Chapter 2

Salted Fish hadn’t always been called Salted Fish.

When she first filled out her character sheet, she gave herself a name that was extremely Mary Sue, extremely Sakura-Snow-Feather-Han-Spirit in style—and therefore extremely long.

When her DM picked up the sheet and, tongue-tied, managed to pronounce “Virginia Ferrol Naricopulos Alvarez”, the bespectacled otaku gave her a very unfriendly look.

“Why the hell would you, you damn tiefling, make your name that long?”

“I am a tiefling,” she replied righteously, “but that doesn’t stop me from being beautiful—or at least from dreaming of beauty.”

The DM swallowed back a string of curses and insults and finally said, in a very calm tone, “You can set your looks however you like, but I need to remind you: with such a low Charisma score, NPCs won’t see you the way you want.”

His kind warning only earned him her classic, crooked, smug grin.

“No problem. None of them can beat me anyway.”

Now Salted Fish knew exactly what treatment a tiefling with 5 Charisma would get.

Ever since she had transmigrated into the Han Dynasty using that level-5 Magus character sheet, she hadn’t seen a single person smile at her.

…Actually, she wasn’t ugly. At worst, she spoke a little harshly—so what?

Weren’t women in ancient times supposed to value quiet modesty, smiling without showing their teeth? If she spoke less, no one would really mistake her for mute, right?

And yet—why did children cry the moment they saw her, even if she said nothing at all?

…Why did everyone she asked for directions point her the wrong way??

…Why did everyone she rescued go to the authorities claiming she robbed them???

Even after she pummeled them until they begged for mercy, they would still tearfully protest:

“I don’t know why, but the moment I see you, I’m filled with resentment, and I can’t remember any kindness you’ve shown me…”

As an 18 Strength, 16 Dexterity, 20 Intelligence Blackblade Sword Saint, there was no doubt that Xianyu’s combat power could only be categorized as “absurdly overpowered.” She was immensely strong, quick as a swallow, sharp-witted, and her moral compass leaned at least toward lawful neutral.

And yet, after almost three months of being thrown into the Han dynasty, she still hadn’t been allowed into a single village or town—forced instead to live out in the wild.

See bandits, fight bandits.
See wild dogs, fight wild dogs.

If this wasn’t the malice of the world itself, nor the malice of the DM, then perhaps it could only be said…

This is just the fate of a 5-Charisma build, huh (:з」∠)

So when Zhang Min invited her to go to Luoyang, she barely hesitated at all—even if it was a trap, she was going to jump in! After all, this guy was the first living being in three months who didn’t need her to say a word before offering gratitude on his own!

If it wasn’t that the world’s malice had finally ended, then at the very least it meant her Persuasion roll had finally landed a natural 20!

The cold stares of Han dynasty folk no longer mattered to her. She didn’t care how they looked at her, what they said about her, or how they tried to make things difficult.

As long as there was hot soup, hot rice, and a roof of bricks and tiles, she was satisfied!

Sure, her overpowered body could compare to a Gundam—drinking cold water, gnawing raw meat, sleeping in caves under the open sky, none of it made her sick—but she was still a social creature, yearning to live among humans.

Incidentally, thanks to three months of wilderness survival, Xianyu—who might have otherwise struggled to adapt to ancient peasant life—now sincerely thought: the people of the Han dynasty really do live blessed lives.

The camp wasn’t far. Xianyu retrieved her bundle from a hollow tree nearby, then followed them. Barely half an hour later, they arrived at the riverbank.

The spring floods had passed, and the summer floods had yet to arrive. Past Pingyin, the land was flat, the river wide, no longer flanked by the cliffs of Tongguan. The boundless waters of the Yellow River rolled eastward under the night sky, carrying silt with them, slowly, steadily flowing.

Walking along the riverbank for a short while, the flickering firelight ahead soon became clear. As they drew closer, a shout rang out from the sentries on the watchtower.

“Who goes there!”

“I am Zhang Min, clerk under the Commandant, delivering medicine for epidemic relief on behalf of Governor Zhu!”

Zhang Min reported his name, position, and purpose. But the sentries did not relax. They required him to go alone to the camp gate and pass the Commandant’s written order through a crack in the door. Only after the night-duty adjutant had inspected it could they be allowed inside.

“Do they really need to be this cautious?” muttered Servant A—the one who had run his mouth earlier—quietly to Servant B beside him, a bit dissatisfied.

Xianyu, on the other hand, thought the vigilance of this camp was perfectly appropriate.

What life was like inside a town, she didn’t know and couldn’t say. But what it was like outside—after surviving three straight months of wilderness life—she knew all too well.

…Let’s put it this way: if this world were truly peaceful and orderly, free of turmoil, then the fact that she had managed to survive so long in the wild, relying only on hunting, without turning into a savage, would itself be remarkable.

Three months ago, the Yellow Turban rebels, though already at the end of their strength, had not yet completely collapsed. Small bands of ten to several dozen people were still a common sight around the counties between Mianchi and Xingyang.

It was by farming these “Yellow Turban mobs” for dropped food and clothing that Xianyu managed to endure that bitterly harsh winter.

Back then, the Yellow Turbans still carried a bit of spirit—unlike the three she had fought tonight, who had already become thoroughly dispirited.

…And that was one of the main reasons she was determined to return to human society, even if it meant enduring scornful looks.

No matter how long Luoyang could hold on, she intended to hold on right alongside it.

She hadn’t been lost in thought for long when the wooden gates of the camp slowly creaked open.

When Zhang Min came running back to the carriage, he glanced around on both sides.

“In the camp, weapons like armor, crossbows, spears, and halberds are probably forbidden. Brother, why don’t you hide your arms on the riverbank and fetch them again when we leave tomorrow morning?”

…Weapon management probably started back in the Qin dynasty? She’d heard of how the First Emperor “collected all the weapons under heaven and stored them in Xianyang.” Not being allowed to carry armor, long spears, and standardized crossbows, fine—but weren’t TV dramas always showing Han dynasty folks going out with a sword at their waist? Why did they have to confiscate hers?

Although a string of question marks flashed through her mind, Xianyu knew very well how unpleasant her mouth could be. She said nothing, unfastened the ring-pommel saber at her waist and the bow and arrows slung on her back, and handed them over.

Indeed, there wasn’t much suspicious on her… oh, wait.

When their party entered the camp, the guards carefully inspected the bundles they carried. Still, everything passed smoothly—nothing suspicious was found.

According to the junior official leading them, they had run into Yellow Turban bandits on the road. Although no lives had been lost, the fright alone had been enough. Especially that boy who didn’t look like much but somehow gave off an annoying air—he seemed to have twisted his ankle, leaning on a wooden stick, limping as he followed them into the barracks.

…For some reason, the more he looked at the boy’s limping back, the more he felt that sprain suited him. If only it had been twisted worse, that would have been even better.

…Naturally, Xianyu couldn’t hear such twisted thoughts. She just vaguely sensed that the malice of the world hadn’t ended yet.

…For example, why was it that the soldiers assigned tents and straw bedding to Zhang Min and his men, but—somehow—there just wasn’t a set for her?!

Of course, in the end, she still managed to sleep on straw bedding.

Never mind that she was Zhang Min’s benefactor—even if she weren’t, with her level of martial skill, Zhang Min would never dare make her sleep in the mud at the side.

…Still, she was rather depressed.

Xianyu often had no concept of reading others’ faces. She couldn’t interpret expressions or fathom people’s hearts.

But her perception was razor-sharp. So when they left the camp at dawn, her eyes, drifting idly past the soldiers drilling in the cold wind, fell upon the trenches outside the encampment.

This place was no more than a few hours’ walk from Luoyang City, practically under the Son of Heaven’s feet. The soldiers guarding the camp, it was said, were elite troops transferred out of the Northern Army.

But in the moat there were still shallow and deep black traces, carelessly covered with sand and earth.

…Probably because the weather was cold, the ice had only recently broken, and the ground was still somewhat hard, so the soldiers hadn’t bothered to put in much effort. She thought, this had nothing to do with her.

Quickly, quickly, let her reach Luoyang. Once in Luoyang, she could find work that didn’t involve licking blood from the edge of a blade…

…Although, butchering pigs was still a job that required a knife.

…But at least it wouldn’t be grinding away at little monsters anymore.

In her distant and hazy memories, the Yellow Turbans were not some sinister criminal syndicate. They had once been nothing more than ordinary slaves and landless peasants, renting and farming the land of wealthy landlords, enduring all manner of labor duties and taxes imposed by both court and gentry. From birth to death, they were so submissive they hardly uttered a word.

To die was death, to rise in revolt was also death—if one was only waiting to die, could it still be called dying for the country?

A thousand years later, the people would sympathize with them, and affirm the courage it took to raise their banners in rebellion.

But Zhang Min had not the slightest bit of sympathy for them.

When she cautiously tried to ask his view on the Yellow Turbans, this petty clerk—whose family had been registered residents of Luoyang for three generations—immediately launched into a passionate response.

“These demons are merely bringing chaos! Counties and commanderies are thrown into disorder, people either die or flee, families are scattered—have you not heard of the affair of the ‘Three Virtuous Women of Ba’?”

…What was that? Was it tasty?

Seeing her blank and muddleheaded look, Zhang Min then enthusiastically explained at length—from the true deceptive nature of the so-called ‘Great Good Teacher’ Zhang Jue, to the rumors of all sorts of goblins and monsters within the Yellow Turban ranks; from how Yellow Turban raiders had plundered and tormented the common folk, to how famous gentry had stepped in to shelter and protect the people.

“For example, like Yuan Xiafu: the bandits swore never to enter his neighborhood. So the people fled to his residence for refuge, and all were spared—that is how one preserves the honor of a gentleman!”

…It sounded like these landlord gentry actually did have a bit of integrity.

…Even if this wasn’t the mainstream opinion held by the court, at the very least it could, in some sense, be taken as representing the views of Luoyang’s citizens.

At that time, there was probably little in the way of entertainment, so tales about the Yellow Turban rebels could go on for hours without end. It wasn’t until the distant outline of a great city finally rose above the horizon that the most eloquent of the subordinate clerks traveling along the eastern road to Guangyang Gate at last changed the subject.

“Brother, do you see it?” He let out a long sigh of relief. “That is Luoyang!”

Unlike Tang Chang’an, this city of Luoyang was not a neat square, but an irregular rectangle: ten li east to west, nine li west to east, six li north to south, with walls three zhang high, the Luo River to its south, and Mount Mang visible to the north.

Seen from afar, it could truly be called majestic, filling one’s heart with a deep sense of safety.

Even with the turmoil of a chaotic age on the horizon, she could, in the end, retreat into Luoyang, leaning upon those three-zhang-high walls, and live in peace as just an ordinary commoner.