Though Jianzhou City was the birthplace of the Jurchens, it was a prime example of a city that failed to live up to its name.
Its low walls, cramped layout, and mingling of people and livestock made it difficult, no matter how one looked at it, to reconcile with its status as the capital of a nation.
Especially now, in the depths of winter with the New Year approaching, most Jurchens stayed cooped up at home. Those struggling to make a living on the streets were instead mostly Han Chinese and Koreans.
In their coarse hemp clothing, hair tied up, and robes fastened to the right, they looked at first glance no different from the county towns within the passes.
Yet whenever they passed one another by the roadside and saw each other's scant clothing, boots that offered no protection from the cold, and tattooed faces, the sorrow and helplessness they felt far surpassed anything found within the passes.
Of course, not every Han Chinese running about the city was so destitute. Some were dressed in fine clothes, calm and full of vigor.
But everyone avoided such people as though they were plague-ridden, and after detouring far around them, most would spit a few curses in contempt.
Yao Anmin was receiving exactly that sort of treatment at the moment.
Unlike those who had long since grown accustomed to being Booyah Slaves, however, Yao Anmin was furious about it.
Had he not been in a hurry to return and discuss important matters, he might well have grabbed a few "slave folk" and reasoned with them using fists the size of sandpots.
Still stewing in anger, Yao Anmin returned to his lodging, and his hands naturally lacked restraint as he pounded on the door hard enough to make it thunder.
A clatter