For Their Country
Gigi Wing Chi
ang had a wife. She was kind and gentle and beautiful, everything a farmer like him could hope for.
Yang loved Yue with all his heart, and he was glad for the marriage between them. Yue was
absolutely perfect to him, especially after they had found out she was pregnant, and Yang made every
effort to make her happy and feel loved ever the more. They were content and satisfied with their
simple life in their hut and field in the little village they lived in. His hard work in the field yielded
good crops that kept his and Yue’s stomach’s full, and were good enough to be sold in the market, despite the
country still recovering slowly from recent wars and battles that took many lives.
Cheng, Group 3: Fiction, Diocesan Girls' School
Y
For those few years, life couldn’t be better for Yang.
Until the new Emperor reigned and took over the country. Yang, being a strong, relatively younger
male, was ordered to work for the Emperor like many others. Yang had been afraid and worried, and barely had
time to say goodbye to Yue. All he managed was a chaste kiss to the lips, and a whispered promise of, “I love
you; I’ll come back” before the Emperor’s men grabbed him by his armpits and half-hauled him away.
Now, standing before a great stretch of land, taking in the orders of the Emperor’s men as they gave out
instructions for the project the Emperor wanted them to work on, Yang already missed Yue.
Feeling loneliness well up in his throat, Yang forced his emotions back down and followed the line of men
trekking up the hill to carry out his task. Yang wanted nothing more than to finish quickly and return home to
his normal life and spend his days with Yue and their unborn child.
It had been two weeks since Yang left home to aid the Emperor in his project along with millions of
others. It was a tiring task, Yang had realized. His job included laying foundations, transporting great slabs of
rock and cement up and down the hill. He and his fellow workers weren’t allowed rests; they worked from
daybreak till sunset each day, following the blueprints carefully.
The days were long and weary for Yang, and he found himself resenting his new job. The rocks and
cement were heavy, and working under the scorching sun made breathing hard, and Yang was thirsty almost all
the time. The Emperor’s men stood around with whips, flogging the workers when their progress slowed. They
seemed like slave drivers to Yang, and Yang couldn’t help but feel that they were slaves working for the
Emperor to complete this project of his. Although they weren’t called so, they were treated otherwise; they were
never praised or rewarded for their good work, and were punished severely for minor mistakes. Yang had been
beaten once already. The whip cracked and Yang had lost count of how many times the sharp pain lashed across
his back. When they were done with him, he was bleeding badly and it hurt so much that he couldn’t sit up.
The hopes of completing this task suddenly seemed dim. They had been told they would not be set free
until the project was complete, and it had been two painful, hard weeks, and the foundation was nowhere near
completion. But he would do this. He would do this for Yue and their child. He would do this for his country.
Two months continuing work for the Emperor’s project, Yang was terribly tempted to give up. He
missed the field that provided him with crops to sell and eat; he missed the hut with it simple interior yet carried
the sense of belonging and home, and most of all, he missed Yue.
As Yang struggled with a new load of cement for the construction, he thought of what he would be
doing now if he were at home. Working at the field, probably, with Yue beside him, helping him tend to the
seedlings and occasionally bringing him a drink of water in the heat of the noonday sun…Water. Yang needed
water. His throat was parched and his tongue was dry as sandpaper, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Oh, how
he wished that Yue was there to bring him that small cup of cool water, kneeling down next to him to watch him
drink up her offering.
Homesickness welled up inside him as the image of Yue’s warm dark brown eyes and gentle smile burned itself
into the back of his eyelids, and all he could see for the moment was his beloved wife.
Summoning all his strength at the thought of Yue, Yang continued on forward. He would do this. He
would do this for Yue and their unborn young. He would do this for his country.
Yue has given birth to a boy named Hang. He is born strong and healthy.
The words of the young messenger from his village echoed again and again in Yang’s head six months
later. Yue had given birth. He had a son. They had a son. Yang and Yue.
As Yang heaved slab after slab of stone onto the platform in front of him, his thoughts whirled out of
his control. He was going to be a father. Would he ever be home in time to see Yue give birth? The foundations