Chapter 11: Six Days
I called a meeting. Or rather, Hao called a meeting while I stood next to him and fed him the talking points.
We gathered at the village center — the flat area between the Zhao compound and the Liu house that served as Hekou’s de facto commons. Forty-six households plus eight refugee families, every adult and older child who could stand. Over a hundred faces in the torchlight, most of them confused, a few of them scared because the Liuwan refugees were among them and their fear was contagious.
Hao stood on an upturned crate because I’d told him to. Height mattered when addressing a crowd. People listened upward.
“The Prefect’s tax collectors are moving south along the northern road,” Hao said. His voice was clear, steady, and warm enough to hold their attention.
“They’ve already hit Tongshan and Liuwan. Our friends from those villages can tell you what that looked like. The collectors are demanding twenty percent of working-age men or the equivalent in grain and iron. They’ll reach Hekou within the week.”
There were murmurs throughout the crowd. Zhao Ping’s face went hard. The Wei brothers exchanged a glance.
“We’re not going to panic,” Hao continued. “We’re going to prepare. My brother has a plan.”
Every face turned to me. I hadn’t expected Hao to redirect that cleanly. He stepped off the crate and gestured for me to take it. I didn’t. Speaking from the same level as the crowd was deliberate — I wasn’t their leader.
“The collectors will assess our village and make demands based on what they see,” I began to say. “That means what they see is what matters. We have six days to control that.”