boyutpedia Chapter 620 The Exiles of 8ga Island
Chapter 620 The Exiles of 8ga Island
As time went by, they gradually adapted to life at sea. Every day, the Qin soldiers would receive food and water on time; although it was coarse, it was enough to fill their stomachs.
Yan Mu also noticed that the Qin soldiers ate the same food and drank the same water. The captain in charge was surnamed Zhao, a middle-aged man with a dark complexion and a scar on his left cheek. He never went into the cabin, guarding the deck day and night, and even when he slept, he would just wrap himself in a felt blanket and lean against the mast.
“Pretending.” Yan Mu whispered to Wei Chang.
Wei Chang shook his head: "Not necessarily. Look at his hands."
Yan Mu looked closely and noticed that Commandant Zhao's hands were covered in calluses, and his fingernails were stained with black grime that couldn't be washed off—marks left from long hours of handling weapons. More importantly, when distributing food, he would deliberately give the elderly and the weak an extra half spoonful of porridge.
They also encountered a storm at sea on the thirty-seventh day of their voyage.
A fierce wind whipped up towering waves, several meters high, and the ship tossed about like a leaf between the crests and troughs. Water flooded the cabin where Yan Mu was, the icy seawater instantly reaching his calves. The screams of the women and the cries of the children mingled together.
"Everyone up on deck! Quickly!" Captain Zhao's roar pierced through the wind and rain.
Yan Mu struggled to move, clinging to the bulkhead. A wave crashed over him, causing him to slip and fall towards the ship's side. In that instant, countless images flashed through his mind: his father's parting words, his mother's swaying legs as she hanged herself, the indifferent gazes of the Qin people in the streets of Xianyang…
A hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.
It was a hand covered in scars and calluses, yet possessed astonishing strength. Yan Mu was forcefully pulled back and slammed heavily onto the deck. He looked up and saw that the person who had saved him was none other than Commander Zhao.
"Hold on tight to the rope!" Commander Zhao shouted at him, then turned and rushed toward another old man who was about to fall into the water.
Yan Mu lay prone on the slippery deck, watching the Qin officer run through the raging storm, pulling Wei soldiers back from danger one by one. His armor was soaked with seawater, each step making a heavy thud, yet he never stopped.
Through the rain, Yan Mu saw Commandant Zhao nearly swept away by a giant wave while saving a seven-year-old child. The child's mother—the widow of a Wei state official—knelt on the deck, kowtowing repeatedly, but Commandant Zhao simply waved her hand and moved on to the next person in need.
That night, the fleet struggled through the storm for four hours. By dawn, the rain had stopped, and the sea had returned to calm, as if nothing had happened. But when Yan Mu counted the number of people, he found that none of the 320 exiles were missing. Among the Qin soldiers, three were seriously wounded, and more than ten were slightly wounded.
During breakfast, Commandant Zhao made his usual rounds. As he passed Yan Mu, Yan Mu stood up and bowed deeply, saying, "I will never forget your life-saving grace last night."
Commander Zhao paused, his scarred face expressionless. "It's my duty," he said, before continuing on his way.
Yan Mu stood still for a long time.
On the third day of the fourth month, they finally saw land.
It was an island shrouded in mist, resembling a giant beast crouching on the sea from afar. As the ship drew closer, the island's scenery gradually became clear: the coastline was winding, with many cliffs and steep slopes, and only a few gentle beaches. At the highest point stood a mountain peak, its summit covered in snow, even though it was already April.
“That’s Baga Island.” Commander Zhao spoke to the exiles for the first time. “There are already camps, fields, and mines on the island. After you arrive, someone will arrange your accommodations and labor.”
The ship anchored in the only harbor where it could dock. The harbor was clearly man-made, with wooden piers on both sides, where soldiers with halberds stood.
As Yan Mu and his fellow exiles disembarked in a single file, many knelt on the solid ground the moment their feet touched the earth, kissing the soil and weeping uncontrollably. Two months at sea had instilled in them an almost sacred longing for land.
Yan Mu straightened up and looked around at the place where he would live—and perhaps spend the rest of his life.
What comes into view are neat rows of furrows, with patches of lush green crops stretching out in the spring sunshine. It's not wheat or millet, which are common in the Central Plains, but a crop with taller stalks and wider leaves.
“That’s rice,” Wei Chang whispered in his ear. “It’s common in Chu and Yue. I never thought it could be grown on this isolated island overseas.”
Among the laborers in the fields, their attire clearly identified them as Japanese—short in stature, dark-skinned, with their hair tied in a topknot. They wore rough hemp clothing, were barefoot, and worked with their heads down under the watchful eyes of Qin soldiers.
Further away, rows of rammed-earth houses formed a small settlement. In the center of the settlement stood a building much taller than the others, with a black flag fluttering in front of it.
What surprised Yan Mu the most was that he actually heard the sound of reading aloud.
Following the sound, a row of relatively neat wooden houses stood on the west side of the settlement, with wooden signs hanging in front of them bearing the words "Elementary School." Through the open windows, dozens of children—some from Qin and some from Japan—could be seen reciting after an old man:
"Under the whole heaven, all land belongs to the king; on the shores of the earth, all people are the king's subjects..."
"The Qin people actually set up a school here?" Yan Mu could hardly believe it.
Wei Chang's expression was complicated: "Not just running schools, look over there."
Yan Mu looked in the direction he pointed and saw that, towards the mine, on a winding road, carts and horses were transporting ore. The clanging and hammering sounds carried on the wind, never ceasing.
“They are mining gold.” Wei Chang lowered his voice even further. “When I was in Wei, I was in charge of mining and metallurgy. Judging from the sound, the ore has a high gold content.”
As they were talking, a group of people came galloping from the direction of the mine. Leading them was a boy of about eight or nine years old, riding a small island horse. Although he was young, his demeanor already exuded an extraordinary air. He was dressed in black close-fitting clothes, covered with leather armor, with a short sword at his waist, and his hair was tied up in a standard Qin hairstyle.
The young man reined in his horse in front of the exiles, his gaze sweeping over them. His gaze was unlike that of a child; it was more like that of a seasoned general—calm, sharp, and scrutinizing.
"It's Prince Huhai," someone in the group whispered, their voice a mixture of fear and curiosity.
Hu Hai, the youngest son of King Ying Zheng of Qin, came to Baga Island three years ago with Li Xin when he was only five years old. Rumors circulated that his birth mother, Hu Ji, had conspired with Lord Changping, Xiong Qi, to control the island, but was executed after the plot was exposed. After that, Hu Hai was personally taught by Li Xin.
"There are 320 new exiles, all of whom have landed on the island," Commandant Zhao reported, bowing.
Hu Hai nodded slightly, his gaze falling on Yan Mu—perhaps because Yan Mu stood the straightest and had the most unruly gaze.
"What's your name?" the boy asked, his voice clear yet carrying an undeniable authority.
"Yan Mu, a man of Wei," Yan Mu replied, neither humble nor arrogant.
"General Yan Ju's grandson?"
"Exactly."
Hu Hai was silent for a moment, then said, "You all must have already learned of the island's rules on the way. I'll just add one more thing: here, regardless of background, only talent matters. What skills do you possess?"
Yan Mu was stunned. He had studied martial arts and literature since childhood, was well-versed in military strategy, and was skilled with a longsword, but what were these skills in the hands of a person from a fallen country?