"Hurry up! If you haven't reached the foot of Mount Changshan by Shen hour (3:00 PM to 5:00 PM), you won't eat!"
The shout from a soldier at the front of the line echoed across the area, followed by the sharp crack of a cowhide whip striking the flesh of some unfortunate Goguryeo (Korean) captive, who happened to be closest to the soldier.
Over a thousand captives from Joseon had journeyed across waters and lands to Chang'an, the capital of the Great Qing Empire, an empire with a history spanning more than four hundred years. It was established at the beginning of the old Wu Dynasty, a venerable lineage that gave birth to many renowned emperors. The current emperor, the seventeenth in succession, was named Wu Dinggao. He was knowledgeable and possessed exceptional prowess in both martial arts and scholarly pursuits, enabling him to expand the dominion of Great Qing as far as Joseon. With skilled generals leading the armies, brilliant strategists adept in military tactics, and more than five hundred thousand infantry and cavalry soldiers, the Joseon kingdom was ultimately defeated in the war. King Taejo was forced to abdicate his throne, surrender, and offer tribute in the form of a thousand cartloads of common folk, rice, grains, salt, and silk. This was to signify that the Goguryeo people agreed to become a part of the Great Qing Empire under the reign of Emperor Wu Dinggao.
Among the captives sent as tribute, there should have been ten thousand in truth. However, Emperor Wu Dinggao's demands were too extensive, resulting in only a thousand selected captives reaching the capital of Chang'an. These demands stipulated that they must be strong and healthy, without deformities, and not too old. Thus, this procession of captives consisted only of children and young adults with dark hair, their faces grimy and their clothes thin and ragged. Thankfully, they traveled during the seventh month, so there were no biting winds or cruel snow to torment them.
Yet, traveling barefoot in the summer heat was equally painful. Heavy, rusted chains clanked on their hands and ankles, emitting an irritating sound. Such prisoner restraints might not be severe for adults, but for small children weighing less than fifty jin (a Chinese unit of weight, one jin equals five hundred grams), it was truly cruel. Of course, no one cared about this. A captive was a captive. There was no distinction between child or adult, male or female. If one could not bear it, they simply collapsed to be trampled by others, dying a pathetic death, for this procession of captives made no sudden stops without a command from the general.
"My child, are you alright? Hold Mother's hand, I will help you carry the chains."
"I am fine, Mother. Do not worry," the small face, smudged with dirt, smiled faintly at his mother. He took a deep breath and raised both hands above his head, showing his mother that he still had plenty of strength. The innocent heart of the child wished to spare his mother any concern.
"If you are thirsty, tell me."
"I am not thirsty. I am not tired. I will not cause Mother trouble." The boy, who seemed no older than ten, looked up at his mother beside him and smiled widely again. Since being captured by the soldiers from Joseon and journeying to Chang'an, throughout the many months, the child had never complained of being tired, nor had he feared anything, as long as his mother remained by his side.
The ten-year-old boy had followed his mother stubbornly. When the soldiers first raided their home, his mother told the soldiers he was mute and could not speak, asking them to take only her. However, when he saw those wicked soldiers mercilessly dragging his mother, the child inadvertently cried out her name, tears streaming down his face, and begged to follow as a captive.
If one were to ask about his father, his father had fallen ill and passed away many years ago. His mother had raised him alone. What money they once had was spent on doctors and herbal remedies to treat his father, but they could not prolong his life, leading his father to visit the Yellow Springs (to the underworld or afterlife) at a young age. From then on, his mother worked day and night until her once soft hands were entirely chafed and worn.
His mother was the boy's entire world. Wherever his mother was, whatever she did, this small child, only a few chi tall (one chi equals twenty-three centimeters), would insist on following. He did not fear the Great Qing soldiers, nor did he fear hardship. The only thing he feared was being separated from his mother.
"What about your feet then? Do they not hurt? You are bleeding so much, if you still lie to Mother that it does not hurt, I will strike you," his mother asked in a mock serious tone, bending down to look at his small feet, covered in blisters from walking barefoot, treading on dirt and sand. Sometimes he would stumble and cut himself on sharp rocks, leaving blood everywhere.
"Let Mother carry you. If you keep walking, you will get an incurable wound, and they might cut off your feet, you know."
"No, no, no! I do not hurt. I can walk. It is true I am bleeding, but it has all dried up," the child still insisted on refusing, until his mother, who knew her son's nature well, could only sigh. She knew this child was filial. Even if his wounds were severe and oozing pus mixed with blood, he would never utter a complaint.
"Then let Mother go ask the soldiers for some medicine. Just a little. You may not hurt, but seeing it hurts Mother."
As she was about to break from the line to ask for medicine for her son, the boy grabbed her arm tightly, shaking his head vigorously. "Mother, do not go! If you go, you will surely be whipped like that auntie!"
A few days prior, a young woman had fallen ill with a fever. She was vomiting, her face pale, her eyes vacant. By all appearances, she would not survive the journey to Great Qing. A young man who had been captured with her, seeing her dire state, bravely went to ask a soldier for medicine. However, he was beaten to death and left by the roadside. The young woman also succumbed to her fever.
Such was the life of a captive. They were treated worse than beasts. They barely had food, and were allowed only a few sips of water each day. How could captives be given medicine for illness? If one fell ill, they were simply left to die. If they disobeyed, they were whipped to death. If they broke ranks or made demands, they were tortured to death as well. The young boy understood this well, and so he remained humble and reserved, gritting his teeth and enduring everything so as not to cause his mother further hardship.
"Then shall Mother carry you? Like when I gave birth to you a few months ago, a tiny little dumpling, but you cried so loudly!"
"I am not a baby anymore, Mother," the boy pouted. "I heard that once we reach the foot of Mount Changshan, the soldiers will camp there. It is only a few more li (one li equals five hundred meters). I can bear it. I will grow up to be strong like Father. If I cannot endure even this, how can I face Father in the afterlife?"
The middle-aged woman heard her son mention his departed father, and her eyes suddenly welled with tears. She pitied their fate. She had lost her husband to illness just a few years ago. Then, her own parents and family perished due to the war, leaving only the two of them, mother and son.
"Yes, my child is the best. You will surely grow into a proud and dignified man, just like your father," she said with a smile, stroking the boy's sticky hair with her rough hand.
Whatever the future held, she wished for nothing but for her only son to grow up, whether as a soldier, a servant, or merely a mine laborer due to his status as a captive. Simply to live on, to breathe on this earth every day, was enough.