In the third year of Kaiping, a ruined house in Zhenzhou is caught in the ravages of war
Ninth month of the third year of Kaiping under the Later Liang, thirty li southeast of Zhenzhou, Jicheng.
Withered yellow grass spilled over the broken walls. Shards of pottery crushed beneath horses’ hooves were embedded in the mud, mingled with dark red bloodstains. These were traces left three days ago by Hedong troops’ mounted scouts passing through. Zhao Chen was jolted awake by a piercing headache. When he opened his eyes, wood shavings were falling from the rafters and landing on his face, carrying the smell of mold and dust.
“Water... water...”
His throat was so dry it felt ready to crack. He struggled to sit up, only to feel a sharp pain in his left arm. Looking down, he saw that the sleeve of his coarse-cloth jacket was soaked with blood. The edges of the wound were dark red, as if he had been struck with a blunt weapon. This wasn’t his body. He remembered staying up late in the university library last night, revising his paper on “The Military System of the Regional Commanders of the Five Dynasties.” The Old History of the Five Dynasties and his densely annotated notebook had been spread across his desk. How had he suddenly ended up in a place like this?
“Young man, you’re finally awake!”
A hoarse voice came from the doorway. An old man in a short animal-hide tunic walked in, carrying a cracked pottery bowl filled with murky water. His face was etched with wrinkles, two fingers were missing from his left hand, and a rusty hunting knife hung from his waist. “Yesterday you collapsed at the east end of the village. A Liang army scout’s horse clipped you. If I, old Qin, hadn’t happened to pass by, you’d have ended up as wild dogs’ supper.”
Old Qin? Liang army scouts?
A buzz filled Zhao Chen’s head as he looked around the room: earthen walls, a drafty window, half a sack of moldy millet piled in the corner, and the notebook wrapped in waterproof cloth beside the heated brick bed! It was his precious...
