Chapter 2 — The Snowfield
The snow-covered plain had no end.
Heaven and earth blurred into the same white expanse, horizon erased, distance made uncertain.
Even the sunlight seemed frozen in place, suspended above the land without warmth.
A northern wind swept across the open fields and battered the wooden palisade of the屯田 garrison.
It struck with the dull sound of a spear meeting a shield.
Sosam stood guard.
He hunched his shoulders and pulled his padded coat tighter around his neck.
Before leaving the barracks, he had layered his clothing carefully, sealing every seam against the wind.
It made no difference.
The cold bit through cloth, through leather, through bone.
Across from him, Dongjin stood curled against the wind, as still as a snowman formed by drifting frost.
On nights like this it would be better to stand close together.
But the main gate had to be watched from both sides.
There was nothing to do but endure.
Sosam stamped his feet.
He wedged his spear beneath his arm and jogged in place, waiting for heat to rise from within.
The world was empty.
Nothing moved across the plain in winter.
No traders.
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No refugees.
Not even wolves.
Then he saw it.
A small motion at the far edge of the white expanse.
Something rose, then fell.
It was small.
Too small for a mounted rider.
Too uneven for drifting snow.
His eyes narrowed.
The glare of sunlight on ice distorted distance.
He could not be certain.
But it moved.
Slowly.
Then slower still.
“Dongjin.”
He spoke without turning his head.
“What is that?”
Dongjin turned and squinted into the wind.
The cold stung his eyes, forcing them wide.
For a long moment he said nothing.
Then:
“Looks like a person.”
No one approached from that direction.
The scouting parties did not range there.
The northern riders did not waste time on frozen emptiness.
The shape stumbled again.
It tried to rise.
Failed.
Snow swallowed it to the waist.
“It’ll die out there,” Sosam muttered.
“And the gate?”
“We report first.”
Dongjin ran inside the palisade.
The centurion emerged shortly after, irritation plain on his face.
The cold was excuse enough for anger.
He pushed past the gate and peered into the brightness.
Shielding his eyes, he stared for a long moment.
“It’s a person. Small.”
He paused.
“You two. Bring him.”
The order was expected.
Sosam and Dongjin stepped into the snow.
It swallowed their legs to the thigh.
Each step required force.
The wind cut across their faces like a blade drawn flat.
The figure ahead collapsed fully now.
When they reached him, they saw it was a boy.
His body lay half buried, limbs rigid with cold.
He tried to crawl forward, fingers clawing at frozen crust.
He made no progress.
His lips were cracked white.
Frost clung to his lashes.
They turned him over.
He was light.
Too light.
As though hunger had hollowed him before the cold finished the work.
They lifted him between them and began the long return to the gate.
The boy’s head lolled.
His breath came shallow and uneven.
Then he murmured.
“General… Jin Mugwang… of Haran…”
The words drifted into the wind.
Sosam stiffened.
“Did he just—”
Dongjin struck him lightly on the head.
“Move.”
Again the boy spoke.
“Jin Mugwang…”
His mind wandered far from the snowfield.
Perhaps to fire.
Perhaps to graves.
His body sagged further between them.
His movements slowed.
They hurried.
The small frame hung fragile, as though it might break if dropped.
Snow lashed their backs as they forced their way toward the wooden gate.
When they reached the palisade, men pulled them inside.
Warmth did not greet them.
Only less wind.
The centurion bent over the boy and listened.
“Did he say the General’s name?”
“Yes.”
The centurion’s jaw tightened.
“Take him to the inner tent.”
The boy’s face, glimpsed beneath the frost, was young.
Thirteen, perhaps fourteen.
His breath still clung to him.
But not for long.
