Chapter 156

Chapter 156

Before dawn broke, the large group continued onward.

Old Man Zhao now had a "dead pig not afraid of boiling water" attitude—utterly fearless. He had Qing Xuan drive the cart while he himself wore a straw hat, holding the village's only gong, banging and clanging all the way. When the mood struck, he even hummed off-key rustic folk tunes.

The racket was so loud it could be heard for miles around, practically announcing to every demon and monster within a wide radius: "Old Man Zhao is here, so show yourselves quickly, you bastards!"

"I'm right here. What are you going to do about it? Stop me, ambush me, block me, or dig a pit for me? Go ahead, I'm on my way. Dig deep—there are too many of us, a shallow hole won't do."

"Da Gen, are you tired of banging? Want us to take over?"

Even though they knew he was doing it on purpose, it was still so infuriating. Zhao Shanao was afraid the bandits might lose their temper and rush out to chop him down. Since he was holding the gong and couldn't easily draw his blade, he figured this job was better left to us old guys.

He cleared his throat and said, "Well, give me the gong. You focus on scouting ahead without distractions. Or better yet, pick up a stick and poke the ground as you walk—don't let us step into a trap. Falling in isn't so bad, but what if there are sharpened stakes at the bottom? That would be deadly!"

Deep in the mountains, the main path was flanked by dense woods. The weather was dry, and the ground was covered with dead branches and fallen leaves. If the bandits wanted to dig pits, they could easily cover them with leaves—no need to hide them much.

Even if not for traps, poking around to scare off snakes and bugs would still be a good idea. Last night, Da Gouzi had a centipede crawl on him. The boy was half asleep, felt his palm itch, grabbed it, and pulled out a huge centipede that was slithering up his sleeve. The kid was so scared he sprang to his feet, flailing his arms and crying for his parents.

In the middle of the night, everyone had to light torches and sweep the area thoroughly. A bite from one of those things could be serious, so they had to be careful.

Luckily, they caught it in time. Da Gouzi's parents stripped him naked and checked him over—no blood, no wounds. Crisis averted.

That centipede, half as long as a child's arm, was taken by Da Gen, who said it would be a shame to throw it away. He'd soak it in medicinal wine to treat bruises and sprains.

So they had to stay vigilant. If they weren't careful and got bitten by a snake or insect, even if it wasn't venomous, it would still hurt. If it was venomous, that would be a real mess. Out in the middle of nowhere, without a barefoot doctor around, losing a life to something like that would be a real waste.

"You still have the strength to bang that gong? Aren't you afraid of spraining your arm?" Old Man Zhao teased. Old bones and old limbs—just walking was tiring enough. If he started banging a gong, his legs would tremble and his hands would shake.

"What do you mean I can't bang it? Who are you looking down on? I can keep banging for another ten years!" Zhao Shanao bristled, spittle flying. "Give me the gong!"

Unable to fend off his pestering, Old Man Zhao handed over the gong. He then picked up a stick and used it to tap the ground as he walked.

They marched on with the clanging and banging for half a day, entering the territory of Er Dao Shan (Two-Knife Mountain) just before noon.

They rested on the spot for a couple of hours, avoiding the hottest part of the day. They dozed off for a quick nap, then continued on.

Well-fed, well-rested, and with the sound of the gong to keep them awake—though it was noisy, it was invigorating. The whole village, young and old, was full of energy as they trudged along. With someone leading in front and men protecting them on all sides, the women resumed their weaving work: making straw hats and straw coats.

The straw coats were their own invention, resembling palm-leaf rain capes. They wove two sleeveless vests to cover the upper body. Without shirts, the sun would burn their skin; with shirts, it was too hot. The women had discussed it privately and decided to weave clothes out of straw. A straw coat worn over the body would provide shade without being stifling.

So as they walked, their hands never stopped. Rough fingers moved dexterously, weaving shapes in the blink of an eye.

For those who were quick, their husbands had already shed their coarse cloth undershirts and donned the newly made straw coats.

The only downside was that the straw was scratchy and irritating, but in this season, comfort took a backseat to staying cool. Everyone wanted one of these breathable, sun-blocking straw coats.

The children regretted not gathering more straw earlier. Now they had to use the straw for both hats and coats, so there simply wasn't enough. They could only prioritize the strong laborers in the family.

They trudged along, not knowing how long they had walked. When they looked up, all they saw were trees; when they looked down, fallen leaves. Close by were the sweaty backs of the people ahead; far away were endless mountains and peaks, a desolate expanse with no end in sight.

If it weren't for the crowd of familiar faces, the environment alone would have driven anyone crazy after two days.

Fortunately, the farther they went, the more refugees they encountered.

With living people around, hearing the sound of human voices—whether they understood them or not—gave them a sense that they were still alive, not trapped in a ghostly labyrinth, endlessly circling within this mountain.

When the refugees saw their throng of over a hundred people, the smaller groups were clearly startled. Their eyes were full of caution. Some shrank back nervously and gave way; others pushed their carts into the woods.

The larger groups, on the other hand, neither acknowledged them nor gave way. Everyone just walked their own path. They were wary but not as skittish as startled birds.

Old Man Zhao observed their carts closely and noticed something. Back in Xinping County, the refugees' carts had been piled high with bulging sacks, as if they had emptied their entire grain stores—so thoroughly that even mice couldn't find a single grain left.

But now, not only were the grain bags less full, but every single cart had some empty space. They could squeeze in small items: quilts, clothes, wooden dippers, and the like, hanging off the sides. At first glance, it looked no different, but the worry on the cart-pushers' faces and the bulging veins in their arms showed that the loads were not as heavy as they had been in Xinping County.

Clearly, they had paid a heavy price to get through the villages.

"Da Gen, find a place to rest. I can't walk anymore," Zhao Shanao called out as the sun began to set.

They had been banging the gong all day, but instead of luring the bandits, they had been stared at as if they were idiots by the other refugees, who all wanted to keep their distance.

Everyone knew there were bandits in Wuling Mountain. The other refugees had been tiptoeing and hiding, but this group seemed eager to attract trouble. They seemed to have a few screws loose.

Old Man Zhao glanced around, too lazy to go into the woods. With a wave of his hand, he said, "Rest right here! Men, carefully check the surroundings. Pay special attention to snakes and insects. If you see any, catch them. Don't let them get away!"

Qing Xuan had said that at this pace, they would reach San She Keng (Three-Snake Pit) by noon the day after tomorrow.

As for why they were catching snakes, the name San She Keng had a rather eerie origin. It was said that someone had once discovered a snake nest there, with tens of thousands of venomous snakes writhing together in a tangled mass, and three giant snakes as thick as a man's waist coiled there. If you encountered them, you must never offend them—they were said to be spirits that had gained intelligence and held grudges.

Old Man Zhao reasoned that if such a snake nest truly existed, the closer they got to San She Keng, the more likely venomous snakes would appear. And if they encountered a venomous snake, how could they let it go? He didn't believe in spirits or monsters. Like the centipedes, they'd catch them and soak them in medicinal wine for treating bruises.

The old folk remedies were effective.

None of the country folk feared snakes. They had been running through the mountains since childhood; digging out snake holes was a trivial skill. Even the bold women could strike a snake on its seven-inch spot with a tree branch, eyes closed. Unless caught off guard, if they wanted to catch a snake, they never failed.

As for snakes bearing grudges—well, could he not also bear a grudge?

He'd kick up a fuss even if he had no justification. With a reason, he'd make even more of a racket.

If there really were spirits, let them show themselves now. Snakes thick as a man's waist? He'd see how many chops they could withstand. After chopping them up, he'd soak them in wine and sell them to wealthy families for a tidy profit.

"What are you catching snakes for? We don't even have wine to soak them in!" Old Lady Zhou rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a broom to sweep away the fallen leaves. Seeing the men squatting and poking into holes, she couldn't help shouting, "Oh, for heaven's sake! At least use a stick! San Di, are you out of your mind, reaching in with your bare hands? Aren't you afraid of getting bitten?"

Old Lady Wu, who never got along with her, swung her broom and swept dust into her face, scolding, "You never have a good word to say! If you could only open your mouth to say something nice, it would be a miracle. When someone catches a snake, you talk about bites. When someone eats, you talk about choking. When someone drinks, you talk about coughing. You're always going against others. One day your big mouth will get you into trouble!"

"None of your damn business!" Old Lady Zhou spat out the dust, furious, and swung her broom at her in retaliation.

The two old ladies bickered energetically, looking as if they never tired. Everyone shook their heads and moved farther away.

Old Lady Zhou was a bundle of energy. Every day, she had to put on a show, or the day would feel wasted. But honestly, with her around, the monotonous days had a bit more excitement.

Just as long as she didn't turn that energy on them—they really couldn't handle it.

The leaves were piled to the sides. As night fell, they lit a small campfire in the clearing.

After all the bustling, they had poked into holes but caught no venomous snakes. Instead, they got two more centipedes. Old Man Zhao didn't mind; he happily pocketed them and promptly soaked them in wine.

They ate flatbreads for dinner, spread out straw mats to sleep, and assigned a few extra men for the night watch. Amidst the chorus of snores, no commotion arose.

They stayed vigilant all night, but until the sky showed the first fish-belly white of dawn, no bandits came.

Whatever the other side was planning in their pockets, even if it was a huge fart, Old Man Zhao didn't care.

With gongs banging again, as the sky was barely light, the refugees still deep in dreams were awakened by the passing procession. Half asleep, when they first looked up, it was like a parade of ghosts at night—a real fright.

There wasn't much straw left, but they had woven one straw coat after another.

The men on the outer perimeter had taken off their coarse cloth undershirts and put on simple straw coats. To save straw for the children's garments, the women had woven them short and rough—wide at the shoulders, but so short at the bottom that they didn't even cover the navel, leaving most of the waist exposed.

Our own folks are used to seeing each other, so they don't get any funny ideas—why bother being embarrassed or overthinking it.

The women gleefully admired the waists of other women's husbands, comparing them to their own men: "How come your belly button is so high? How come yours is vertical? Mine is round and smooth..." They chatted with great gusto.

Amidst the chatter, a few teasing remarks slipped out, causing the men's faces to flush red and their nostrils flaring and snorting loudly.

"Can't stand comparisons—look at Dashan and Er Tian, then look at my own man – tsk tsk, nothing worth seeing," some woman said, instantly drawing a chorus of agreement.

The Zhao brothers were tall with long legs, and they already seemed exceptional in their usual clothes; now that they had donned the straw coats, holy cow, not only did their belly buttons show, but their bulging chest muscles were about to bust those straw coats open. Their robust and muscular frames, seen from afar, made you feel totally safe.

The older grannies were fine, but the younger women stole a glance and felt dizzy, Oh my god—no wonder they could kill bandits and wield broadswords, these were real steel of men.

"Hey, the others are not bad either—maybe a bit short, but they still have a shape – waist, legs – and look like proper men," another woman said, again drawing agreement.

Looking over, dozens of men with lean waists and bulging chests were all wearing the same straw coats and hats. Their straight backs and upright postures—truly, many women had a dazed look as they stared at their own husbands, feeling like something had changed huge.

They were completely different from how they were in the village.

Not to mention the refugees on the road—unfamiliar women blushed, lowered their heads, covered their faces, and muttered that it was indecent. But their eyes kept straying to the men, stealing a glance, then another.

Life on the run was tough and boring; men and women, young and old, had to find ways to laugh and cheer up, or else they were afraid they wouldn't make it.

"Uncle, up ahead..." Qing Xuan, who was driving the cart, suddenly frowned; his senses were sharp, and he caught a putrid smell wafting from the front.

Subconsciously, he tugged the rope, and the donkey cart came to a stop.

Zhao Xiaobao, who was rolling around in the cart, thought it was time for lunch when the cart stopped; she rolled her chubby body twice on the straw mat, ending up at the side of the cart, and she reached out to lift the curtain.

Qing Xuan moved swiftly, grabbed her chubby hand and gently pushed it back inside: "Don't come out."

Old Man Zhao was walking beside the cart; when he heard this, he came over. Qing Xuan leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

"Really?" Old Man Zhao's expression changed slightly.

"Most likely," Qing Xuan nodded.

Xiao Heizi had already jumped down the moment the cart stopped; he ran forward a few steps, barked a few times toward something up ahead, then turned his head to look at Old Man Zhao.

"Da Gen, what's up? Why'd we stop? Bandits?" Zhao Shanao craned his neck and squinted, not seeing any bandits blocking the way.

"You all stay put; I'll go check ahead." Old Man Zhao pulled out the broadsword from the cart, shot a look at his eldest son, and the two followed Xiao Heizi, whose tail was wagging, toward the source of the smell.

"Brother Qing Xuan," Zhao Xiaobao was a little scared, not knowing what was happening outside; she reached out and grabbed Qing Xuan's clothes.

"It's okay, don't be afraid." Qing Xuan tightened his grip on the whip, his expression somber; he knew that smell all too well – he'd encountered it countless times during the long rescue efforts after the earthquake.

It was the smell of rotting corpses.

In the scorching weather, a body that had been dead for who knows how many days was tossed in the dense thicket by the roadside; before they even got close, a pungent stench hit them.

Old Man Zhao pulled out a sweat rag to cover his nose and mouth; Xiao Heizi, repelled by the smell, didn't want to get closer, pacing anxiously on his short, thick legs. Seeing his master still moving forward, he lunged to bite his pant leg but didn't have the guts, turned in circles twice, then trotted after him.

He only dared to stand three paces away, peeking a distant look.

Maggots covered the body—the horror was beyond words—but despite the disfigured face, Old Man Zhao vaguely recognized a familiar face. It was the driver of the mule cart.