Chapter 140

Chapter 140

"From here to Fengchuan Prefecture, we pass through three counties: Wuling, Juanping, and Hebo..."

"Wuling has many forests and mountains. In earlier years, bandits would come down from the hills to rob travelers. If you're unlucky enough to meet ruthless ones, even if you willingly hand over all your money, you still can't escape the blade's fall."

"In past years when I went to Fengchuan Prefecture, I mostly took a detour around Wuling, but that route is much longer. A straight journey of three to five days becomes over ten days by the detour."

"But the officials care about their reputation too. The surrounding villages have suffered terribly from bandit raids—grain stolen, children taken. The villagers go to the county magistrate's office every day to beat the drum and cry for justice. The magistrate of Wuling sent men up the mountains to suppress the bandits, and it seems they've had some success. Last time I passed through Wuling, the road was peaceful, no trouble at all."

Shi Dalang felt a bit constrained, surrounded by a crowd, and utterly uncomfortable.

"Bandits, huh," Old Man Zhao mused, his tight face giving nothing away. "What's the detour route like? Why such a big difference?"

"The short route cuts through villages. It's not really an official road—just paths villagers carved out with hoes over time. A hundred years ago, Wuling's mountains were crisscrossed with ridges, and villages sat halfway up the slopes, some even in caves. It's only in recent years that they've started marrying outside, chiseled out mountain paths, and moved their villages down to the foothills." Shi Dalang knew a thing or two, thanks to an aunt who married into Fengchuan Prefecture. Actually, there were several routes from their hometown to Fengchuan Prefecture. The Xinping route wasn't the easiest or the best choice, but now they were taking it to dodge the soldiers.

Seeing the worried looks on the village elders' faces, he quickly reassured them: "There's no need to worry too much. Vicious bandits are few and far between. Everything has its limits. Bandits who flat-out kill people don't come out on top either—there are higher-ups keeping an eye on things. If you run into roadblockers, just grit your teeth and hand over a little 'toll,' and they'll let you through."

Then he returned to Old Man Zhao's question: "The detour goes around the mountain the other way. The flat paths are all taken by bandits. Only the steep, godforsaken spots nobody wants are left."

He gave a sheepish grin: "If you're traveling light with no gear, you can be bold and take the direct route. But in our situation, a handcart might make it, but a donkey cart can't get through."

The whole village only had their family's donkey cart. Old Man Zhao rubbed his fingers, realizing Shi Dalang was leaning toward the bandit-plagued village route. That was why. What kind of folks would hide out in the mountains as bandits? According to Shi Dalang, many years ago, all the villagers at the foot of Wuling lived down below. He figured the men who went up the mountains as bandits might even come down at night to eat supper at home.

Villagers and bandits—change your clothes, change your face, and you're two different people.

Whether they wanted to collect tolls as villagers or bandits, they wouldn't ruin their own reputation. A bad rep was fine, but a murderous one wasn't. If you wanted an easy time, the village route was definitely more convenient.

Of course, that was in the past. What about now? There's a drought. The Heavenly Lord doesn't give a damn if you're a bandit or not—the sun beats down on everyone, trees, and rivers alike. Could those bandits who used to collect tolls still be easy to deal with?

Probably not.

Wuling was huge. Shi Dalang laid it all out in detail. The trouble was only around the base of Wuling Mountain; other areas were peaceful, no bandits.

"I haven't heard of any trouble in Juanping, and I know the road there," Shi Dalang said, holding nothing back. Matters of life and death couldn't be taken lightly, and he couldn't be petty, thinking he could get one over on them. He wanted to tag along, not make enemies. "Hebo, like its name says, has a lot of rivers. The folks there are good with water; they don't ride carts, they prefer boats. If even Hebo is dry, then the whole world's in deep trouble."

That's why he was dead set on going to Fengchuan Prefecture. Hebo bordered Fengchuan, a water prefecture. Flooding was possible, but drought was impossible.

If even Fengchuan Prefecture had no water, Shi Dalang figured he might as well give up on running and just wait to die. He wouldn't know how to keep going.

Qing Xuan sat cross-legged nearby, with Little Tiger constantly nuzzling into his arms. He couldn't stand the heat and kept shoving it away. The two were locked in a silent tug-of-war.

He knew the route Shi Dalang mentioned, since his master had brought him back from Fengchuan Prefecture. He knew Fengchuan Prefecture like the back of his hand—he'd slipped through the side doors of grand mansions and crashed in ruined temples. He'd tasted fancy pastries given by young masters and picked up dusty buns tossed by passersby.

His memories of Fengchuan Prefecture weren't great, but looking back now, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Qingxuan Temple had a lot of visitors, and his senior brothers often took him down the mountain. Shi Dalang's account was on the level, so he just listened quietly without butting in.

They seemed like a no-nonsense family. He glanced over at where the Shi brothers were resting. When the folks from Evening Glow Village arrived, they'd taken over most of the grove. The Shi family was wedged in the middle, surrounded by everyone. At the first sign of trouble, Old Uncle Zhao wouldn't even need to say a word—the crowd could crush them.

He was a bit taken aback. Evening Glow Village wasn't what he'd pictured. He'd thought they were just regular country farmers, but they didn't seem like it.

A lot of the men looked like they'd had blood on their hands, their eyes sharp. Compared to the Shi brothers, this really stood out.

His mind wandered, and he occasionally glanced toward where Zhao Xiaobao and the others had gone. Propping his chin on his hand, he listened idly as Old Uncle Zhao and the village elders talked over the route.

"What's there to be scared of? Bandits are still people. Stick 'em with a knife, and they'll settle down," Zhao Sanwang said impatiently, the first to speak up. He'd killed refugees before and wasn't scared of bandits. "With so many of us, if they dare to rob us, I'll dare to kill them. It's not like I haven't done it before."

He knew damn well that those big knives had been hidden by Dashan and the others, probably still with them. If they ran into bandits, it was anyone's guess who'd come out on top.

"Get out of here! Is it your place to talk? Shut your mouth!" Zhao Shanao waved him off. There were outsiders present—talking about killing left and right might scare them.

Shi Dalang looked horrified at Zhao Sanwang, his lips moving as if to say something, but in the end, he stayed silent.

"Don't listen to his nonsense. We're honest folks, just farmers," Old Man Zhao said, patting his shoulder. He actually liked Shi Dalang. Since they were all fleeing, there was no point hiding things. "We're from Qingzhou Prefecture. You've probably heard about the refugee unrest. Our village was unlucky—a group of refugees came, and it was a life-or-death struggle. Nothing much to say."

Shi Dalang wiped his sweat and nodded meekly.

Seeing he was intimidated, Old Man Zhao didn't want to keep him hanging and said bluntly: "You're a smart man. I won't say much more. If you and your brothers are willing, you can follow behind us. We won't drive you away or bully you. We'll share water-finding duties. But fair warning: I can't look after you. If trouble comes, I'll promise not to abandon you and will lend a hand if I can, but I won't be responsible for your safety. You'll have to rely on yourselves."

Shi Dalang nodded eagerly, full of gratitude: "I don't dare ask for more. Old Uncle, just agreeing to take me and my brothers along is more than enough. For night watches, water-finding, any work—just say the word, and my brothers and I will obey without hesitation."

"I'll arrange it," Old Man Zhao said with a smile. Giving them some tasks would put them at ease. "I'll say both the good and the bad upfront. Leading so many people isn't easy—each with their own mouth, their own thoughts. If everyone refuses to follow orders, nothing gets done. Just one thing: as long as I'm not sending you to your death, for everything else, as long as you travel with us, you'll listen to me. That's our rule."

Shi Dalang nodded: "Of course. Just say it, and we'll listen."

The exact route still needed discussion with the village elders. Knowing his part was done, Shi Dalang got up and left.

Back with his brother, they discussed it and, ignoring Wang Shi's protests, silently set down the sugarcane they hadn't given away the night before and left.

Even though Old Man Zhao had already agreed to take them, Shi Dalang was thorough and didn't want to be petty over small matters. Getting things done right made him feel better and would make future interactions smoother, so he'd feel free to ask for help when needed.

Pulling his muttering younger brother back, Shi Erlang was still reluctant, but Shi Dalang said: "Wait until Daohua gets back, then mutter to her."

"..." Shi Erlang didn't dare. His daughter was tougher than his eldest brother, so he stopped complaining.

The water-finding party was out for half a day and returned just as the sun was about to set.

The afternoon sun was fierce. Zhao Sandi led them with frequent stops. The village boys were no weaklings—even Zhou Santou could carry a half-full bucket steadily. Though the buckets had wooden lids, carrying them was still tough. Even the most clueless knew water was scarce now, preferring to walk slowly rather than waste a single drop. They rested when tired, determined to bring back enough for their parents, grandparents, and siblings to drink their fill.

Without water, they couldn't cook. The adults who'd woken up wandered around the grove, unable to sit still. Trusting blindly in Old Man Zhao, they believed the water-finding party wouldn't return empty-handed. The men built stoves, the women scooped out flour and rice—preparations were already done.

Outside the main road, carts occasionally rumbled by, raising clouds of dust.

Refugees pushing carts or carrying loads passed silently, afraid to make a sound, lest they attract attention from the grove.

When Zhao Sandi and the others returned, cheers erupted in the grove, drawing stares from another group outside.

The evening sun hung halfway in the sky, dusk approaching. Refugees who'd walked all day could go no further. Small groups dared not stop, but larger ones had no such qualms. The official road was packed with resting people, while another grove was occupied by a different group. Both sides kept a safe distance, neither wanting trouble.

"Well, I'll be damned! You actually brought it back!" Old Lady Zhou pushed through the crowd, stunned to see her grandson—who usually only knew how to throw tantrums and shirk work—actually carrying back half a bucket of water. Her wrinkled face twisted into a comical expression of disbelief.

She'd wanted to send her eldest grandson, but the younger one insisted, saying Zhao Xi had promised to take him. He'd even volunteered for the work. Old Lady Zhou felt bad for her eldest and didn't stop him, not expecting much. But the boy hadn't let them down!

Good heavens! She quickly turned to look at the setting sun—it was setting in the west!

Every household gathered around. Fathers ruffled their sons' hair, mothers pulled out handkerchiefs to wipe away sweat with tender care. Praise poured in like a tide. The boys, sitting on the ground with flushed faces, grinned and puffed out their chests, feeling it was all worth it!

"Grandpa, Grandma, hurry and get the water dipper! This spring water is so sweet—tastes just like the water from our village's old well!"

"Oh, my clever grandson! Good, good! Grandma's blessed, drinking water you found!" The old woman grinned, her toothless gums gleaming in the sunset.

"Good lad, you didn't let me down!" The old man laughed, slapping his grandson's shoulder with a rough hand.

"Tired? Rest a bit. I'll make you some flatbread," Lv Xiuhong said, crouching down to wipe her son's face with concern. Her hand touched his cheek, the heat seeping through her skin to her heart.

Da Luo Bo let his mother wipe his sweat, his eyes bright. He whispered, "Mom, don't hold back. Drink as much as you want. I'll get more for you tomorrow." He wished he could grow up faster. Not being able to push the cart for his mother had frustrated him, but now he could help, and it made him happy. He wasn't tired at all.

"Alright," Lv Xiuhong choked out, hurriedly covering her son's eyes with a hand towel, hiding her own reddened eyes.

"Ma, I want some water." Xiao Luo Bo stood obediently to the side, gazing at the clear spring water in the bucket, unable to resist licking his chapped lips.

"Drink up, drink up. Ma'll get the dipper." Lv Xiuhong wiped her eyes, turned around quick, and got up to grab their water container.

Smoke from cooking fires rose through the woods, all cheerful and busy with folks baking flatbreads and fixing meals.

On the other side, someone caught the word "water" and wanted to go ask, but got held back—no one dared make a move. Instead, they sent someone to follow the way those kids had come back from.

In times like these, who'd just tell you where to find water? Unless you found it yourself—it's nature's gift. Even if folks weren't happy about it, nobody could claim it.

If someone had that in mind, it came down to who'd make it out alive.

Qing Xuan took a bite of his flatbread, spotting a group out of the corner of his eye. He turned to Old Man Zhao: "Uncle, some folks are heading that way to look. Should we stop 'em?"

"Leave 'em be." Old Man Zhao shook his head. There ain't no spring in those woods—just a waste of time. Not wanting to cause trouble, and since he'd planned to let everyone rest a couple more days, he thought it over and told his oldest son, "After dinner, quietly go tell everyone. Keep the kids safe, watch our stuff, and we'll head out at dawn tomorrow."

"Got it." Zhao Dashan nodded. Now that everyone was together, no need to rush like they were running for their lives. If they got tired, they could just rest more along the way. Besides, with Zhao Xiaobao around, water wasn't a problem.

Tonight they made thin porridge. Their family had the most livestock—not just a donkey, but a dog too, and now a cat.

The family sat together for supper, with two bowls set aside—one for the dog, one for the cat—both lapping up the thin porridge, getting envious looks from folks nearby.

Qing Xuan hadn't expected the little tiger to get treated like that. Auntie herself poured the porridge. He thought the cub wouldn't eat it, but it drank it up just fine. He'd known hunger and could eat anything without being picky, but the cub was a clever cat, sometimes fussy—it'd get mad if you gave it flatbread. At mealtime, it'd go into the woods to catch its own food—field mice, rabbits—and eat 'em all.

It also ate venison—dried venison hanging from the tree. Qing Xuan had fed it a couple times, and it loved it.

Back then, if the cub liked something, Qing Xuan would've given it all without a second thought. But not anymore. He was eating the Zhao family's food now, so the meat had to be left for Auntie to decide. He didn't sneak the cub venison anymore.

As if reading his mind, the cub stopped drinking, lay down, and licked its paws. The little "king" mark on its forehead showed off its swagger. Its eyes drifted toward the venison hanging from the branches, and it let out a soft, sweet "meow."

"..." Qing Xuan turned away, silently sipping his porridge, pretending not to notice.

"Meow." The cub called again.

"What, done?" Wang poked her head over to check. There was still some in the bowl, but Xiao Heizi, the dog, had already licked it clean with a few loud slurps, staring at her with big, watery eyes.

Sure enough, Wang's heart softened. She scooped another half bowl of porridge into the dog's bowl, and before she could pull the ladle away, the dog dove in and wolfed it down. Turning to see the cub not drinking its porridge but meowing at the tree, she put up with it for a bit, but couldn't resist that soft, whiny sound. She turned to her oldest grandson: "Xiao Wu, go cut a small piece of venison, chop it up, and mix it in its bowl."

"Okay." Zhao Xiaowu set down his bowl quick and went to cut the meat.

Qing Xuan was stunned silent. He hadn't expected Auntie to spoil even a cat—the dog asked for porridge, she gave it; the cat asked for meat, she cut it. These were precious rations. Holding his bowl, his mind raced. Back in the countryside, who cared about cats or dogs? If someone was hungry enough, they'd kill a dog in the middle of the night to stew it up.

Yesterday, he was already shocked to see a dog following Auntie. Running from a famine with a dog—nobody'd believe it if he told 'em.

But the proof was right in front of him. With this kind of spoiling, if someone said they were raising it for food, not even a ghost would buy it.

Food doesn't get porridge.

Seeing him bury his face in his bowl, Wang casually ladled him another scoop and said kindly, "We're simple farm folk, no strict rules. If food's out, help yourself to whatever you want. Eat your fill, and don't be shy."

Qing Xuan held his bowl obediently, his ears turning red. After a long pause, he managed, "Thanks, Auntie." He wasn't used to being around women and had stayed away from the mat all day. But Auntie and the three sisters-in-law kept coming over to chat, handing him flatbread at meals, real friendly.

It was the first time he realized he was so pathetic—nervous talking to women, ears red and face flushed, unable to control it.

Zhao Xiaobao finished slurping her porridge, set down her bowl, stood up, and clapped her hands. "Xiaobao's done eating! Time to feed Xiao Hui."

Xiao Hui was the name she'd given the donkey. She'd tried a few others before but decided Xiao Hui sounded best.

Qing Xuan had been taking care of the donkey lately. Hearing this, he gulped down the rest of his porridge, set down his bowl, and stood up. "I'll come too!"

"Wait for me, I'm coming too!" Zhao Xiaowu's eyes lit up. He hadn't even gotten to bond with their new donkey yet—if he didn't feed it soon, it wouldn't recognize him. Stuffing a flatbread into his mouth, he scrambled to his feet and followed.

As he left, four little tagalongs trailed behind him in a flurry.

The once-lively dinner table suddenly quieted down. Wang shook her head, ignoring them, and spoke softly with her daughters-in-law about the plans ahead.

Tomorrow, they'd be on the road again. They'd take turns resting in the cart and needed to keep baking flatbreads and cooking porridge.

The weather was getting hotter. Without some porridge or water to wash it down, flatbreads would be hard to swallow. Porridge was better—they could cook a lot at their divine destination and keep it. When thirsty or hungry, they could drink it as water or eat it as a meal.

The sun set, the moon rose, and the forest was filled with the sound of snoring.

A group of people emerged from deep in the woods, their leader's face sour. They had walked a long way and found nothing—not even a muddy puddle!

To make matters worse, visibility was poor in the dark. Though they'd been clearing grass along the way, watching their feet, they hadn't guarded against the trees. A snake, whose shape they couldn't make out, fell and bit one of their men. If they hadn't bled the wound in time, he might have died by now.

Damn it! He turned to look toward the forest, about to spit, when his eyes met a sinister gaze.

"..."

Tonight, it was Zhao Deng's turn to keep watch, along with his uncle San Wang. The two of them—one big, one small—crouched on the ground, one with a cold look, the other fierce. The man felt as if he were being stared at by two venomous snakes, their gazes like forked tongues licking over his limbs, sending goosebumps all over his body.

He instinctively looked away, looking utterly flustered, and hurriedly walked off.

Only when the darkness swallowed the other's figure did Zhao Deng spit out the wild grass in his mouth and let out a bored "Tch."

"Coward."