The Life and Times of Master Han Fei

Chapter 7

"In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of."
-Confucius

When morning came, Han shook Lu awake, eager to escape the filthy shack he had slept in during the night. He snatched some seeds and nuts for his afternoon snack, leaving the tray of food devoid of anything other than sawdust and starving ants.

"Should we not thank our hosts for their wonderful hospitality?" inquired the soldier.

"Ha!" snorted the prince. "They merely did their duty to their king." He looked at his surroundings. "Rather shabbily, I might add," he sniffed haughtily.

"They gave up much more than they could to host you, My Lord!" whispered Lu in protest. "They can barely feed themselves, look at them! Look at the house; it is made of mud and despair! The harvest they had stretched as wide as my thumb! Give them your thanks, it is only fair."

Han looked at the fighter as if he had suddenly sprouted a horn. "We are leaving now. I shall not speak to that woman. The son does not expect to be lauded for being filial, nor does the eunuch expect to be showered with treasures for serving his king loyally. Why should this same principle not extend to the peasants of China? Do they not serve their own rulers as well?

Her king would want for his guests to be treated with hospitality, and that is what this woman attempted to do! Let us leave it at that, and be gone!"

Han pulled open the curtain that separated the outdoors from the interior of the house, breathing a sigh of relief as he pushed through the makeshift door, having just escaped squalidness he had never experienced before.

When Lu drew level with his prince, he jabbed a finger at Han, breaking protocol for the first time in his career, and said, "You are a despicable little man, My Lord. Crown Prince or not, you are no better than any of these people."

Han replied, through gritted teeth, "You would be wise to watch your words, soldier. Do not think that I am unwilling to have you court martialled, or worse!"

Lu laughed with derision. "You, kill me?" he asked. "You forget that you must have me alive for your security right now! You may command the army in the future, but at this juncture in time, I can overpower you easily. I am a soldier, after all!"

Han fell silent; quiet for long enough that Lu took it as a sign to pounce. "What is your plan then? Execute me after this is all over and you get to sit on that precious throne of yours? How honorable! If you do wish to murder me for speaking my mind, murder me here and now, and go to Shouchun by yourself!"

Han said nothing, brushing past his soldier without a word. He leapt onto his horse quickly, and angrily nudged it forwards, not bothering to wait for Lu.

Lu followed, mounting his steed as well, hoping that the extraordinarily short legs of his horse would be able to keep up to the magnificent mount the prince was riding.

Han was conflicted, his mind wound up in knots, his thoughts interwoven with his worries, his hopes interlaced with his fears; to attempt to even untangle this mess would surely be an exercise in futility. Was the prince not supposed to act like he had acted? Or had he been rude, cruel even, to graciously accept a peasant family's hospitality like he had? Was it not in fact ruder to rebuff someone's overtures, to decline an offer of a meal together?

Han sighed, confused, conflicted, and lost. Confused, conflicted, and lost, he thought bitterly. Story of my life. He looked over his shoulder, watching Lu try to keep up with his stallion, his magnificent swift steed. He nudged it, telling it to go even quicker, to shoot forward at an even more break-neck speed.