Chapter 9: The Names of the Seven Children

“Hmm, the eldest brother said that a mother’s heart softens; she would never abandon her children. As long as we all call you ‘mother,’ you wouldn’t neglect us.” The little girl’s eyes sparkled brightly as she spoke.

Hearing the child’s tone filled with admiration for that eldest brother, Hong Xiaoduo could understand. For a group of children abused by that wicked man, having an elder brother who cared for them was their pillar of strength.

Whatever the eldest brother said, they believed without doubt.

Yet, Hong Xiaoduo hadn’t expected the answer she sought to be so simple.

The reason to call her ‘mother’ sounded reasonable—many fathers in this world might be irresponsible and cruel enough to abandon their children, but mothers would not. A mother carries her child for ten months, eagerly anticipating their birth; the child is flesh from her own body.

Of course, this statement is somewhat one-sided—not all fathers are selfish, nor are all mothers heartless enough to abandon their children; those are only a minority.

Hong Xiaoduo vaguely recalled a famous saying: a mother is not someone to depend on, but someone who makes dependence unnecessary.

But all of this presupposes the child is her own, right?

For children who are strangers, with no familial ties, a woman faced with such a situation would only offer whatever help her maternal sympathy allowed.

These children before her treated her as their only lifeline.

They pinned their hopes on a single form of address; it was the only idea they could conceive. Anyone else hearing it might laugh, but to them, it was a viable solution.

From their perspective, they had no other choice.

Though Hong Xiaoduo had been here only a short while, she sensed this era was far from peaceful, and life was harsh.

The tall boy nearby noticed Hong Xiaoduo’s expression had shifted and tugged the little girl aside, whispering, “Are you being naughty? Did you make mother unhappy?”

The little girl shook her head repeatedly, then glanced back at ‘mother.’ Was she displeased? It seemed so!

Unsure if it was because of what she had just said to ‘mother,’ and afraid of being scolded by the eldest brother, the little girl kept silent, pressing her lips together.

Their subtle exchange did not escape Hong Xiaoduo’s notice. Pretending not to see, she clapped her hands and said, “Is everyone here? If so, let’s set off. We should try to reach that village before nightfall.”

The children exchanged glances and nodded in agreement—seven in total.

Just as the tall boy crouched to carry the little girl on his back, Hong Xiaoduo stepped forward swiftly, hoisting the child herself and taking the cloth sling meant for carrying her from the boy.

“Mother, I can do it,” the tall boy said, initially anxious about why ‘mother’ seemed upset, but now seeing her willingly carry the smallest child, he felt a sudden sense of relief.

No matter why ‘mother’ had been upset, the important thing was she hadn’t abandoned them.

“Take care of the others, hurry up—no dawdling,” Hong Xiaoduo said as she struggled to tie the sling around the little girl’s waist. The tall boy quickly stepped in to help.

The group of one adult and seven children continued on, still wary of pursuit by the wicked man, but less fearful than before.

Hong Xiaoduo silently thanked the heavens for the season’s weather—it was cool but not cold, and it hadn’t rained.

Otherwise, things would have been much worse.

To pass the time during the journey, Hong Xiaoduo chatted with the children.

None of the seven knew where they came from or who their families were; they had been with the wicked man since they could remember. He forced them to beg, taking the money he gathered to buy wine and food for himself.

The children survived on scraps begged from others. Because of the ongoing wars, common folk had a hard time too. Even leftovers were not guaranteed daily; when there was none, they went hungry. Hunger was a familiar hardship they endured.

What terrified them most was failing to beg enough money. Without funds for wine and food, the wicked man would vent his anger by beating them—severely, but never to the point of maiming them, ensuring they suffered pain yet remained capable of begging again.

Listening to the children’s stories, Hong Xiaoduo suddenly felt no remorse over having struck down that villain. Such a wicked man deserved death a thousand times over.

The names the children bore made Hong Xiaoduo even angrier. None were normal.

Even names like “Little Stone” or “Dog Egg” would have been somewhat acceptable.

But no—the eldest boy was called Piglet, followed by Underling Horse, Underling Ox, Underling Sheep, Underling Dog, Underling Donkey, and Underling Chicken.

All named after livestock—he never regarded these poor children as human.

At first, the children did not feel anything amiss with their names. Only when mocked and scolded by other beggars as “little beasts” did they realize their names were humiliating, so they never called each other by them.

Hong Xiaoduo had started the conversation to pass the time, but the more she listened, the heavier her heart grew.

The wicked man must have been psychotic, enslaving them to support himself and even giving them such degrading names.

“Mother, how about you give us new names?” the eldest boy tentatively asked.

“Hmm, let me think about it.” Hong Xiaoduo agreed without hesitation.

The children’s faces lit up with joy upon hearing her promise.

As she walked, Hong Xiaoduo thought naming them would be easy—boys could be named after mountains or peaks, girls after clouds, grace, or flowers. Inspiration was everywhere; it should have been simple.

But when she looked into their eager, pure, and expectant eyes, she suddenly felt guilty for being so casual.

Seeing her stop asking questions, the children didn’t dare speak further, afraid of disturbing her while she chose their new names.

Finally, as the sun neared the horizon, the group spotted a village.

Yet as they entered, the villagers watched them with wary eyes.

Puzzled, Hong Xiaoduo approached a middle-aged man standing by a doorway, but before she could speak, he said gruffly, “We have no food here. Move along.”

Hong Xiaoduo tried to explain they intended to buy, not beg, but the man turned sharply and slammed the gate.

Several other households reacted similarly, leaving Hong Xiaoduo frustrated. Pointing to herself and the children following closely behind, she asked, “Do I look like a villain?”

The children shook their heads in unison, yet their expressions showed they were not surprised.

“Mother, maybe we should give up. We ate meat today and aren’t that hungry now,” the eldest boy whispered.

“Yes, mother, we can go a few days without food if needed,” another younger child added, the others nodding in agreement.

Hong Xiaoduo wanted to say she wouldn’t believe it—spending silver to buy food and still being turned away?

But seeing the children’s uneasy faces, she softened. “Alright, let’s walk farther out to find shelter for the night. Tomorrow morning, I’ll catch birds for us to eat.”

So, Hong Xiaoduo led the children to the edge of the village. As they reached an exit, an elderly voice called out to her.

“Young lady, don’t blame the villagers for their cruelty—they’re just afraid to be kind. Half a month ago, a group of beggars came. The kind-hearted Da Niu family let them in, steamed a pot of dry bread and made stew.

“But who would have thought? They returned at night, jumped over the wall, stole years of savings from Da Niu’s family, and even tried to assault his wife and daughter. Da Niu fought desperately with his cleaver, screaming for help. Neighbors came running, and only then was the tragedy averted.

“Da Niu was seriously injured and will take a long time to recover. His wife and daughter, though spared, suffer nightmares every night.

“Ah, these troubled times bring all sorts of people. The village suffered that once—they’re just scared now.

“I have some steamed corn buns here. You can share them with the children to ease their hunger.

“Not far ahead by the roadside is an empty house. Though half the roof has collapsed, it will at least shield you from the wind tonight.”

Understanding the situation, Hong Xiaoduo gestured for the eldest boy to take the buns and thanked the old man.

After a few steps, she stopped and turned back. “Sir, please wait.”

The old man paused and looked at her.

“May I ask, what happened to those wicked beggars? Were they caught and handed over to the authorities?”

The old man sighed, shaking his head. “Though they were beggars, they were strong and skilled fighters. The villagers couldn’t catch them—they fled far away. The local magistrate was informed, but don’t expect them to be caught.”

“How so?” Hong Xiaoduo asked, puzzled.

“Young lady, you don’t understand. Since no one died and the victims are villagers, the officials won’t waste time or effort investigating or capturing them—unless someone recognizes them and reports again,” the old man explained with a sigh.

“And if those beggars were beaten to death, what would the officials do?” Hong Xiaoduo asked impulsively...