Cha Ming sighed. Things were different up north, so it was difficult to explain things in a way Southerners would understand. “It doesn’t,” he finally said, poking the fire beneath their roasting vegetables. “People can live good lives or bad lives, virtuous lives or sinful lives. For many people, it all comes down to effort and a little bit of luck.” He looked toward the village. “Unfortunately, these people have bad luck, and they’re weak to boot. They don’t get to choose their fate and can only take the life that’s dealt them.”
“Can’t we do something to help them?” Mo Ling asked. “Like you did in the monastery?”
Cha Ming nodded. “I could. Putting aside the fact that I’d need to answer to some of the most powerful people in the Ji Kingdom if I did such a thing, I could. But what then?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.
Cha Ming shrugged. “Their situation wouldn’t change, even if I killed every one of their owners. It all comes down to mentality. They are used to serfdom, so they’ve grown to rely on someone else to do certain things. They don’t know how to distribute resources, sell the goods they produce, or even guard themselves from spirit beasts or bandits.” He held out his poker and pointed it to the multi-family housing complex. “In fact, if I got rid of their problem and killed their owners, I doubt they’d last a full month before they either starved to death or ran off to another lord to become serfs once again.”
Mo Ling paused for a moment, considering. “Then how can we change these things?”
“Do you think we have the power to change a whole country?” Cha Ming asked.
Mo Ling blushed. “Maybe not a whole country, but a piece of it, maybe?”
Cha Ming nodded. “It’s possible. Your father tried to do such a thing. He and the ten protectors tried their best to improve the lot of everyone in Liaoning and in the surrounding lands, serfs included. He fed them more than other city lords would, protected them, and didn’t work them as hard. He even tried teaching them basic literacy, so they could at least understand their own serf contracts.”
This was clearly news to Mo Ling, who wasn’t too familiar with her father’s work outside of accounting.
“He tried his best,” Cha Ming continued. “In the end, he still had to choke back his anger when the reapers came. He only lost his temper when they tried to take you, and for that, they took his arm and his sword.
“Who knows if he will continue to try helping them after such a setback, such a loss in human life? Most men would give up. It’s only men like your father who can change things, but perseverance is key. Only with continued effort can things get better. If he can change his small piece of the kingdom, perhaps others can as well. If enough of them succeed, or the kingdom produces a kinder leader, the whole kingdom can change.”
By now, the sun had set, and it was possible to make out many shadows through the windows of the housing complex. Despite there being no candles to light the house, they heard music coming from inside it. All the inhabitants were singing a song together. They’d brought out a small fluffy pastry and placed it in front of a thirteen-year-old boy, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“Tell me, Mo Ling,” Cha Ming said. “Do they look unhappy to you?” She shook her head. “Everyone is dealt a different hand. Everyone is born in a different situation. They live, and they die. What matters is how everyone plays the hand they’re dealt.
“Take that family, for example. Are they wallowing in self-pity after working hard all day for a meager reward? No. Instead, they’re happy because one of their children is now thirteen years old. They’ve even decided to celebrate it. They pooled together their resources to buy enough refined flour to make the pastry he’s eating. It’s only enough for a single bite, but they’re all happy for him. They’re even singing and dancing, despite the hunger that gnaws at their bellies.”
Mo Ling looked down and pondered what he’d just said. Cha Ming turned his attention back to the barbecue, where everything was now overcooked and slightly burned. Using a smidgen of transcendent force, he pushed down the flames and retrieved their food. He tasted one of the sweet potatoes and was relieved to find that it didn’t taste as bad as he’d imagined. They both grabbed what they wanted and began their meal.
Cha Ming was halfway finished with his food when he heard some rustling in the woods beside them. Several dozen men charged out of the woods with weapons in hand and surrounded them. The strongest among them was at the peak of qi condensation, while the weakest was at the fifth level of qi condensation. They surrounded them, pointing their weapons at both Cha Ming and Mo Ling.
“Your spirit stones,” the leader said, waving his spear at Cha Ming. “Drop them where I can see them.” The man’s arms were shaky and his spear unsteady. Both he and his companions looked weak and downright exhausted.
I think I can kill them all by myself, Mo Ling sent to Cha Ming, putting her hand to her sword. While they traveled, he’d spent some time teaching her martial arts. She’d taken to them faster than he’d expected.
Cha Ming shook his head. He motioned for her to stand down and stepped up to the bandit leader. He didn’t draw a weapon. “If I’m guessing correctly, you’re all escaped serfs from the village,” Cha Ming said. “One of you is even an ex-soldier.”
They shifted uncomfortably, some of them moving their hands to their foreheads to better cover their brands.
The leader, the only ex-soldier in the lot, thrust his shaking spear closer to Cha Ming’s chest.
