Zao Ying personally escorted Nangnang Fujin, Sutai Fujin, and E'zhe back to Gao Family Village.
Travel in those days was never fast.
The three hostages rode with the cavalry battalion, their hearts pounding nonstop. Every step of the journey filled them with the same uncontrollable dread that An Jile and Zhebu had once felt when they were first brought here.
Fear gnawed at them day and night.
Alongside that fear was a deeper anxiety, one that crushed down on their chests and refused to lift. No one knew what fate awaited them.
The two women had already prepared themselves mentally.
They had resolved that no matter what the Han people demanded, they would endure it. Humiliation, submission, compromise. All of it was acceptable, as long as E'zhe was spared.
Just name your demands, they told themselves.
We will do anything. As long as my son lives.
Among them, Sutai Fujin burned with the fiercest resolve. As E'zhe's birth mother, she was prepared to throw herself into any abyss if it meant protecting him.
By the time they reached Gao Family Village, she had braced herself to witness hell itself.
Yet the scene that greeted them was not torture, nor cruelty, nor chains.
Instead, standing at the village entrance were two figures dressed in Mongolian clothing, smiling and waving.
They spoke in fluent Mongolian.
"Nangnang. Sutai. E'zhe. Welcome."
The three newcomers froze.
Their minds went blank.
Who are these Mongolians?
An Jile stepped forward and introduced herself with a gentle smile.
"I am An Jile, wife of the Wushen tribe leader. This is my son, Zhebu."
In that instant, everything clicked.
The three immediately understood.
So even the Wushen leader's wife and son are here.
No wonder Wushen showed no reaction when the Han took the Imperial Seal.
The Wushen Tribe is nothing more than a puppet army controlled by the Han.
Only now did the puzzle finally make sense.
Why the Wushen Tribe had risen so quickly.
Why the Ordos had been subdued.
Why the Tumed had surrendered.
Why Chahar had fallen so easily.
And yet, strangely, there was no resentment.
The three had personally seen those strange iron vehicles on the steppe. Once they began moving, they were unstoppable. Resistance was meaningless.
Sutai Fujin's expression dimmed slightly.
She asked quietly, "An Jile… Zhebu… have you been living among the Han people for a long time? Is life here… alright?"
Even as she asked, she did not expect a good answer.
What kind of good life could hostages possibly have?
Surely they are worked like animals during the day, then humiliated at night…
An Jile laughed.
Her laughter was light and unrestrained.
"It's wonderful," she said cheerfully. "Life here is absolutely fantastic."
Sutai blinked.
"Huh?"
An Jile's smile grew even wider.
"It's even better than when I lived with the Wushen Tribe."
Sutai froze.
"What… what… what?"
An Jile gestured forward.
"Come. I'll show you."
An Jile and Zhebu walked ahead, relaxed and familiar, while the three newcomers followed behind with cautious, fearful steps.
Soon, the bustling commercial district of Gao Family Village unfolded before them.
The sight was overwhelming.
Streets packed with people. Shops lined up one after another. Goods of every kind displayed openly, glittering in the sunlight. The three Mongolians felt dizzy just looking around.
There were markets on the Mongolian steppe, where Han merchants, Mongolians, and even traders from the Western Regions exchanged goods.
But compared to this place, those markets were laughable.
A firefly trying to rival the sun and moon.
Nangnang Fujin suddenly pointed ahead and gasped.
"Look! That shop is selling iron pots. So many iron pots. Big ones, small ones, all laid out like this. I have never seen so many iron pots in my entire life!"
An Jile glanced over and chuckled.
"That is a shop run by the Gao Family Village Committee. You can think of it as an official workshop. Their goods are cheaper than what private merchants sell."
She led Nangnang Fujin closer.
Speaking awkward but earnest Han Chinese, she asked the shop assistant, "This… iron pot… how much… one?"
The assistant smiled warmly.
"Two hundred cash."
An Jile immediately translated into Mongolian.
"Two hundred cash."
Nangnang Fujin stared at the pot as if it were a miracle.
"Only… only two hundred cash?" she exclaimed. "Something this good would cost at least one tael of silver where we come from. After the border trade was cut off, you could not even buy one with a tael of silver. We had to trade a whole sheep for one."
An Jile felt a quiet, undeniable satisfaction.
Seeing her fellow tribesmen shocked by Gao Family Village's abundance made her feel oddly proud. Perhaps living here for so long had changed her in ways she herself had not noticed.
With the air of someone teaching newcomers, she said slowly, "Don't worry. Now that you're here, you can buy as many iron pots as you want. Enough to last a lifetime. Even the air here smells sweeter than on the steppe."
As they continued walking, Sutai's gaze was suddenly captured by a shop selling rouge, powder, gold, and silver jewelry.
Her steps slowed almost against her will.
She was still young enough to love beauty.
But she was a hostage, brought here with nothing. Even if she wanted such things, she could not afford them.
She could only look longingly from a distance.
An Jile noticed.
With a playful turn, she deliberately spun around.
Only then did Sutai realize that An Jile was wearing gold and silver jewelry, and her face was carefully adorned with rouge and powder.
Sutai could not help blurting out, "An Jile, how do you have so much money to buy all of this?"
In her understanding, hostages were no different from livestock. How could they possibly have money?
An Jile beamed proudly.
"My son is very capable," she said. "He opened a wool textile factory here. My husband sends wool from the steppe, and my son processes it into fabric for sale. It earns a great deal of money."
Nangnang and Sutai exchanged glances.
Hostages can do this?
The Han people are unexpectedly lenient with hostages.
While the women talked and wandered awkwardly from shop to shop, the two boys were deep in their own world.
E'zhe was very young, only seven.
Zhebu was older, already ten.
Their perspective was entirely different from that of the adults.
E'zhe pointed excitedly ahead.
"Brother Zhebu, look! That shop sells fine blades. Those swords look amazing."
Zhebu straightened his chest slightly and said proudly, "Do you like them? I'll buy one for you."
E'zhe panicked.
"Ah? How can I accept that?"
Zhebu laughed.
"Before, I was the only Mongolian child here. I always felt lonely. Now that you're here, I finally have a companion. I'm happy. A sword is nothing."
E'zhe lowered his voice.
"But… we are hostages. Prisoners. Are we allowed to carry swords?"
Zhebu waved his hand casually.
"Of course. Swords mean nothing here. The Han people's real weapons are firearms. With one bang, they can kill someone from hundreds of meters away. They don't care if we buy swords."
E'zhe's eyes widened.
Just then, Zhebu suddenly spotted someone ahead.
"Ah! My sworn brother is here!"
He waved excitedly and shouted in Han Chinese, "Brother Maopao!"
Liu Maopao walked over with a smile.
He had already been informed that Mongolian hostages from the Golden Family would arrive today. Still, he pretended not to know, scratching his head and acting confused.
"Brother Zhebu," he said, "this person beside you looks Mongolian too. Why don't you introduce him to me?"