Chapter 188: Village by the Lake

The cold sunlight fell on Lake Patzcuaro, reflecting the shallow lake surface in the dry season and the reflection of reeds in the water. Along the lakeside, the villages of the Tarasco people were lonely and desolate, and the fields were full of weeds. Even though it was the beginning of the new year, there were no crowds celebrating and no pine incense for prayer. Only in the morning and evening, the faint smoke from cooking rose, accompanied by the occasional barking of dogs, revealing a rare bit of life.

The old militiaman Chihuaco stood blankly in front of a mud brick hut, his body motionless, his eyes empty and dull.

It has been half a year since he was called up and left his warm little home. In the past six months, he has participated in water battles with flames burning, and experienced sieges with rain of arrows. He saw many nobles, broken as easily as corn stalks; he also saw tens of thousands of warriors stepping into the mud like leaves; and countless civilians, but like burning weeds, a handful of war turned them into ashes, scattered all over the sky without a trace.

He escaped from the battlefield, saw the blood and tears of the world, and finally returned to the village after experiencing the hardships of life and death. However, he never thought, nor did he want to imagine that in this cold little home, only the simple mud house remained.

He built the mud house with a handful of mud and a brick. He accumulated materials for several years and spent a year to build it. It can be considered decent in the village. And these fired mud bricks are the result of his and his wife's hard work day and night after finishing their labor during the slack season. In this mud house, there used to be his wife's busyness, his son's noise, his daughter's laughter, and everything he cherished.

At this moment, in front of the mud house, the wooden door was wide open, as if welcoming the long-lost owner. Outside the house, the turkeys raised in the pen, the hairless domestic dogs in front of the house, and the peppers hanging under the eaves, all disappeared. Inside the house, the few belongings were scattered all over the ground, as if telling about the past experience. The pottery pot for cooking was smashed on the ground, and the pottery jar for holding water was completely overturned. The straw bed that had been built with great effort was left with only a pile of straw, and the corner where the grain was piled was already empty.

The old militiaman's mind was also blank. He looked at everything in front of him with trembling body. The figures that he was familiar with, that he expected, and that he loved were all left in his memories, as if they had taken away his soul, leaving only a lonely body.

Not far behind the old militiaman, Wezti looked at the empty hut, his face full of confusion and at a loss. A group of seven militiamen rushed into this desolate and dilapidated village, and the home in their memories was suddenly shattered. In this familiar yet strange place, they seemed to be the only chance of survival.

Militiaman Yayuli glanced at the trembling people, scratched his head, and continued to lower his body and dig something in the soil. After returning to the village, he simply glanced at the empty hut and started to work without any care.

Yayuli was the youngest in the group and had just come of age. Although he usually followed everyone and talked about women and children, he was actually just a bachelor. His parents died early, and he never got married. He was the only one in the family, and he was so poor that he didn't even have a dagger. He didn't have much feeling about death and separation. This time when he went out to join the army, he was at least given a spear, stripped of his clothes, and then found a dagger, and came back in one piece.

After a while, Ayuli finally threw out a broken sack from the soil, which contained a pile of dried old corn. He grinned, went to another uninhabited house to get a clay pot, and then scooped a jar of water from the nearby lake. While scooping water, Ayuli glanced at the lake, and there seemed to be some small boats in the distance, with the light of copper spears flashing on them.

Ayuli ignored it. He got a pile of thatch from the dilapidated house, and then started a bonfire in the cold fire pit in the center of the village. Then, he used his companions' copper spears to set up the clay pot, boiled the old corn, and continued to search in other houses to see if there was anything useful.

The curling smoke rose, and the aroma of corn began to drift in the village. Ayuli found a bag of coarse salt and tasted it. It was salty with a bit of bitterness. He didn't know what was mixed in it. Maybe salt should taste like this. Then, he walked to the pot, poked the corn with a dagger, and nodded with satisfaction.

"Uncle, stupid wood, come and eat corn!"

Ayuli shouted happily to the other militiamen, but no one paid attention to him. He scratched his head again, then picked up a corn himself, and bit it hard despite the burn. Old corn is really hard to chew. From time to time, he would lick the salt grains poured into his palm. This is the most economical way to eat it. In the six months since he went to war, he saw that the samurai masters could eat soft corn cakes and smoked dried meat, and the noble masters had pure yellow honey and dark cocoa. He was really envious in his heart, but he couldn't imagine what it tasted like.

The aroma of food spread far away, and there was suddenly some movement in the village. An old man poked his head out of the dilapidated house, carefully looked at the copper spear holding the pottery pot, and then looked at the person eating corn, and suddenly heaved a sigh of relief. The old man staggered out quietly, looked around at the other people who were in a daze, and ignored the hot water in the pottery pot and grabbed the corn in the pot.

Hearing the noise, Yayuli, who was eating corn, stopped suddenly. He turned his head and saw the old man who stole the corn. After recognizing it for a moment, he became furious.

"Old Yitong, you dare to steal my corn!"

After saying that, Yayuli stretched out his hand to grab the food in the old man's hand.

Old Yitong bent his body to dodge, while hurriedly stuffing the corn into his mouth, hesitating and shouting.

"Little Yayuli, did you steal enough corn from me? Give me back one corn, I haven't eaten for a long time! By the way, is the war over? Are you the only ones back? My little Yitong Woolen cloth?"

Hearing this, Yayuli suddenly stopped in his hands. He scratched his head, sighed, took two steps back, squatted in front of the pot, and didn't know what to say.

Seeing this scene, Lao Yitong stopped eating corn. He looked at Yauli and asked tremblingly.

"My little Yitong? Him."

Yayuli remained silent for a while before nodding.

Lao Yitong took two steps back in disbelief. At this moment, all his strength seemed to be drained from him. The next moment, he suddenly looked at Chihuaco, the dull old militiaman, and staggered towards him. He was still holding the half-eaten corn tightly in his hands, as if holding on to the last hope.

"Chihuaco, where is my little Yitong? You are all back, where are the others?!"

Hearing the loud questioning, the old militiaman slowly turned around, as if awakened from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes and looked at the running old man, his expression gradually became distorted, and he suddenly burst out.

"Old Yitong, why are you still here, you old immortal! Where is my mother-in-law? Where is my son? Where is my daughter?! Where are they!"

Lao Yitong turned a deaf ear. He approached the old militiaman and just asked loudly.

"Where is my son?!"

"Your son is dead a long time ago! He was shot to death with an arrow and fell into the lake. Nothing was left behind. Even his body was fed to the crocodiles!"

Lao Yitong felt like he was struck by lightning. He stood there blankly, muttering to himself.

"Crocodile. Crocodile"

Chihuaco rushed forward with a strange light in his eyes. He grabbed the lapel of Lao Yitong's clothes, shook his skinny body vigorously, and shouted ferociously.

"Old man, where are my family members? Where is my son? Where is my daughter? Where is my mother-in-law?!"

Lao Yitong was awakened by violent shaking. He glanced at Chihuaco with a gloomy expression and said sadly.

"Chihuaco, your family is gone! Your son was taken away by the second batch of conscripts! Your daughter was sacrificed to the samurai master by the village chief! Your mother-in-law couldn't bear to think about it, and she drowned to death two months ago. The body is dead. No one has found it, I don’t know where it is, and no one is looking for it.”

Hearing this, Chihuaco's eyes widened, his body froze instantly, and two lines of tears silently fell from the corners of his eyes. Then, he gasped violently, trembled violently, and then roared violently.

"My mother-in-law is gone, she is gone, gone. Damn it! My son is only fifteen years old, and my daughter is only thirteen years old! I want to kill them!"

Then, the old militiaman's eyes flashed with murderous intent. He strangled Old Yitong's neck and asked sternly.

"You old man, where is the village chief? I'm going to kill him! Kill him!!"

Lao Yitong looked at Chihuaco, who had never seen him before, in fear. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Seeing this, Chihuaco loosened his palm slightly and continued to stare fiercely.

"The village chief. He was taken away by the third batch of conscripts. Who knows where he is now, maybe he is dead."

Once again the old militia came to a standstill. There was confusion in his eyes, and he lost strength in his hands. After a while, he muttered to himself.

"They're all dead. Why don't you die? Why don't you die?"

Lao Yitong twisted his neck hard and struggled out of Chihuaco's loosened palm. He took a few deep breaths, and when he heard the old militiaman's question, he thought he was talking about himself.

"The old man didn't like my old bones, so he spared my life. Besides, you won't necessarily die if you are taken away. Your son and daughter may still be alive somewhere in the capital."

"They don't understand anything, how can they survive in this world! No, no, you are right, they are not dead yet, I have to find them and bring them back!"

Having said this, the old militiaman's gloomy eyes once again became bright. He looked towards the capital city across the lake, which was his only hope and new goal. Then, he lowered his head, wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeves, threw Lao Yitong aside, and headed for the firepit where the militiamen gathered. He was going to discuss it with his friends who would live and die together.

Lao Yitong stood alone in the corner. He slowly finished eating the corn, slowly squatted on the ground, and then slowly lay down in the mud, like an old yellow croaker out of the water. Then, he turned over with difficulty, buried his head in the soil, and cried softly.

Chihuaco, an old militiaman, gathered six companions. There was fire in his eyes and he said something loudly. Then, Wezti was the first to nod. The other militiamen stood stunned for a moment, then some nodded in agreement, while others shook their heads in disagreement, and everyone fell into a dispute. Little Yayuli didn't care where he was going. He looked at the lake not far away and suddenly discovered something.

"Look! Two boats are coming over there."

Two common canoes were leaning against the lake, with shields erected on them. They were obviously warships. A dozen Tarasco warriors jumped out of the warship, holding shining copper spears and solid wooden shields, and strode indifferently toward the village smoke.

"Where are you militiamen from?"

The leading samurai wears clothing with the hummingbird family crest. After returning from the battlefield, the militiamen already knew a lot. They were obviously samurai from a noble family.

Everyone looked at Chihuaco. The old militiaman lowered his head and was silent for a moment, rubbed his face with his hands, and then raised his head with a smile on his face. Then, he spoke respectfully using the accent he learned from the north.

"Master, we are the militia from Akambaro State in the north! The Mexica came too fast, and the masters in the north didn't have time to resist, so many people fled. We were originally following a master with the turkey family crest to guard the capital. But the master walked too fast, and we didn't catch up, so we scattered here and looked for his traces everywhere."

The hummingbird warrior thought about the turkey family crest, and it seemed that the fiefdom was indeed in the north. He looked at the bronze spears of the militiamen, and then at the age of these people, and nodded slowly.

"Don't go to find your master! Now, on behalf of the chief minister, I announce that you have been recruited by the city of Qincongcan to serve the sacred three gods and the supreme royal family! Pack up, don't bring any sundries, and follow me now!"

The old militia looked at the well-equipped warriors in front of him, and then looked at the other militiamen. At this moment, everyone nodded obediently. Everyone picked up their spears, followed the warriors on the boat, and headed for the "Land of Hummingbirds" by the lake, the capital of Qincongcan. Before leaving, Ayul took a last look at the bag of corn he had left behind, then looked at the figure in the corner, scratched his head again, and left with everyone.

The desolate village became quiet again, the bonfire flickered, and there was only a faint cry in the wind. After a while, the cry gradually stopped, and the unattended old Yitong got up from the ground. He wiped the dirt and tears on his face, then bent over and staggered to pick up the remaining bag of corn. He held the heavy bag of corn tightly, then slowly came to the bonfire, squatted down, and picked up the corn cobs that the militia had just discarded. Then, he gnawed the corn residue covered with mud, as if gnawing at the remaining hope, until there was nothing left.

Chihuaco followed the hummingbird warriors and rowed across the lonely lake. He looked at the blurred corpse floating in the water, but could not find the face that had accompanied him all his life. He looked at the deserted island in the lake, and past memories came to his mind. In the dozens of New Years he had spent, the lake was full of small boats, and villagers came from all directions to trade local products on the island in the lake, singing and dancing. The town priests would occasionally come here to preside over grand prayer ceremonies and praise the three gods who protected the Tarasco people.

These rare joys in hard work, he had shared with his family, turned into a trance at this moment. Faint laughter came from memory, drifting in today's wind, as if they were still by his side

The breeze blew away the laughter and took away the human figures, leaving only the desolation of the wind. Only sparse patrol warships were left on the lake, and the warriors and militiamen held their weapons tightly and looked nervously at the north. The Mexica scouts crossed the Huayamo Fortress and appeared at the edge of the lake area. The terrible army was not far away.

After sailing for only half a day, everyone arrived at the lake. Chihuaco woke up from his trance, and in front of him was the prosperous capital of the kingdom, the city of Chincongchan.

He looked at the magnificent city, which was the center of the mythical world. He looked at the towering city walls, which were twice as strong as the fortress at the river mouth. He looked at the sacred "House of the Wind", which was a pyramid group that had stood for hundreds of years and a sanctuary where priests lived. Finally, he looked at the solemn "Palace of the Wind", which was the king's supreme palace and the core of the kingdom's rule.

The magnificent copper capital stood by the lake and had never changed for hundreds of years. This was the most prosperous place in Chihuaco's heart, and it was also the last pursuit in his life.

Ah, I feel a little sad... I patted my head.