On the third night, as evening fell, Chinua's eyelids fluttered, then slowly peeled open. Her lips, painfully chapped and cracked, resisted any attempt to move. When Batzorig had first lectured her on the value of rice, she hadn't thought the punishment harsh enough; she had even scoffed at it mentally. But now, gazing up at the vast, gloomy sky, a profound and aching understanding of rice's true worth settled in her heart.
If she could just close her eyes and fall into the oblivion of sleep, Chinua thought, she would surely be free from this torment tomorrow. She couldn't remember if she'd dreamt, but the sudden boom of thunder in the evening sky jolted her awake. Moments later, soft, cool raindrops began to patter gently on her face. With a desperate thirst, she shifted slightly, opening her mouth wide to catch the precious drops.
Chinua lay in the rain, then felt her body being gently, carefully pulled into a sitting position. She struggled to focus her gaze to her right. "Khunbish…" she whispered, her voice a dry rasp.
Khenbish sat next to Chinua, his face etched with worry. "Chinua, how are you feeling?" he asked softly, his concern palpable.
"I'm fine," Chinua croaked weakly, a faint surprise in her eyes. "Why are you two here?"
Khenbish settled on Chinua's left, his presence a comforting warmth. "Remember," he said, his voice quiet but firm, "we made a promise together."
Khunbish, now on Chinua's right, echoed, "We share our joys and sorrows with you."
A faint, tired chuckle escaped Chinua's dry lips. "That's good." She sighed, a deep, weary sound. "I want to lie down." She gratefully rested her head on Khunbish's left shoulder, the solid warmth a welcome comfort. "I was just thinking…"
"What are you thinking about?" Khunbish asked, his tone gentle, encouraging.
"I was thinking how to protect battering rams, how to destroy city walls without sending troops, how to position archers fifty yards from the walls, and how to minimize archer losses," Chinua murmured, her voice growing a little stronger as her mind ignited.
Khunbish stretched out his left hand and lightly patted the back of Chinua's head, a tender gesture. "Chinua is a smart girl," he said with a warm smile, "and she'll figure it out eventually."
Chinua clutched Khunbish's arm tightly, her grip surprisingly strong, her voice thick with emotion. "I killed someone at the market the other day," she confessed, her gaze fixed on the pouring rain. "I also met someone who made me rethink the purpose of my existence."
"That person must be very gifted to change Chinua's mind," Khenbish mused, his curiosity piqued. "I'd love to meet them."
"What the man told me made me realize this land is too small for all ambitious kings and warlords to divide," Chinua said, her voice now filled with a quiet intensity. "His words also changed my mind."
"What did he say?" Khunbish pressed, leaning in closer.
"He said: those who suffer the most are ordinary citizens who fought no war. When a king falls, another king rises. In the same land, a fallen king becomes a slave, and a rising king remains in power. It's all because of greedy men who cherish their golden chairs more than the lives of ordinary citizens." Chinua sat up straight in the rain, a sudden surge of indignation straightening her spine, then she slowly rested her head against Khenbish's right shoulder, seeking comfort. "My only mission since childhood was to help my brother keep the title of crown prince and ensure he becomes the future king of Hmagol Kingdom," she murmured, her voice laced with growing despair. "Recently, I've been thinking: what if my purpose is wrong?"
Khunbish looked at Chinua, his eyes filled with profound understanding. He gently held her right hand. "Why do you think that, Chinua?" he asked, his voice calm and steady.
"Do you know the real reason my second brother punished me?" Chinua asked, a bitter edge to her tone.
"No…" Khenbish replied, shaking his head.
"He didn't punish me because I let the Tanggolian soldier go. He punished me because I spoke of his wrongdoing. I learned from a civilian that when my second brother recaptured Nue-Li City, he allowed his soldiers to kill, rape, torture, boil, and burn ordinary citizens and surrendered soldiers alive." Her lips trembled, not from the biting cold of the rain, but from the raw, simmering anger that now churned in her heart.
"Why did you choose to believe that unknown civilian? He might be lying," Khunbish asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.
"When I spoke of Nue-Li City, my second brother's tone confirmed it," Chinua said, her voice firm with conviction. She stretched out her arms and hugged Khenbish tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. "In order not to let others have the title of the Great General of the North," she whispered, her voice cracking, "he tried his best to impress Father so Father could give him that title." Her tears, hot and bitter, mixed freely with the cool rain as she sniffed, a soft, heartbroken sound. "A lot of people have to die for a stupid seal made of rock." She sobbed softly, the weight of her revelation crushing her. "What if one day... my elder brother becomes the greedy king who only cares about his golden chair... Then what should I do?"
"The future is unknown, and no one can know for sure what will happen when Batukhan ascends the throne," Khenbish said, his voice gentle and reassuring. He smiled. "Then Chinua must become a great warrior in the future and set an example for the rest of the Hmagol Kingdom's warriors."
"Whether it's today or in the future, whichever path Chinua chooses to take, we'll be by your side every step of the way," Khunbish said, his hand patting Chinua on the back of her head, a gesture of unwavering support. "Until we can no longer accompany you."
Early the next morning, when the soldiers untied Chinua from the wooden post, her limbs stiff and aching, Khunbish and Khenbish returned to camp with her. Their concern was evident as they gently helped her change into clean clothes and carefully laid her down on the thin straw mat, urging her to rest.
Timicin walked into the tent, his gait a little hesitant. He sat on the ground not far from Chinua, carefully placing her black cloth bag, a tray with a steaming bowl of rice porridge, and a small vial of boiled medicine in front of her. He glanced at Khenbish and Khunbish, a subtle shift in his usual gruff demeanor. "Captain Haitao asked you two to train archery with the other men," he said. He caught their worried expressions. "Don't worry," he assured them, his voice softer than usual, "I'll stay here with Chinua."
Timicin sat there, his gaze fixed on Chinua as she slept peacefully, her eyes closed. He still saw the stark red handprint on her cheek and the faint swelling of her lips, a grim reminder of Dzhambul's brutality. He remained for a long time, patiently waiting, until Chinua slowly opened her eyes and looked left and right, as if searching for something or someone.
"They left to train the others, according to Captain Haitao's instructions," Timicin explained, sensing her question.
Chinua tried to push herself up, but her body rebelled, refusing to sit. Timicin quickly moved behind her, sliding his arm around her back to support her. He reached for the bowl of rice porridge and gently fed it to Chinua. Then he picked up the small bowl of medicine. Chinua took a hesitant swig, then immediately swept it away with her right hand, a look of utter disgust on her face.
Chinua frowned, her nose wrinkling. "It's too bitter," she complained, a weak whine in her voice.
Timicin chuckled, a dry, amused sound. "Of course it's bitter," he teased gently. "If you don't sleep for too long, the bitterness will be less pronounced."
Chinua managed a weak smile. "You're right," she said, and despite her dislike, she continued to drink the medicine until the bowl was empty. Timicin quickly, almost tenderly, wiped her mouth with his sleeve. "Timicin, thank you," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.
Timicin pointed to the large bag sitting innocuously in the corner of Chinua's tent. "General Batzorig asked me to bring that to you," he said. "He said it was yours."
"Thank you," Chinua said softly.
"What's inside?" Timicin asked, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"Some children's toys I bought from vendors when I was in the village," Chinua said, her voice now holding a hint of childlike wonder.
Timicin looked at Chinua, a puzzled frown on his face. "Who changed you?" he asked, a direct question.
"I don't remember, but it was probably Khunbish and Khenbish," Chinua replied casually.
Timicin's jaw dropped. His eyes widened in shock. "What... why did you allow them?" he stammered, a flush creeping up his neck. "Are you ashamed?"
"They've been doing this since we were young. It's their job," Chinua said, looking at Timicin with an odd, almost innocent confusion. "Why are you so worried about two eunuchs?"
Timicin was silent for a moment, his mind reeling. Then, he suddenly choked out, "Eunuch... Khunbish and Khenbish are eunuchs?" His voice was a thin whisper of disbelief.
Chinua looked at Timicin oddly, her head slightly tilted. "Mmm…" she hummed, confirming it without a second thought.
A stark trace of guilt flashed in Timicin's heart, a sudden, heavy weight. He offered a shy, awkward smile. "I didn't know they were... I thought... I mean, I thought they and you know…" He felt intensely awkward, trapped in the intimate space of the tent with Chinua. "I'm going to training too," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. "See you at dinner."
Chinua giggled, a clear, light sound, watching Timicin's hasty retreat. Then she opened her bag of toys. She took out all the little wooden figures and contraptions, carefully placing them by the pillow one by one. Her fingers closed around the toy ballista, which had a tiny cup full of small arrows at its base. The ballista was surprisingly easy to turn left and right; a small turning handle was positioned next to it. Chinua turned the handle slowly. A small wooden arm clicked into place, erected an arrow, and placed it into shooting position. Chinua pulled the trigger, and a tiny arrow fired with a satisfying thwip.
Chinua turned the toy ballista back and forth, completely engrossed. She was genuinely stunned by these clever little toys. "This little toy is so fun," she murmured, placing it on the ground beside the pillow. A different, more serious light entered her eyes. "How much damage could you do if you were a full-scale war machine?" she mused aloud, her strategic mind already at work.
In the evening, the nine soldiers sat around the campfire for supper, their usual boisterous energy subdued. The seven, eyes sharp with observation, couldn't help but notice that Timicin was exceptionally nice to Khunbish and Khenbish today, a stark contrast to his usual disdain, which immediately created nagging doubts in their minds. Usually, he aggressively claimed his portion before anyone else, but this evening he had even grabbed two large, generous servings specifically for Khunbish and Khenbish.
"Tonight, Timicin was very nice to Khunbish and Khenbish," Chaghatai whispered, his eyebrows raised in suspicion. "Usually, he hates them."
"Maybe it's because Khunbish and Khenbish taught us how to shoot today," Muunokhoi offered, trying to find a logical explanation.
"Or he was possessed by a ghost," Od said with a shiver, his eyes wide.
Och, seizing the opportunity, grabbed Timicin by the arm and forcibly made him sit next to him and Erden. "Hey, what's up with you today?" Och asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"What?" Timicin protested, his voice a little too high, his face flushing.
"You're acting weird," Erden stated, crossing his arms.
"No, I'm not!" Timicin insisted, a defensive edge to his tone. "This is how I behave every day!"
"No, you aren't. We can see you're not yourself. Tell us now," Terbish demanded, his patience wearing thin.
Timicin fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. "Well," he began, his voice dropping, "you should be nice to them, too. From now on, each of you needs to respect them. Even if they're not exactly men like us."
"What are you talking about?" Muunokhoi whispered, leaning in closer, his confusion deepening.
Timicin leaned in, his voice barely a breath. "They don't have their 'little brother' anymore," he whispered, the words tumbling out.
The men stared at Timicin, their expressions shifting from confusion to shock. A collective gasp escaped their lips, their eyes wide with utter disbelief.