must’ve rushed to see the commotion in a similar fashion to Yue Xing, since his hands were still dirty from farmwork.

  “Excuse me, uncle. What’s the issue here?” Yue Xing spoke quietly, hoping that the meek smile on his face was enough to keep the man’s anger at bay for touching him.

  The man first scoffed, jerking his shoulder away he dusted off his clothes as if he was trying to get rid of the remnants of his touch. For a moment, Yue Xing thought the man wouldn't even deign him with an answer, but he spoke up roughly.

  “The magistrate is coming,” the man grumbled. “That boy, the one that's being berated by Uncle Zhi, said he saw the county magistrate’s carriage heading this way. He says they even asked for directions.”

  Yue Xing shook his head, confusion evident on his face. “What does that mean?” he asked softly, but the man only sneered, turning away from his direction entirely.

  Yue Xing frowned slightly at the motion before quickly shaking his head. Carefully, he pushed through the crowd, uttering sorrys and excuse-mes with every scoff and curse he elicited from the village folk—a bumped shoulder here, a stepped-on foot there. Slowly but surely, he made it to the front, standing on the edge of the inner circle.

  There was indeed a boy in the middle, not any less scrawny than the rest of them, and there was indeed Uncle Zhi, the headstrong, self-proclaimed patriarch of the village, with his little group of similarly simple-minded elders.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  After a few moments of them murmuring something between each other, Uncle Zhi turned towards the crowd with a solemn expression, his snake-like face contorting unpleasantly. “My dear friends! It is clear that we are facing such a grave obstacle. The county magistrate seems to not have been appeased by our efforts and is coming to take retribution!” Uncle Zhi’s words quickly quieted the murmuring village folk.

  Yue Xing listened in silence. He had been aware of the magistrate’s attempts that bombarded their community in the last few months, all sorts of people coming and going, demanding that they pay up their long-due taxes.

  But the village was poor, as far as he knew. Dirt poor, in fact. Their community had barely been getting by from season to season, one harvest worse than the last. It had all started two years prior, when the nearby river’s path had been diverted to instead water the fields of some pompous noble lord who sold directly to the Imperial Army, leaving their village in an almost constant state of drought.

  That is to say that no matter how much the county pestered them, they couldn't possibly offer them anything even remotely food or coin shaped—not without starving themselves, at least.

  Uncle Zhi cleared his throat, raising his hand up. “But worry not, I have come up with a simple, yet effective solution!” he exclaimed with a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “We all know what these nobles are like, how vile they are. To make amends, we shall offer the magistrate a slave.”

  An aghast gasp rippled through the group at the mere mention of the word slave, each turning to their neighbor, whispering hushed words and shaking their heads. Yue Xing looked around dumbfounded, had he heard it right?

  No one met his eye, if anything, some stepped even farther away from him than they had before. Uncle Zhi’s expression faltered for a moment before he schooled it once more.

  “Now, now. I know we are a very tightly knit community, like a big, happy family. As such, it'll be hard to part from one of our own. But trust me, your sacrifice will be greatly honored.” Uncle Zhi clasped his hands together, fixing them with a stern expression. “We don’t have much time now. Well then, who volunteers?”

  Unsurprisingly, Uncle Zhi’s question was met with silence. In the distance, Yue Xing could faintly make out the sounds of hooves beating against the dry dirt path. His eyes darted to find the source, but that very same moment, as if pushed from behind, he stumbled into the center of the circle almost crashing right into the group of elders.

  “Why not him?” a voice rang out from somewhere in the crowd, one Yue Xing recognized as that of Qin Zhi’s.

  “Me?” Yue Xing asked, stunned, his eyes widening in shock. The man couldn't possibly have meant it—sure he was not the greatest, and he and Qin Zhi never got off on the right foot, but surely, he wasn’t so incompetent that they would consider exchanging him as a slave!

  “Yeah, you! You’re useless anyway—you’re stupid!” a different man from the edge of the crowd exclaimed, earning a few nods from his neighbors.

  “Well, I…” Yue Xing stuttered, before he could get a word in.

  “And blind, too! No wonder you break everything in your path!” an auntie shrieked, eliciting a giggle from the two kids plastered to her side.

  “I’m not… I’m not blind.” Yue Xing weakly protested, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. He spun around, trying to find a single person who was willing to hear him out, but no one even looked at him. Freezing cold dread washed over him.

  “I… I’ll do better, I swear! I might be dumb, but— but I can do better! I promise! I swear, I’ll never break a single jar again. And I won’t trample the rice fields anymore; I won’t even go near it! I… I’ll be quiet, I won’t even leave the house. You won’t even have to see me, I just— please, don’t…” Yue Xing’s words turned begging, his heart thrumming in his ear, in tandem with the ever-nearing hoofbeats.

  He swallowed thickly, his head swimming as if he was actively being tossed around by a vast and cold river. “My mother… She already… My brothers, I mean— What will my mother do?” Yue Xing shook his head, his knees shaking under his weight. Nobody answered. Nobody dared to.

  A hand came down on his shoulder, bony and old, yet it squeezed him so strongly Yue Xing felt it choking every single word out of him. “My dear, Xing-er,” Uncle Zhi said, his tone sickly sweet, yet full of venom. “Your sacrifice will be greatly appreciated. Believe me, the village shall never forget what you did for us.”

  The outlines of the magistrate’s carriage appeared on the path, the creaking of the wheels on the rough road and the dissatisfied huffs of the horses clearer than ever. Uncle Zhi fixed Yue Xing with a tight smile that definitely didn’t reach his eyes. “Now let us greet the lord. There’s no need to fight, I’m sure he’ll be, erm, nice.”

  The procession stopped a short distance away, the main carriage itself halting just opposite the group. Everyone scurried a step back as the guards filed out, a neat, single line of them forming on the road, as if they were a barrier between the village and the outside world. The message was clear: it’s no use running now. Then came the attendants, hurrying to the carriage while the announcement rang out.

  “His Lordship, Song Chang arrives!”

  The hands on Yue Xing’s shoulders tightened, almost enough to bruise. The curtain of the carriage slipped away, revealing the form of a man, clad in rich, light blue robes, tied tightly at the hip. He was tall, towering a good half-a-head above Yue Xing himself as he stepped forward, the line of guards parting momentarily to let him pass.

  Yue Xing swallowed, a shaky breath slipping from his lips as he blinked away tears. He was terrified, shaking like a rabbit. He wanted to run, yet his legs felt as if they had been permanently bolted to the ground, heavy and unmovable. His mother had only sent him out to see what the clamor was about and yet he now found himself being sold off. His mother, Yue Xing, really wanted his mother.

  He wanted to scream for her, but not a single sound came out of his trembling lips. But even if it did, Yue Xing wasn’t sure his mother would come for him anyway. He wasn't a good enough kid for that.

  Song Chang leveled the group with a look that was nothing short of irritable and puzzled, surveying the group as they stood a good few paces behind Uncle Zhi and the terrified youth in his arms.

  Uncle Zhi inclined his head, his old body not allowing for much more. Once he saw Yue Xing frozen in place, he harshly pushed down on the youth’s head. “Behave yourself.” Uncle Zhi hissed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Song Chang’s voice rang out over the hush. Yue Xing could feel himself flinching at the sound.

  “My great lord, this humble subject greets you,” Uncle Zhi said, his old face contorting. Song Chang’s face twitched at the over the top pleasantly.

  “Answer the question.” Song Chang said sternly. Uncle Zhi frowned, not at all pleased that his flattery fell on deaf ears. He cleared his throat.

  “We have heard of your arrival ahead of time, so we gathered here to greet you, my lord.” Uncle Zhi croaked. “Regrettably, we cannot grant you what you desire. We are very, very poor, you see. So, we have come up with a compromise.”

  At that, Uncle Zhi gave Yue Xing a shove, sending the trembling boy stumbling forward and his knees giving out, barely catching himself with his hands. “He is yours to do with whatever you desire. A slave, if you will.” At the word, Yue Xing’s head reeled once more.

  Song Chang took a step back, grimacing. The guards exchanged shocked glances. “I don’t take slaves.” Song Chang said furiously at the mere implication, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

  Uncle Zhi’s expression faltered, his polite smile tightening once more. “I’m afraid it’s all we have.” he said, barely more than a hiss.

  “I don’t want him.” Song Chang said firmly, his eyes darkening at the disrespect.

  “You must understand, my lord, we don’t want him either.” Unshed tears bubbled up in Yue Xing’s eyes, slipping down his cheeks with a quiet sob. It didn’t matter that he’d heard the phrase before, it hurt all the same this time around. It was utterly shameful, humiliating, yet Yue Xing couldn't fight back. He couldn't as much as raise his head and dare to meet the county magistrate’s eyes; he couldn't even gather the strength to look back towards the people he had desperately tried to call his community.

  He couldn't see the expression on Song Chang’s face, but he could guess what it was: anger. He must have been ashamed that all the village could give him was one short and scrawny dumb boy. Yue Xing didn’t need to look up to know it; he had seen that face many times before.

  There was a brief moment of silence—or maybe not, Yue Xing could barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Somewhere above him, Song Chang took a breath.

  “Zhan Wei.” he said, and an older man rushed forward.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Make room for him in one of the wagons. We’re departing imminently.” The village collectively heaved a sigh. In contrast, a terrible sob tore from Yue Xing’s chest.

  “Certainly, my lord.” Zhan Wei nodded hastily, rushing back around to bark orders. Song Chang himself stepped away, turning his back as the guards parted to make way for him once more.

  A pair of hands reached down for the boy on the ground. Yue Xing shook his head furiously, desperately trying to pull away. “No, please… I don’t—I don’t want to…” Yue Xing cried.

  The guard huffed. “Stay quiet and let me help you up.” he said, taking a hold of Yue Xing and pulling him up to stand.

  The entourage began preparations for the journey back home and the villagers slowly scattered, some shaking their heads, some with self-satisfied grins on their faces. Uncle Zhi watched almost proudly as Yue Xing was led away and made to squeeze in with the guards.

  Before climbing into his own carriage, however, Song Chang turned back around. He looked at the old man for a moment, before he spoke.

  “Zhan Wei,” he called out and the man was at his hide once more. “See to it that this kind uncle gets exactly what he deserves for his noble help.” he said and then disappeared behind the thick curtain.

  “As you wish, my lord.” Zhan Wei nodded solemnly.