"Your name?" "Xie Kejiu." "Ancestral home?" "Should be... a native of Yingzhou." "Should be?" The minor clerk …
"Your name?"
"Xie Kejiu."
"Ancestral home?"
"Should be... a native of Yingzhou."
"Should be?" The minor clerk in charge of enlistment looked up, squinting at the man before him.
Stature fits, age seems right, build... no visible infirmities. That would do. The minor clerk nodded in satisfaction, licked his brush, and made a mark.
"Li Jingxing, once you enter the camp, you follow the rules. Understood?"
One less matter is better than one more. In such a world, who would bother stealing a name just to be a common grunt?
"Xie Kejiu" would.
He had crawled out from a mountain of corpses. The city fell, his general surrendered, his comrades vanished, yet Heaven played a cruel joke, letting him live.
Alive, yet in this vast world, he had neither origin nor destination.
So when the last coin for wine was spent, he sold himself back to the army, using the name of his platoon leader.
As if he were still there.
...
"Your name?"
"Zhou Fugui."
"Purpose of entry?"
"Delivering a letter. A distant brother of mine, Zhao Tie, is stationed at the Luan City defense. If you would..." He deftly produced a wineskin, offering it to the guard.
"Fine, fine, get in. Where's this wine from? Such a fine aroma." The guard uncorked it, took a whiff, and waved him in.
One less matter is better than one more. In this world, who doesn't have a few poor relatives?
"Zhou Fugui" had none.
His parents died early, before they could even grant him a formal name. Thus, when he joined the army, he used only a crude childhood name.
They say a lowly name is easy to keep alive. He often thought his name must be too lowly; why else would Heaven refuse to take him?
To let a man like him, without ties or home, survive, while those brothers with families and loved ones perished on the field?
He could only shoulder his pack, carrying his brothers' final letters and pay to their kin. With every destination, he assumed a new name.
As if they were all still here.
...
"Your name?" This time, it was his turn to ask.
"My name is Zhao Buyi."
"Is your uncle named Zhao Shi?"
"Oh? You know my uncle, sir? He's been in the army for years. He's a real hero!"
He knew not Zhao Tie, but he knew Zhao Shi. A brother who had written his final words alongside him; one who fell at Jin'an Fort, never to emerge.
With every house in Luancheng at its loom, finding the Zhaos was no simple task. Yet the moment he saw the boy's face, he knew his search was over.
He drew out the letter that had long rested against his heart and placed it in Zhao Buyi's hands, to be delivered to Zhao Shi.
Zhao Buyi looked at the blood-stained envelope and then up at the man beneath the bamboo hat. A realization seemed to dawn upon him.
"Uncle... he... he isn't coming home, is he?"
Finding no words to answer, he merely patted the boy's head and turned to leave.
From behind, the young voice called out, "And you, sir? What is your name? Will I see you again?"
He gave a dismissive wave and tossed back a name: "Ding Xianzhen."
He remembered him, a lad no older than Zhao Buyi. Only... that one would never find his way home either.
Seasons passed, uncounted...
At the city gate, guards conducted their routine questioning of the departing crowd.
"Your name?"
"Meng Kuan."
"Meng Kuan... Destination?"
"To the North."
"Your business there?"
"To find a man. To deliver a letter."
"Meng Kuan" tugged down the brim of his new hat, drifting into the northbound crowd.
He knew many were still waiting for these names to return or for the closure they brought.
As for himself? For one whom no one awaits, a name is a luxury long since surrendered.