Chương 266: Chapter 258 — Taking a Room at an Inn

In the region of the Yazi River and the Huntong River, around the area of present-day Tahu Fortress southeast of Da'an in Jilin Province, there was Changchun Prefecture. The Yazi River had originally been a spring hunting ground, and every spring the emperor's traveling court moved there. Since Tianzuo had summoned troops to the imperial camp in the Changchun Prefecture region, this area had now become the center of Liao's northeastern army.

Yeongu intended to continue his mission without leaving Changchun Prefecture. As he turned along the road, he found an inn. He had not even eaten lunch yet. Changchun Inn. Yeongu looked at the signboard and gave a faint laugh. Some people hear Liaodong and imagine only a rough frontier. Yet this land had carried an ancient force older than the Yellow River civilization, and Buyeo, Goguryeo, and Balhae had risen here in succession. Now it was also the hunting ground of the Liao emperor.

When spring came, the hunting roads opened, and the tents of the empire, officials, soldiers, and merchants all gathered together. Naturally, there had to be inns. The name Long Spring amused him. Spring is usually not long. It is short enough to leave regret, lingers as though only for a moment, and soon passes into summer. The name Changchun must have come from the wish that such a brief season might last long. Yeongu wanted to lay his own name upon that wish, at least a little.

When he stepped inside, an attendant bowed deeply.

"Welcome."

"One quiet room, and something to eat."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"This way, please." The attendant pointed inward.

"The rooms are that way. Yours is the room marked Spring."

"Good. And the food?"

"What would you like? I can prepare it here for you." The attendant pointed to a broad table. It was too large for one person, but the other tables were all much the same. The attendant studied Yeongu's speech and face, then smiled carefully.

"You are Balhae, sir." Yeongu looked at him.

"And you?"

"I am Balhae as well. Ahaha." The laugh was awkward, yet friendly. Yeongu placed a hand on the table.

"What is good here?"

"Shall I recommend something?"

"I am not picky. Bring whatever you do well. Just keep the cost from becoming too much."

"I will take care of you." The attendant bowed deeply and hurried away in small quick steps. A short while later, tea came first. Since tea was brought out without being ordered, this inn was clearly accustomed to military officers and merchants passing along the hunting road. Khitai nobles steeped in Central Plain habits must have come through here, and officers from the army camps must have rested their horses here as well.

The people of Liao, especially Khitai nobles, court attendants, and higher officers in the military camps, drank quite a lot of tea. It was not only the elegant scene of Song literati drinking clear tea. There was powdered tea in the Song style, boiled tea, and northern milk tea as well. Powdered tea was the Song method of whisking ground tea into hot water until it foamed. Boiled tea was tea simmered in water, well suited to military camps and traveling imperial courts.

Milk tea was tea boiled with milk and seasoned with salt. Tea does not grow on the northern steppe. Even so, it flowed in constantly through trade with Song, diplomatic missions, gifts, and border markets. Tea formed a large part of trade between Song and Liao, and tea and tea utensils were included among gifts sent from Song. Tea in a Liao military camp or traveling court was no longer anything unusual. What the attendant brought was tea with milk, salt, and spices.

It was not very different from the rough tea boiled in military camps and mixed with milk. A milky smell settled over the bitterness of the tea leaves, and at the end there remained a sharp tingling like Sichuan pepper. Yeongu took a sip and frowned. It was an entirely different thing from the tea he had drunk in Korean temples. He had stayed in this region for quite a while, but his body still did not easily accept this flavor. Yeongu was not picky about much, but the food and drink here always gave him trouble.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Rather than tea, it was closer to a hot broth taken with meat to press down the cold. Still, when a cool wind began to blow in through the window, it gradually passed down his throat. His body felt heavy and stale, like a man who had not been home for several days. The food came out. Dumplings and noodles were set down first.

Then came a thick broth, like something made from boiled dried meat, and in that broth lay one broad, mysterious fish. Its scales had been removed, but the skin was tough, and a thick layer of oil floated on top of the soup. It was even more bewildering than the food he had eaten in the Jurchen camp, but hunger defeats everything. Yeongu picked up his chopsticks and began eating ravenously. The broth was salty, the fish smelled faintly of mud, and the dumpling filling carried the strong odor of mutton.

Still, when something hot entered his stomach, his body relaxed a little. He took another sip of milk tea, frowned again, and this time forced it down. Just then, through the open window, he saw a group of cavalry rushing past. The horses' hooves kicked up dust from the road, and the riders' shouts brushed past the front of the inn. The cavalry passed the inn and galloped along the northern road. Yeongu watched them with his chopsticks still in his hand. Perhaps those men were looking for him.

The prisoner who had escaped from jail. The Korean commander of Jin's Korean support detachment. The man who had beaten people inside the Liao camp, made a junior general kneel, planted words, and vanished. They had more than enough reason to search. Yeongu slowly picked up a piece of fish. Then he lowered his head and began eating again, like a man with nothing to do with any of it. A fleeing man does not look too long out the window. He had to look like a hungry traveler.

He slowed his chopsticks a little, took a sip of milk tea, and called the attendant.

"Where are those cavalry going?" The attendant glanced out the window.

"The military camps have been noisy for the past few days. Some say they are looking for someone, and some say a spy has entered." Yeongu calmly nodded.

"A frightening matter." The attendant lowered his voice.

"You should rest early today as well, sir. There will be inspections on every road."

"I suppose I should." He split a dumpling with the tip of his chopsticks. Inside, he gave a short laugh. He had meant to seep in without sound or rumor, but that had already gone to ruin. He had made a grand mess of it. Now the entire Liao camp was looking for him. A short while later, guests began entering one by one, and the empty seats quickly disappeared. The seats near the door filled first, and soon the seats by the brazier were blocked by people as well.

The attendant went back and forth several times carrying bowls, then stopped carefully in front of Yeongu's table.

"Sir."

"What?"

"We are short of seats. Would it be all right if others shared your table?" Yeongu set down his chopsticks and looked around the inn. There really were no empty tables. Two merchants who looked as if they had come a long way stood by the door, and one man with a bow on his back waited with his eyes lowered. Behind them, muddy water from wet straw shoes spread across the floor. Suddenly, the inside of the inn stirred. From outside came horse cries and the rumble of wheels all at once.

Several carriages that had run a long way along the dirt road stopped in front of the inn, and the drivers pulled at the reins while shouting to one another. Mud from the cartwheels splashed almost to the threshold, and the horses' hot breath spread white into the cold air. It was a merchant caravan. The front carriage was covered in thick cloth, and the carts following behind were filled with wooden crates and jars wrapped in straw.

Account keepers with tally sticks at their waists, porters with load straps over their shoulders, and guards wearing swords entered one after another, and the remaining space inside the inn vanished at once. Every time the door opened, cold wind pushed in from outside, and the warmth of the brazier inside mixed with people's breath, gathering damp steam near the floor. The attendants moved almost at a run.

One pointed out a place to shake the mud from wet straw shoes, and another ran to the soup pot to bring out more bowls. Behind the counter, the owner stretched out his neck and tried to count the guests, then soon shouted with the face of a man who had given up.

"Seat them together wherever there's room. Split the large tables in two, and pull out the benches by the wall." At that order, the tables inside the inn began to shift little by little. The wooden legs scraped across the floor from every direction. The guests already seated pulled their bowls closer to their chests and pushed wine bottles to one side. Those who had come late bent their backs to ask permission, and those already seated gave up spaces no wider than a palm.

"Two more can sit here."

"If you clear those bowls, one more can fit."

"Put the bundles below. You're blocking the way." Short phrases passed between the tables. Strangers sat at the same tables, shoulders and elbows brushed, and damp hems touched one another's knees. Some smiled apologetically, and others quickly lifted their spoons before their soup could cool. A man flushed with drink first offered a cup to the newcomer beside him, and a merchant fresh from the long road swallowed a spoonful of hot broth before answering. The attendant returned to Yeongu's table.

Sweat had already gathered on his forehead. In his hands were three empty bowls and a bundle of chopsticks, and his eyes moved quickly over the remaining gaps in the inn.

"Sir."

"What?"

"We are short of seats. Would it be all right if others shared your table?" He had already given permission, but another attendant was asking again. Yeongu raised his head and looked around the inn. At several tables already, strangers were sitting across from one another with the steam of one shared meal between them. A caravan guard sat with his scabbard turned beneath his knees, and a peddler waited for his meal with his bundle tucked underfoot.

One driver took off an outer coat soaked in horse smell and hung it over the back of a chair, while a young merchant beside him stretched his wet sleeve toward the brazier. The inn suddenly seemed like a place where every fatigue from the road had gathered. Wet straw shoes, the smell of horse dung, hot broth, cheap wine, metal, and leather all mixed together. People watched one another warily while still sharing the narrow space around the table.

As unfamiliar faces sat beneath the same lamplight, the noise in the inn took on a rough but living warmth. Yeongu set down his chopsticks.

"Go ahead." The ones who had just entered were two sturdy martial men. Their broad shoulders showed beneath their damp outer coats, and at their waists hung swords long familiar to their hands. The two looked around the inn, then stopped before Yeongu's table.

"Thank you for giving us a seat."

"It is just a place shared by people met on the road. Sit comfortably." Yeongu said that and pulled his bowl a little inward. He thought the martial men would sit, but an old man and a young woman who looked like father and daughter approached behind them. The gray-haired man held a small bundle in his hand, and the young woman neatly held the hem of her skirt with both hands. The two martial men naturally stood behind them, shielding them from the wind. They were guards. The old man lightly bent his waist.

"Thank you." His pronunciation was clean. His movements were elegant. There was Liaodong speech mixed in, but it was not different from Korean. It sounded like another dialect. He was Balhae. Yeongu only nodded and picked up noodles. Hot steam rose into his face. He drew up the noodles long and slurped them into his mouth. If his mouth was full, it would be harder for them to speak to him. They would not start a conversation. Meeting the eyes of strangers and exchanging words at an inn was a tiresome thing.

Had this been travel for its own sake, he might have enjoyed a pleasant conversation, but this was work. The young woman who seemed to be the daughter carefully sat down. She seated the old man first, pushed the bundle beneath her knees, and only then took her own place. Her fingertips were white and slender, but the backs of her hands bore many small scars. She sat like a woman of a good house, then hid her hands beneath the table. The two martial men did not sit.

One stood where his back would not face the door, and the other took position opposite him. Their eyes passed over the noise inside the inn and examined people's hands and waists. They carried the scent of caravan guards, but their movements were more restrained. The old man looked at Yeongu's bowl and smiled.

"On the road, one bowl of hot noodles is medicine." Yeongu swallowed his noodles instead of answering. As the broth went down his throat, his insides settled a little. He deliberately moved his chopsticks again. And deliberately answered late.

"It is good to hear words I understand." The old man spoke again. Yeongu finally set down his spoon. He could not keep eating noodles forever.

"You do not seem to be from around here." The old man smiled slowly.

"We came from the north. Our ancestors have lived there for generations."

"The north is wide."

"We came from the north. Our ancestors have lived there for generations."

"The north is wide."

"Yes. There are many cities and many waterways. The people who live there are all different as well." At those words, Yeongu's hand paused for a moment. The old man's words were soft, but there seemed to be a story inside them. In the memory of someone who had lived long, many stories reside. The young woman lowered her eyes, and the two martial men pretended to look around while opening their ears. Yeongu picked up his noodles again. At first he had eaten to avoid talking, but now he ate to gather his thoughts.

The hot noodles loosened in his mouth, and the noise of the inn briefly drifted farther away.