CHAPTER 269: CHAPTER 197: RESPECT NOZAWA-SAMA, RESPECT WANJIN!

Another Meiyu Season.

The sky was shrouded in a giant gray curtain, pressing heavily towards the earth. Fine raindrops fell like ox hair, weaving a hazy net that gently enveloped the whole world.

Raindrops hit the bluestone paved road, splashing tiny water flowers, making crisp sounds. Passersby hurriedly walked on the streets of Ping Mountain Town, either with oilcloth umbrellas or wearing straw raincoats.

After all, it was the season for planting rice, very busy, everyone was in a hurry.

Guotai Lang, however, was sitting leisurely at a wine stall by the street, watching the rain curtain.

Having retired, he was assigned a new job as a small banner officer, in Ping Mountain Town, which had been built in the southern part of Chita Peninsula just over a year. But he hadn’t reported to the town office yet and was taking this leisure time to gather with old comrades.

Well, all four brothers—Guo, Wan, Piao, and Pan—had retired. He retired two years later because he was an officer, while Wan Cilang, Piao Sanlang, and Pan Silang only got to be first-term officers—after completing their compulsory service, they renewed their contracts as seasoned veterans for two years. Then, when troops from Wanjin began focusing on "good family men," requiring soldiers to have families, they kicked these three bachelors out after "recovering" Dagao City.

However, since the three of them had at least received "elementary education" in the military camp, could recognize several hundred characters, and knew some arithmetic, and had developed good obedience and discipline under the threat of beheading, they were received by Wanjin’s civil administration system after retiring, and all became "civil servants" in the southern part of the Chita Peninsula.

Wan Cilang became a policeman in the southern city, Piao Sanlang became a clerk at the village office in Muji Village, and Pan Silang was responsible for militia training in Xiaya Village.

Of course, that was last year’s situation. Although Wanjin now had a postal system, making it much more convenient to mail, without relying on the random delivery of traveling merchants, the four men weren’t sentimental; without serious matters, they wouldn’t send each other letters. So, five months into the year, Guotai Lang couldn’t say what the others’ situations were.

Anyway, he sent a letter asking those three to come see their big brother; it’s unknown whether they could find the time.

Guotai Lang sat waiting at the wine stall, watching the hurried pedestrians on the street, enjoying his leisure and quietness. Suddenly, he somewhat missed the life in the military camp.

The Wanjin army was strict with discipline, often resorting to beheading, but it wasn’t much once you got used to it. As long as you didn’t plan to commit robbery and rape, avoid laziness when executing orders, and weren’t cowardly in battle, your head wouldn’t be lost. Even if you accidentally slipped up, the worst was to clean the latrine pits or carry foul carts. If one got used to it, it wasn’t much.

In contrast, the income in the military was high. There were large allowances for marching and combat, numerous additional subsidies amounting to several times the income of the average person, and more importantly, food, clothing, and housing were all covered by the military, without spending a single penny. Now retired, there wouldn’t be such good fortune, and later, he must fend for himself.

He was naturally thrifty, regretting somewhat that in the future he couldn’t freeload off "Lord Nozawa."

More importantly, he had grown accustomed to the military camp life, to the organized rows. Now sitting alone in the rain, he felt a vague melancholy.

Honestly, he still somewhat wanted to continue being a soldier.

Being a soldier in Wanjin was honorable. Frequently participating in rescue work these past two years, occasionally on leave, he received widespread respect from the public on the streets, followed by children eager to touch his uniform in admiration. He indeed enjoyed it, but unfortunately, his mind was too slow, always learning slower than others. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get promoted beyond the small banner rank, losing out to a batch of newly promoted officers. In a few army exercises, either inexplicably defeated or latching onto the winning leg, there was no glory...

Guotai Lang looked at the rain curtain, listened to the rain, reminisced about military life, his thoughts swirling, even making the wine lose its flavor. At this moment, a familiar voice sounded behind him: "Brother Taichiro!"

Well, this wine stall was run by disaster victims, just an open tent with three sides accessible.

Guotai Lang turned his head but saw it was the smiling Piao Sanlang, immediately delightedly rising to greet him: "Old third, come over and sit."

They had long shared a room, been forced by military discipline to clean latrines together, risked their lives on the battlefield, and now hadn’t seen each other for nearly two years. This meeting made both deeply nostalgic.

Guotai Lang called the stall owner to serve Piao Sanlang wine, then asked with concern: "Where are old second and old fourth?"

He was previously stationed at the northern end of Chita Peninsula; the three were in the southern part, closer and more frequently meeting.

Piao Sanlang took a sip of the sorghum wine to warm himself, casually replied: "Don’t know, should be arriving soon!"

"How are they now?" Guotai Lang topped Piao Sanlang’s drink, showing concern for the brothers’ latest circumstances. In a sense, these three plus Stone Bodhisattva were his only kin in the world.

"They’re still the same!" Piao Sanlang happily said, "Old second still wants to marry another, arguing daily with his wife. Old fourth is full of complaints, failing in consecutive matchmaking, struggling hard!"

Guotai Lang laughed, scolding: "That old second guy..."

Wan Cilang was always lustful, constantly thinking of women in the camp. Early on, everyone in the Ninth Small Banner felt he’d be beheaded for violating military discipline sooner or later. Fortunately, during its inception, Wanjin’s army executed a batch of people harshly, thoroughly frightening him. He dared only to speak impertinently and never dared to look at women again until discharge, thereby surviving.