Life

April in Mexico was the season of sowing, and the year's most important spring plowing had only just begun.

Xolotl sat at the edge of the fields, watching the busy village farmers. Most of them were bare-chested, with only a loincloth around their waists and thickly callused bare feet. Their bent, stooped backs never straightened as they swung crude stone digging sticks, sweating over the newly burned fields from dawn until dusk.

Fortunately, the tribes of the Mexica Plateau did not lack Salt. The long coastline, decentralized rule of the city-states, extensive trade, and salt mines scattered everywhere spared the common people the agony of swelling from salt deficiency. Xolotl remembered that near the Alliance's three capital cities lay salt mines with immense reserves. Salt was also one of the City in the Lake's major trade goods.

Strictly speaking, before the arrival of Western colonizers, life among the tribes of Mexico had not actually been all that bad, Xolotl thought.

The various city-states governed their subordinate villages loosely, without the crushing taxes imposed on Eurasian peasants in this era. Food was relatively abundant, and salt was cheap. Even in barren mountain fields, an Otomi person could survive by cultivating three to five mu. Generally speaking, there would be no terrible spring famine. If Sweet Potatoes, which were undemanding of soil and highly productive, were planted in the mountains as well, they could support another child.

"Other than the exceedingly dense Valley of Mexico, the lands elsewhere are still far from their cultivation limits. With enough iron farming tools, this place could usher in a new era of great development, just as Jiangnan was developed during the Western and Eastern Jin!"

Young Xolotl's thoughts drifted once more to Huaxia, a hundred thousand li away. His homeland, too, had been opened up through history.

Then Xolotl grabbed a handful of soil from the field and carefully identified its type. It lay between water-shedding sandy soil and water-loving loam: sandy loam, common throughout the Mexica Plateau. This kind of earth held both water and nutrients well. It required little improvement and was excellent agricultural soil.

"As long as canals are built from the Lerma River in the south, all the dry fields across Otopan can be turned into irrigated land."

Xolotl looked southward with longing. Rivers that could provide irrigation were the foundation of agricultural abundance in the classical age.

"Once the land is irrigated, its yields can make another breakthrough, rising from 'lower fields' to 'middle fields,' even 'upper fields'!"

"And to truly obtain high yields, fertilizer is still needed. River mud, composted manure, and the nearest natural fertilizer—Guano."

At this thought, Xolotl's eyes gleamed. The Americas were famous for Guano. The nearest deposits lay on islands off the coast of Baja California to the west, a sacred haven for flocks of birds. The scant rainfall there preserved the bird droppings to the greatest degree, allowing natural fertilizer to accumulate. Farther away lay the most famous Guano of Chile. In his memories, Bolivia, Peru, and Chile had fought a famous "Guano War."

A warm breeze swept across the fields. Xolotl gazed at the new shoots and fell into thought. The Samurai had spread out nearby, keeping watch while sitting down to rest. In villages within Alliance-controlled territory, everyone was fairly relaxed. Their weapons were tied behind their backs with hemp rope, and they carried only shields in hand.

A young Samurai took out a waterskin. Before drinking from it, he walked to Xolotl's side and sincerely offered it to the youth.

"Honored Earth Wolf Priest, this is wine brewed by my wife's own hands. It's the last skin we have. Please drink!"

Xolotl smiled and reached out to take it. Bertad, his personal guard at his side, saw this and moved unhurriedly, yet arrived first. He took the waterskin, untied its mouth, sniffed it, and then drank directly from it.

"Fine Tequila."

Bertad's expression remained calm as he smiled at the young Samurai.

"I'm a little thirsty. Let me have some first."

"Of course! Would you like Salt?"

The young Samurai smiled as well and took a small salt pouch from his clothes.

"No need. I like this bitter yet blissful taste. It reminds me of my old life."

Bertad grew faintly wistful as he spoke. He took two more drinks before passing the skin to Xolotl.

"Fine wine. It's safe to drink."

The young Samurai was called Kusola. He had followed Xolotl since the funeral last July, and in the blink of an eye, nine months had passed.

Xolotl knew that he came from a commoner family in a city-state. He had a wife and a son who had only recently been born. A few months ago, beneath the walls of Guamare, Xolotl had watched him bury his son's umbilical cord there and make a warrior's wish.

After taking the waterskin, Xolotl did not drink immediately. He first took out a small clay jar, poured a little Salt onto the back of his hand, and quickly licked it before taking a mouthful of Tequila. Salt came first, then astringency, followed at last by a faint kick.

"Without distillation, weak liquor tastes quite good too."

Xolotl smacked his lips, thinking of distant places. After a moment, he noticed that the waterskin in his hand felt soft to the touch and light when lifted. Its texture was unusual, and it sealed well. It was an excellent waterskin for campaigning.

"Very nice! Did you make this yourself?"

Xolotl looked curiously at Kusola.

"Yes!"

Kusola nodded with a smile and explained enthusiastically.

"It's a waterskin made from a deer's stomach. First, you cut off a suitable part of the stomach, then sew one end shut and tie it tight, while making the other end into a drawstring that can be tightened or loosened. Then you roast pine branches over the fire, boil out pine oil, and coat the stomach with it. Finally, you lightly roast it over the fire, letting the pine oil seep in and set. That makes a waterskin that can last a long time!"

Hearing this, Xolotl praised him sincerely.

"Praise the Main God! Kusola, you have very skillful hands!"

Kusola looked delighted and answered warmly.

"Praise the Main God! My father was an Artisan, and he taught me many things. I often make little Obsidian ornaments for my wife, too. When I return, my son will probably be two years old. That will be just the right time to make him a wooden toy."

"Kusola, why did you decide to become a Samurai?"

Smiling, Xolotl pointed at Kusola's callused hands.

"The Main God bears witness! You could become a truly outstanding Artisan!"

Kusola scratched his head, then smiled again.

"The Main God blesses us! After becoming a City-State Warrior, I received a plot of land outside the city, and my wife could spend less time weaving. If I capture some Captives in this war, I can earn promotion and rewards. When my son grows up, I'll be able to provide better food for his Samurai training. Then, one day, he may have the chance to become a strong Jaguar Warrior, perhaps even receive a Chinampa!"

Kusola looked toward the south, in the direction of his home, with a peculiar light in his eyes. In him, Xolotl saw a man's responsibility, a parent's pursuit, and yearning for the future. Joining the army and marching to war was the only way for the Mexica People to change their class.

"The Main God blesses us! He will."

Xolotl nodded and offered his sincere blessing.

"Your son will become a Jaguar Warrior!"

Hearing Xolotl's blessing, young Kusola smiled happily. Bertad beside him smiled as well.

"Captain of Warriors Bertad, what about you? Why did you join the army?"

After laughing cheerfully for a while, Kusola looked at the weathered Samurai beside him and asked the same question. Xolotl turned his head as well, curiosity in his eyes.

"Me?"

Bertad gazed leisurely at the setting sun nearing the horizon. His eyes became distant and deep, as though they had crossed time and space to see the past.

"The Main God bears witness! I spent five years in the commoner military academy. Then, after coming of age, I joined the capital's legions. After that, I stayed here for a full twenty years. Twenty years. At first, I campaigned under the great Montezuma I, then under King Axayacatl, and now under King Tizoc."

Bertad smiled faintly and spoke in a distant voice.

"The army is my entire life. I belong to the battlefield. Here lie my boyhood, my youth, my middle age, and here will lie my old age. Perhaps dying in some battle, like a true Samurai, will be the best ending for me."

"But you're already a Level 4 Senior Warrior. You have enough land and servants. You could retire and return to a city-state, become a teacher at a military academy, and live happily with your family, couldn't you?"

Kusola imagined the life of a Level 4 Warrior even as he looked curiously at Bertad.

Bertad only smiled. The hardships of military life had carved weathered marks into his face. Yet the deeper, more indelible marks lay in his heart.

"My wife. She has already gone to the Red Kingdom. She and my child died in childbirth. I never remarried."

"My only younger brother died in battle last year."

Bertad looked at the distant clouds, a calm smile on his face.

"When we return this time, his wife should remarry. I will adopt his daughter and leave her everything I have."

Xolotl lowered his head slightly, his heart heavy. In this era, death in childbirth was exceedingly common. With no means of contraception and an extremely high infant mortality rate, women were trapped in an endless cycle of pregnancy and childbirth. One misstep, and it ended in a difficult birth.

Thus, in Mexica society, women who repeatedly bore healthy sons held extremely high status, like outstanding Samurai on the battlefield. And when a woman died in childbirth, she was regarded as a warrior who had fallen in battle, worthy of the entire tribe's respect.

When Xolotl had been very young, his mother had died in childbirth while delivering her second child. In his memories, he could vaguely recall the appearance of his mother in this life. She had been a very gentle woman from a commoner family in a city-state.

Later, his father married a new noble wife and took many concubines, who bore him numerous younger brothers and sisters. These new family members were not close to him, and they left one another undisturbed. If he had not been different from ordinary children since childhood, and greatly valued and cherished by his father and grandfather, there would probably have been plenty of melodramatic turmoil.

The three of them fell silent like this, watching the distant sunset together, watching the far-off crimson clouds, sinking into distant memories.

Only after a long while did Kusola ask Bertad.

"Captain of Warriors, why do you follow the Priest?"

Bertad watched the sun sink below the horizon. It was a long time before he answered.

"Because I want to change something, perhaps. And you?"

Kusola thought for a moment, then smiled sincerely.

"At first, I thought the Priest was so young and already so formidable. I wanted to follow him and seek a chance for the future."

Xolotl smiled too, looking at the young Samurai before him.

"Kusola, then what do you think now?"

Kusola thought seriously for a while before speaking.

"The Main God bears witness! I think, Priest, you are quite different from other nobles. You treat us Commoner Warriors well, and you teach us mysterious writing and knowledge we have never heard before. You treat commoners well too. You are a good person, blessed by the gods!"

At those words, an indescribable emotion rose in Xolotl's heart. He had heard nobles praise him and extol his knowledge. Usually, he merely smiled, feeling little. But this was another kind of voice—recognition of the person he was—and it touched his lonely soul.

"Haaha! You two are making me embarrassed. Come, it's time to eat."

Xolotl rose with a smile and pulled the two Samurai up. The people around them gathered as well and began preparing dinner.

Dinner was somewhat special. Everyone first sat in a circle beside the bonfire at the center of the village, roasting Tortillas and filling them with Chili and Bean Paste. The village elder then presented two local specialties: a spineless Cactus and dried red Cactus Fruit. He also brought out a clay jar of Tequila. It was an important treasure of the village, an offering for Xolotl's spring plowing and a heartfelt expression of gratitude and reverence.

This edible Cactus was the "Mibanta" beloved by the tribes of Mexico, an important vegetable. Xolotl took a roasted Cactus first and bit into its pointed end.

The Mibanta had been roasted just right. Its skin was thin, so it must have been specially cultivated. The flesh of its stem was tender, tasting somewhat like a blend of cucumber, celery, and zucchini. Closer to the center, it became juicier, with a faint, clean sweetness, as if fruit and vegetable had become one.

Next, Xolotl picked up a fist-sized piece of dried Cactus Fruit. It looked much like dried dragon fruit, with many small seeds inside. He took a bite. It was very sweet. His eyes brightened, and he took two more bites, tasting a sandy-smooth texture. The village elder told Xolotl that this was dried fruit from last year. By October, fresh Cactus Fruit would be even more delicious.

Everyone drank some more wine, and the Samurai began to grow boisterous around the bonfire. Soon, full of food and drink, some Samurai danced war dances beside the flames while others watched and cheered. Some other Samurai sent by Totek, the overall commander, loudly demanded that Otomi girls come dance for them. Faced with the Samurai's demands, the village elder stood there in frightened embarrassment, able only to nod and agree.

Xolotl waved his hand, signaling the Samurai to quiet down.

"Rest early and conserve your strength. We return at dawn tomorrow."

Xolotl gave the order, authority appearing on the youth's face. Only then did the Samurai stop, acknowledge the command, and leave.

The village elder hurriedly prostrated himself in thanks. When the bonfire feast ended, Xolotl prepared to go to sleep. The elder gave up his own house—the best wooden house in the village, clean and tidy within.

Xolotl was about to thank the elder when he saw him bring over a girl, saying she was his granddaughter and would attend upon the Priest. The young Priest looked at the girl, who was only about his own age. She lowered her head shyly and stood timidly beside the elder. In that instant, his face, so imposing moments ago, immediately flushed red with embarrassment.

Bertad chuckled softly and stepped forward to say a few words to the elder about the Mexica Samurai tradition of restraint and self-discipline. Only then did the elder hurriedly apologize and lead the girl away.

"Farmers, Artisans, Samurai, and nobles. Boys, youths, middle-aged men, and old men. Lords and followers, boys and girls."

The night was deep. The grass bed was clean and soft, carrying a fresh scent. All sorts of fragments of life rose in Xolotl's mind. He thought of the Otomi People's lives, the Mexica People's lives, even the lives of all the tribes of Mexico. Images fluttered through his thoughts, until at last they settled on the girl's disappointed yet relieved smile before she left. The youth smiled as well. Then, amid his tangled thoughts, upon the soft grass bed, he sank into deep dreams.

On the bedding beside him lay Bertad, quietly keeping watch. He gazed calmly outside, toward the distance of the night.