Warring States Survival Guide
Chapter 189 - 129 The Persimmons Seem Too Soft_3

Chapter 189: Chapter 129 The Persimmons Seem Too Soft_3

They meant well, but they ended up scaring the mother and daughter out of their wits, who clung to each other in a trembling heap and broke into pitiful sobs. At that moment, a Military Police officer patrolling down the main road from afar spotted them "up to no good." He immediately became alert, instinctively pulled out his white-painted short baton, and shouted, "What are you lot doing?"

Guotai Lang shot to his feet on reflex, every muscle aching as if on command, while, sweating bullets, he hurriedly reported, "Sir, they fell down! We were helping them pick up their beans!"

The Military Police officer approached cautiously, looked over the "scene of the crime" carefully, and saw that it really didn’t seem to be anything against army discipline—nowhere near robbery or rape. His expression eased a little; then, with another glance, he asked, "Where are the men of this house? Why are they carrying the grain themselves?"

"No idea!" Guotai Lang replied firmly and loudly. He had no intention of getting beaten up.

The Military Police officer was puzzled too. He asked the mother and daughter a few questions, but all they could do was cry, which gave him a headache. He had no idea what to do. After all, before setting out, Harano had given repeated warnings: any villagers "invited" from now on were to be treated as their own people; strict discipline must be enforced, and under no circumstances should there be any burning, killing, looting, or raping. If necessary, they could cut off heads to shock the troops, and everything had to be handled quickly, strictly, and harshly, without a moment’s hesitation. He’d even reminded them to be as kind as possible to these future comrades—if you had to hit or scold, do it as little as possible.

But now that kindness was required, this was tricky. He wasn’t about to openly defy orders, shout at the mother and daughter to stop crying, or give them a few kicks to sober them up so they’d answer.

Sometimes strict discipline had its downsides. As a Military Police officer, he didn’t dare lay a finger on the mother and daughter, for fear that he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of it later—and someone really could end up dead. All he could do was stand there, looking around awkwardly, until he finally managed to grab a family passing by and understand the situation—turns out the man of the house had died earlier this month, leaving just these two women.

In that case, these two were basically useless—not only were they not counted as labor, they actually counted as extra baggage. The Military Police officer was still hesitating over what to do, when Stone Bodhisattva had already picked up most of the taro and beans from the ground. With a clueless grin, he slung the sack over his shoulder and said, "Sir, I’ll take them over."

Guotai Lang hadn’t even realized he’d been squatting there working all this time. Now, hearing him speak, he quickly shot him a look, signaling him to behave himself and not make trouble. But the Military Police officer didn’t scold Stone Bodhisattva; he hesitated for a moment, then silently walked off down the road.

He’d figured it out—no army discipline was broken, it wasn’t his problem. Whether or not the soldiers wanted to help was their own business, nothing to do with him.

Seeing the Military Police officer leave, Stone Bodhisattva assumed he’d been given permission. Without a word to Guotai Lang, he gently helped the mother and daughter to their feet, slung their sack for them, and led them away. This pissed Guotai Lang off—clearly this rookie hadn’t been beaten enough, daring to take matters into his own hands. He’d have to get a proper thrashing later.

But after exchanging glances for a while, none of them called him back. In the end, they just turned around in silence and went to bang on the next door.

After more than two hours of this fuss, they’d finally rounded up every last one of the three hundred plus villagers. They gathered them at the village entrance. There was a brief bit of chaos: a burst of Iron Cannon fire echoed from far away, frightening these villagers—most of whom had never even seen such weapons—half to death. Luckily, it was distant enough that it didn’t do much harm, and the uproar died down quickly. The column set out as planned.

Another two hours passed, and the new residents of Wanjin muddle-headedly boarded the boats, rocking and swaying all the way to Wanjin.