Frauds and Idiots

Chapter 2: The Fraud Sorcerer

Year 147, Month 8

It had been ten years since the last time his father scolded him for pretending to be a sorcerer. "If only Father knew what I had to do to survive..." Shangsong muttered to himself as he looked at the setting sun.

Shangsong touched the handle of the saber hidden beneath his robe, a relic of a life that seemed to belong to someone else now. It had been his brother's, a symbol of what might have been if things had gone differently. Ten years ago, Shangsong had volunteered to be a conscript, taking his brother's place. He left with the naive thought of returning quickly after a "short campaign." But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

...

He still remembered the moment when both he and his brother, Shanghuang, stood before their father, offering themselves for conscription. The notice from the conscription office had come with fifty silver coins for supplies, but the real cost was far more than money. With only daughters in the family besides them, the decision of who would go to war fell heavily on their parents. In the end, they had allowed the innocent judgment of his then three-year-old nephew, Zhouyi, to choose. Unaware of the weight of his choice, the toddler had picked Shangsong, his 'fun uncle,' over his father, sealing Shangsong's fate.

Shanghuang, feeling guilty for not going himself, had tried to leave in secret. But his wife had stopped him, clinging to him and begging him not to go. Perhaps she couldn't bear the thought of being a widow, or maybe she just couldn't imagine having to deal with the sarcastic youngest brother if her husband died. Shangsong had thought of this often, with a wry, bitter sense of humor.

...

But what had followed was anything but humorous. The army he joined, instead of fighting bravely for their cause, had defected to the Bing side almost immediately. A hundred and eighty-eight men from Zaomen had marched out, but none were ever to return. Officially, they were all dead, casualties of a commander who sold his allegiance to the highest bidder.

Shangsong had survived by his wits and his skills as a healer, by making himself indispensable. Known by Officer Zhang as the son of Zaomen's best healer and rumored to have mystical powers, Shangsong had been given special treatment.

Officer Zhang, whom Shangsong had once deceived into believing his temporary paralysis was caused by a ghost curse, instead of a neurological problem, had been so grateful when Shangsong's treatment saved his life that he spared Shangsong from the worst duties. Instead of marching at the front lines, he spent his time treating the wounded and collecting supplies. It was a comfortable enough existence, as long as he turned a blind eye to the men he once knew being slaughtered for refusing to desert, a handful that he personally knew died as the hundred-twenty-three deserters executed those who refused betraying the Feng. The fact that Shangsong was the only conscript exempt from killing his former friends, but standing on Officer Zhang's side made everyone thought he was the one who belongs to the original group of betrayers,even if Shangsong merely never wanted to truly stain his hands.

...

He remembered his first kill vividly--a bitterly cold winter night, ten years ago. Officer Zhang's band, linked up with other mercenaries, had sacked the very town they were supposed to defend. Shangsong had faced an old man wielding a knife in a desperate attempt at self-defense. Shangsong, spear in hand and shield raised, reacted without thinking. The old man charged, and the next moment, he was impaled on Shangsong's spear. Shangsong had vomited right after, breaking the spear as he collapsed in shock.

Officer Zhang had toasted him with a cup of warm rice wine, congratulating him on "becoming a real man." The truth, however, was that the act of killing did became easier with time, and as long as he saw them as a way of survival, his initial nightmare faded as his mind becomes jaded. This is how endless war and Chaos moulded me, thought Shangsong bitterly as deep down, he really missed his simpler life of his youth, but here, there's no turning back. "This must be my path, for this is the Dao," said Shangsong solemnly as he shook his head again.

...

Shangsong glanced down at the yellow spell papers he had just finished writing on. The symbols were random and meaningless--he knew that. They were for show, tools of deception to convince others he was a capable sorcerer. He might have been a fraud in this regard, but it had kept him alive. After all, the only real magic he possessed was his ability to see and speak with ghosts--a skill that didn't exactly pay the bills.

When Officer Zhang had died eight years ago, Shangsong had seen it as a chance to escape. During a battle where Zhang's mercenary band faced a real Feng Imperial Army, Shangsong had stayed in the rear, tending to the sick and wounded. When news came of the band's defeat, he knew that his life, and his family's, would be forfeit if he stayed, everybody knew how that corrupt Government will do against known deserters and their family, he saw too much proofs of mass executions, as Literati Judges trying to outdo each others in following the Code of Legalism, they only caused more and more precedent to enact even harsher punishments.

So much for being a Meritocracy if those Literati ended up worse than Aristocrats. With no other choice he did the only thing he could: he unhitched the medical wagon and fled after stealing a pair of horses, running for three days straight until he was far enough away to be safe.

He had dropped the flag of Officer Zhang's warband and fashioned a Daoist sorcerer's robe from a bolt of silk he'd looted. With his healing skills and the guise of a wandering sorcerer, he began a new life. He sold the weapons from the wagon and used the money to buy the supplies he needed to maintain his ruse.

Nobody questioned a wandering sorcerer in a time of war, especially when said Sorcerer literally treat people for money and sold very real medicines. Superstitious villagers, desperate for any glimmer of hope, didn't care about his credentials. And as long as no one found out he was a deserter, the Feng authorities wouldn't come looking for him.

And even if said authority comes looking for him, Shangsong himself prefers to stay with rebels, warlords, and bandits ever since that day at Erzhong. While he once tried to settle in a more peaceful life, being literally attacked by an enraged Officer of the Corrupt Empire over what was a simple healing job is something that he never wished to repeat. While he previously tried to avoid conflict at all costs, the unpleasant experience made him train himself again in what Officer Zhang's Warband has taught him, and being a healing sorcerer that doesn't mind dirtying his hands when needed, he essentially becomes a mercenary medical officer for warlords and bandits if needed, people that are against the Tyranical Empire always being happy to have him in their midst.

...

It was his luck that his own father, being a sanctimonious Literati, named him "Praise the Land of the Shang,", a very Literati name his customers immediately thought his name is a fake one, but he did remember the alternate meaning of his name, told to him by his own mischievous grandfather before the latter died when he was eight, that his name could also mean "Praise Business," and maybe that's where his real business sense comes from.

Shangsong sighed, closing the wagon window as he finished the last of his spell tags. "A spell tag to ward off ghosts and evil spirits," he muttered, "five copper coins each." He knew they were worthless, but they kept people from asking too many questions. No one else in the village could see ghosts like he could, so who would know if the tags worked or not?

As he lit the lanterns outside the wagon, his eyes wandered to the nearby graveyard. He could hear the wails of the ghosts and see their faint apparitions. Few others could, though there were those, like a Bandit Lord's son that he once befriended at Yueshan, as he's of similar age with him and Shangsong did save his father, or a five-year-old girl he had once treated, granddaughter of the infamous Bandit Lord Song Dinglu, who saw what he saw. Their confirmation, however, only served to remind him that his spell tags and charms did nothing against the spirits.

A commotion from the direction of Sanou village caught his attention. He could hear the mournful wail of a ghostly woman, though the villagers seemed more focused on something lying on the ground.

"Oh well," Shangsong said, shaking his head as he tied his sorcerer's robe tighter around his waist. He made sure his brother's sword was secured beneath the robe, hidden from view, just for personal security reasons.

"Ask the ghost what happened, and everything will be just fine," he muttered to himself. His gift for seeing and speaking with ghosts was real, even if his magical powers were not. "Let's see what the problem is this time."

After all, almost nobody can verify, honesty is truly overrated.