Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It was impossible to tell if this earthquake was worse than the one years ago.

But that one had occurred in summer, while this one struck in deep winter. Wang Shi could only reassure herself that if people died now, the bodies could be kept at home for seven days, and wouldn't rot and stink as easily as in summer. Even if looters still took advantage of the chaos, the officials should have learned from the previous experience and would not repeat the tragedy of those years.

Wang Shi steadied her pounding heart, wrapped Zhao Xiaobao snugly in a quilt, leaving no gap for the cold wind, and handed her to Zhao Deng, who was standing nearby. "Hold your little aunt tight. Xi'er and Granny will go dig things out."

"Yes, ma'am!" Zhao Xi hurriedly responded, scampering after his grandmother.

Looking at the wreckage of the main room, Wang Shi sighed deeply. She got her bearings and began directing Zhao Xi to dig. The most valuable box she had hidden near Xiaobao, but there was still some daily-use money left outside—copper coins and silver fragments totaling several taels of silver—kept in a wooden box hidden under the bed.

This was going to take some digging.

Zhao Xi was young but strong. Wang Shi, no match for her little grandson, broke into a sweat just digging out clothes, shoes, and bedding. She told him to keep digging while she hastily pulled on shoes, threw a coat over herself—not caring if it was dirty or damp—just to ward off the biting cold.

"Mother, where should we put the bedding and clothes?" Sun Shi, holding two grimy cotton quilts, was at a loss. There was barely a place to stand.

Wang Shi's head throbbed at the sight of her. Her third son's wife was scatterbrained, unable to make the slightest decision in a crisis. "The bed planks should be intact. Find them, clean them up, and put anything from the house that mustn't get damp on top. Be careful."

"Got it." Sun Shi finally seemed to have a task, no longer flitting around like a headless fly.

Zhu Shi gathered wooden planks from several rooms, pieced them together in the yard, and placed bedding and clothes on them, covering everything with an oilcloth she had dug from the ruins. Then she moved the food supplies Luo Shi had unearthed onto the planks. The flour, coarse salt, and lard were all ruined; only the heavily soiled cured meat could be saved. Everything from the kitchen that was still edible or usable was placed in baskets and carried to the planks.

The earth shook several more times during this, frightening the family into huddling tightly together.

Fortunately, each tremor was weaker than the last, not as violent as the first one. But from deep within the back mountains came occasional sounds like massive rocks tumbling down, enough in the pitch-black night to send a chill down your spine.

Everyone's faces were etched with fear and anxiety.

Old Man Zhao took his two sons first to the Clan Elder's house. He had to address that family's old master as "Second Elder Brother." But before they even got close, they heard heart-wrenching wails. The young, nimble on their feet, had managed to run out during the quake, but the old man, who usually walked with a cane, wasn't so lucky. By the time his sons and grandsons dug him out, he was gone.

"Uncle, my father is gone." A man about Old Man Zhao's age wept, snot and tears streaming, his legs giving way as he knelt on the ground, unable to be pulled up.

"Shuanzi, pull yourself together. The whole family is counting on you. We can't afford to lose anyone else." Old Man Zhao quickly scanned Shuanzi's family—some sitting, some kneeling, some collapsed on the ground—all bearing injuries large and small, but none seemed life-threatening; they would heal with time.

Only the old master was gone.

"Great-Uncle, is this the Earth Dragon turning over?" Shuanzi's son, an honest man with little experience, thought this resembled what the elders called the Earth Dragon turning over and couldn't help asking Old Man Zhao, the most knowledgeable man in the village.

Old Man Zhao nodded gravely. Now was not the time for grief. He turned to Shuanzi. "Shuanzi, the King of Hell waits for no one. Right now, we save whoever we can. I'll take Da Niu and Er Niu to help elsewhere. You properly settle your father and quickly dig out whatever usable things you have at home before they get damp."

Without waiting for Shuanzi's response, he hurried off with Zhao Daniu and his brother to the next house.

Old Man Zhao commanded great respect due to his seniority. When he spoke, the villagers listened. Even if a family had lost someone, the weeping had to be held back for now. The living came first, the dead later. Every household was the same. Anyone who dared be selfish would be an enemy of the whole village, and no one would help their family in the future.

With him stepping forward to lead, Sunset Village seemed to have found its backbone. Every household lit torches, their light dancing between houses as shouts for help and offers of assistance echoed continuously.

The women's voices were hoarse from crying, numbly collapsed on the ground, kneeling and begging heaven for mercy...

More men followed behind Old Man Zhao, obeying his commands, going house to house to rescue villagers still trapped under beams, earthen walls, and rubble.

By now, no one cared what family someone belonged to, whether they had quarreled before, or if they had fought over trivial matters in the past. Even families who hadn't spoken for generations had to work together to save lives.

"Grandpa!"

Old Man Zhao was helping carry the village chief's body to the yard at the chief's house. He turned to see the family weeping as if their hearts were breaking, his temples throbbing, feeling a tightness in his chest.

Seeing his eldest grandson run over, eyes red-rimmed, his heart sank.

"What's wrong?" He strode forward to meet him, not wanting to look back at that unfilial bunch.

Zhao Xiaowu wiped his tears and said in a muffled voice, "Er Laizi was hit on the head by a falling beam..."

Leaving home, he and his two younger brothers split up, each going to check on and help the families of their close playmates. He went to Er Laizi's house. Just as he ran into the yard, he heard Er Laizi's mother wailing at the top of her lungs, shouting Er Laizi's name. Er Laizi's father held him silently, his face already streaked with tears.

Er Laizi, who had been roughhousing with them just that day, now lay limp in his father's arms. The blood from the back of his head stained the snowy ground crimson, a terrifying sight.

Er Laizi was his parents' only son. A bout of cold a while back had nearly taken his life; he was barely saved, and now a beam had smashed his head.

Zhao Xiaowu's tears fell pattering. Looking at his grandfather, his whole body trembled. "Grandpa, do we have any medicine for head injuries at home? Er Laizi... Er Laizi is dying. I don't want him to die."

Old Man Zhao saw his hands were covered in mud, fingernails black with grime. He stepped forward and gave his shoulder a firm pat. Without a word, he strode off toward Er Laizi's house, taking Xiaowu with him.

Zhao Er Lai's house wasn't far from the village chief's. By now, every household in the village looked much the same: houses collapsed, the sturdier ones still had half an earthen wall standing, but more often, thatch, tiles, beams, and walls were all heaped together, with no place to stand.

At Zhao Er Lai's house, the sound of weeping shook the heavens. Er Laizi's grandmother and mother had cried themselves hoarse.

"Who in heaven did my Er Lai offend? He wasn't taken when he fell sick before, so now you have to smash him to take him?!" Er Lai's grandmother sat on the ground, kicking her legs.

"Lai Zi, my Lai Zi, don't sleep, wake up quickly..." Lai Zi's mother clutched her son, whose eyes were tightly shut, weeping and laughing, her mind already somewhat unhinged.

Er Laizi's father and grandfather sat slumped on the ground, staring blankly at their home, which had vanished in an instant.

Old Man Zhao called to them several times but received no response.

Old Lai Zi and his wife had given birth to Er Lai's father late in life. This nephew of his also had few offspring. After many years of marriage, they finally had a son, but he died of a cold at the age of nine, just when he should have been firmly rooted.

Several more years passed before Er Laizi was born. This sole seedling of the family was cherished with utmost care. A while back, Er Laizi accidentally caught a cold and seemed unlikely to pull through. His family had sent over two doses of medicine to save the child. And now, this earthquake...

He dared not imagine what would become of this family if Er Laizi died.

"Nephew's wife, let me see Er Laizi." Old Man Zhao sighed inwardly, walking up to Er Lai's mother and speaking softly.

Er Lai's mother raised tear-filled eyes, as if only now seeing Old Man Zhao and Zhao Xiaowu behind him. Hearing his words, her tears fell in a torrent. Gazing at this most capable elder uncle in the village, she pleaded through her sobs, "Uncle Da Gen, please save my Er Laizi. The back of his head was hit by a beam, he lost so much blood... He's not dead yet, he still has a breath."

Old Man Zhao reached out to check Er Laizi's breathing. Indeed, there was still a breath, faint, but the child was not dead yet.

But in these circumstances, forget going to town to find a doctor; even going to the neighboring village to find the barefoot doctor for medicine was likely impossible. This earthquake was too severe; the neighboring village probably wasn't much better off. To put it bluntly, who knew if that doctor was even alive!

Even if Er Laizi could be saved, there was no chance to save him!

His silence, in Er Lai's mother's eyes, meant Er Laizi was beyond saving. As if her last hope had vanished, she knelt on the ground, holding Er Laizi and weeping uncontrollably.

"Someone save my son, he's not dead yet, he can still be saved..."

...

At Zhao the Cripple's house.

Zhao Quan was also weeping bitterly. This eight-foot-tall, bearded man knelt on the ground, crying with snot and tears. His father was gone.

He had woken the moment the earthquake struck and immediately ran to his father's room, but it was too late. His father's legs were bad; already old and frail, he was crushed in an instant by the collapsing wall. When dug out, he had no breath left.

Zhao Quan had attended to his father first and didn't have time for his son. In the end, he lost both. His father and son were both buried. The one stroke of luck in this misfortune was that his son wasn't dead, but his leg was crushed. He now lay in the yard, howling in agony, writhing in pain.

Zhao Ertian looked at the unearthed Cripple Brother and Gou Sheng, then at Zhao Quan, who was crying like a child. His lips moved slightly, but he didn't know what to say. He simply turned and went to the next house.

At a time like this, no words of comfort could be spoken.

The entire night, Old Man Zhao and his two sons were busy figures moving from house to house. As time passed, everyone’s expressions grew somber. Cries and despair hung over the small village and wouldn't lift.

Familiar faces that once greeted each other daily now lay on the ground, turned into cold, lifeless bodies.

In just one night, the living and the dead were now separated.

When the first grey light of dawn appeared, Old Man Zhao finally dragged his exhausted body back home. Seeing Zhao Xiaobao sitting perfectly still on a wooden plank, hugging her legs, he could barely hold back his tears.

So the house was gone. What mattered was that his family was safe.

“Xiaobao, Dad is back.”

Only then did Old Man Zhao realize his legs had gone weak. The exhaustion hit him all at once, and he could barely walk.