Chapter 261

Chapter 261

The stove was lit, and smoke rose and curled upward.

Zhu Shi and her two sisters-in-law went to help in the kitchen, while Wu Gu Feng Deng Xi led a string of boys circling around Qing Xuan, begging him to tell more stories about the mountains. Especially about hunting—now that their stomachs were empty, they were full of admiration for their uncle's skill, who could catch a deer without breaking a sweat, and wished they could learn such a skill themselves.

Xi'er bragged shamelessly: "If I had that skill, I'd go hunting in the mountains every single day. Today I'd catch a deer, tomorrow a boar. I'd only eat the tenderest parts of the meat; innards and such—huh, not even worth putting in my mouth!"

"Only the best meat is worthy of my teeth!"

Hearing this, his father laughed and scolded him for being a brat who didn't know how to appreciate good things. He then pulled off his cotton shoe and threw it squarely at his head, provoking laughter all around as they teased Xi'er for daydreaming in broad daylight.

The old couple joined in the laughter, chatting about what had happened these past few days.

When Wang Shi learned that they had rescued two women in the mountains and sent them off separately at different times, she asked a few questions. Sensing there might be some twists and turns, she nodded and said, "You've thought this through carefully, and that's the right way to handle it. Right and wrong are for the girl's parents to fight over. These are two separate families, two different surnames—perhaps even a whole village's affair. It's not for us outsiders to meddle in, nor can we sort it out."

When it came to a woman's life, any family that truly loved their daughter would make a huge fuss once they learned the hidden truth.

Along this journey, they had seen too much selfishness and darkness in human nature. Fathers would trade children for food just to survive, and the old woman might do anything to hide the truth along the way.

In this world, everyone wanted to live—by any means necessary.

Old Man Zhao sighed, unable to help himself when talking about it. "They're all pitiful souls, yet they still manage to create more suffering. Pitiful and despicable, both at once."

Seeing his torn clothes from brushing against tree branches, Wang Shi deftly took out her needle and thread, rubbed the needle against her hair a couple of times, and began stitching the torn fabric. "This kind of situation is the hardest. You want to resent her, yet she's pitiful. You want to let go, yet your heart can't move past it. She's not completely bad, but she's not good either."

She shook her head and let out a long sigh. "Life is as bitter as gall. Hard indeed."

Old Man Zhao watched her rough but nimble fingers as a neat little "caterpillar" stitch appeared on the torn cloth. With each stitch, the thousand knots of worry in his heart were slowly mended.

This matter had left him deeply unsettled, and he didn't want to dwell on it. So he said, "Let's drop it. We're just passers-by; we can't worry about what happens later. Tell me about these past few days. When I was halfway up the mountain earlier, I saw every household in the village lighting torches. Such a commotion—something must have happened."

Wang Shi told him about the houses collapsing under the snow, frowning as she said, "A blizzard at the start of spring is a bad omen. I was just about to ask you—has Xiaobao had any dreams these past few days? My heart is unsettled. The shelter is built, and we have food, but I feel restless and anxious, like I can't stay put. I keep wanting to move on."

Perhaps it was because disasters and hardships had never ceased. Now, at the slightest sign of strange phenomena, she felt panicked and uneasy, as if the current environment was unstable—she needed to keep moving forward, to reach a place where she could finally relax and feel safe.

These days she hadn't let her emotions show. On one hand, she worried about her children in the mountains. On the other, she feared the environment here wasn't safe.

When the village houses collapsed, she felt a kind of "I knew it" relief. But immediately after came uncontrollable panic—an itching restlessness that made it impossible to stay put.

Only when she thought of her daughter could she briefly relax a little.

Dreams, huh?

Old Man Zhao scratched his palm and looked uncertainly toward his daughter. "The mountain path was rough. Xiaobao stayed curled up in the basket the whole time, sleeping soundly. I didn't hear her cry or mumble anything."

He hesitated, then asked, "Sweetie, did you have a dream?"

Meeting the gazes of both parents, Zhao Xiaobao hunched her shoulders. The moment the old couple saw her reaction, their hearts sank.

"Did you really dream, sweetie??" Their daughter had never been afraid of them—she only avoided their eyes when she felt guilty. Old Man Zhao panicked, his voice barely controlled. "Why didn't you tell Dad?!"

Zhao Xiaobao's eyes reddened immediately. She wanted to say something, but hesitated, unsure how to put it. Finally, she nodded anxiously, then quickly shook her head when she saw her parents' worried expressions.

"What's with the nodding and then shaking your head!" Old Man Zhao was too flustered to notice his daughter's red eyes. His mind was full of how the second son had watched the child—he'd been told to keep an eye on Xiaobao in the basket. What kind of watching was that?! He hadn't even known Xiaobao had dreamed!

"Don't rush, you'll scare the child!" Despite her own anxiety, Wang Shi forced herself to stay calm. She scooped her daughter into her arms and gently soothed her. "There, there, don't listen to your dad's loud yelling. He doesn't know how to talk nicely—don't mind him! Tell Mom, what did you dream about? Why nod and shake your head? Couldn't remember after waking up?"

Her mother's warm hand stroked her back in steady motions. Zhao Xiaobao gradually relaxed. She had always remembered her parents' instructions: if she dreamed, she had to tell them immediately and never forget.

But she had forgotten.

Zhao Xiaobao felt very guilty and a little scared. Her small hands gripped her mother's clothes tightly as she said nervously, "Mom, Xiaobao was half-asleep and couldn't tell if it was a dream or not."

The old couple exchanged a glance. Through patient guidance, they gradually understood that during the days in the mountains, what adults saw as a difficult trek was, for the child who had been curled up in the basket sleeping most of the time, an incredibly long journey.

Most of each day she spent in sleep. Every time she woke up, she opened her eyes to heavy snow, and in the jolting movement, she could no longer distinguish reality from dreams.

In her dreams, there was the same heavy snow, houses collapsing just like during the earthquake, bodies casually discarded by the roadside—just like the starved, frozen, and sick corpses she had seen along the escape route—all skin and bones, faces marked by illness.

A child stood crying in the street, lost. Snowflakes fell on her dirty little face, while officials hurried past.

Every time she woke up, she vaguely realized she had been dreaming. But as the snowflakes touched her face, the icy cold jolted her awake, and the dream scenes blurred. Facing the howling wind and swirling snow, staring at the back of her father's head, listening to the tired breathing of her brothers, she understood—they were on the move.

The heavy snow in her dream, the collapsed houses, the bodies piled high on carts—all faded away with each jolt, drifting further and further away.

She could no longer tell the difference between dreams and reality.

"Xiaobao doesn't know." She hid in her mother's arms, her voice trembling with tears. "In the dream, there were so many dead people. Xiaobao has also seen so many dead people. Xiaobao is too scared to look at dead people's faces. I can't tell if the people in my dream look the same as the ones I've seen. I don't know if it's something that hasn't happened yet, or something that has already happened."

She cried, asking her parents: "Did Xiaobao dream?"

"Did Xiaobao dream again?"

The little child asked again and again, uncertain if she had dreamed.

Wang Shi's heart nearly broke. She held her tightly and soothed her: "No, no, you didn't dream! Xiaobao didn't dream! It's Mom and Dad's fault—we didn't protect you well enough, and let you see things you shouldn't have. Don't be afraid, sweetie. Don't think about it anymore. Mom and Dad won't ask anymore. There there, don't be afraid."

Old Man Zhao hovered awkwardly beside them, wanting to hold the child but too distressed to stop his own tears. They had always thought they were protecting their child well—she hadn't gone hungry or cold, she had the donkey cart, and even though they were fleeing, she hadn't suffered at all.

Only now, in this moment, did he fully realize: Xiaobao was the one who had "seen" the disaster first.

From the time she had her first dream, she had already seen corpse after corpse, in horrific states.

All their careful protection along the way had been like locking the barn door after the horse had bolted—completely pointless. After experiencing earthquakes, floods, and other great catastrophes, scenes like a living hell—scenes that even adults could barely endure—Xiaobao had lived through them twice.

Once in her dreams, once in reality.

She could no longer tell the difference.

Realizing this, the couple's hearts sank. They tacitly stopped pressing for answers, just holding the child and soothing her.

The first time she dreamed, Xiaobao had not yet experienced the dream's events in real life. It was the fear of a child's nightmare—scary, yes, but without real substance, even though it came true in an instant. But the second time, the third time, after personally experiencing all kinds of horrors—even casually discarded corpses became ordinary—replaying those dream scenes was doubly tormenting.

It was pain that even adults could not bear, let alone such a young child.

Wang Shi cried silently, tears streaming down, and kept saying, "Xiaobao won't dream anymore. From now on, no more dreams. No matter what happens, Mom and Dad will protect Xiaobao. Our family will be fine. Xiaobao won't dream anymore."

Zhao Xiaobao gripped her parents' clothes tightly, sobbing in little hiccups. Her father's heart ached at the sound.

"No more dreams! No more! Your dad is very capable now—whether it's earthquakes or floods, they can't outrun me!" Old Man Zhao thumped his chest loudly and hurriedly coaxed his daughter. "Dad is strong and fit—I can live another thirty or forty years no problem. Other old men get deaf and stiff as they age, but your dad gets tougher. If danger comes, Dad will hold Xiaobao and run. Nothing escapes my eyes and ears. You can rest easy, sweetie. You have three older brothers and five nephews, too—they drink the immortal creek water from your magic land every day, and they'll only become more capable. Even if we stop dreaming, our days will get smoother and smoother. Don't worry, we won't dream anymore. From now on, no more dreams!"

Hearing her father's words, Zhao Xiaobao felt some of her guilt melt away. She stopped crying and shyly buried her head deeper into her mother's arms.

Seeing this, the old couple sighed in relief. They didn't rush her; they let her hide and calm down.

What they said wasn't just to comfort their daughter. They had made up their minds to never ask again. They couldn't control whether she dreamed or not. If Xiaobao remembered and told them, they would take it seriously. If she forgot, then let it be.

Selfishly, they hoped Xiaobao would never dream again. Compared to having prophetic dreams that let them avoid disasters early, they would far rather their daughter be a carefree little fairy.

Just like they'd decided to never breathe a word about the Immortal Land to any future generations, this crazy knack for prophetic dreams should also slowly fade away over time.

They—and their kids, and their grandkids—have to count on nobody but themselves, no matter how life goes.

Even if they're down to eating chaff and weeds, they gotta swing their own hoe and never lean on anybody else.

The smell of meat drifted on the breeze, steam was rising, and laughter came from the kitchen area.

"Come on, grab your bowl and chopsticks and get in line! Eat it while it's hot—keep that warmth inside you!"

"One big ladle of meat soup for each person. Everyone gets a share today, no shoving, no fighting!"

"Kids, line up over here. Don't crowd the grown-ups. We made a separate pot just for you—more meat in it, and you can gnaw on the bones too!"

The crowd was all jumbled and noisy, but when the woman with the ladle hollered, everyone got in line, bowls in hand.

They were usually well-behaved, but this time hunger got the better of them. The smell of meat and the sight of the rice-and-bean porridge made them swallow their saliva uncontrollably, and their legs moved forward involuntarily.

Luckily, they kept their heads. A few pots of meat soup were sitting right there. Although the kids' pot had more meat, the adults' pot was generous too. The meat bobbed up and down with the ladle—everyone could see it, nice even slices. One scoop gave you two slices of meat and a full bowl of hot soup. Warm in your hands, warming you up when you drank it.

Real meat. Not going anywhere. No need to fight.

Zhao Xi squeezed into the kids' line. He saw his little aunt hadn't moved yet. He wanted to run back to their shack to get her, but was afraid of losing his spot. His brothers had zero honor. So he just yelled at the top of his lungs, "Little aunt, hurry up and bring your bowl!!"

"You have to drink this pot of soup first!"

He even turned and shouted at Donkey, who was first in line, "Donkey, don't move! Stay put! Nobody touches this pot till Auntie gets here!"

"I haven't even put my bowl out," Donkey said, sniffling and turning around. He knew better.

Zhao Xiaobao couldn't sit still anymore. She forgot about crying and being shy, scrambled up, and grabbed her little bowl.

No matter what goodies they had at home, she never wanted to miss the big group meal. Afraid she'd lose out, she said, "Dad, Mom, Xiaobao's going to get some meat soup!"

"Hurry up. Donkey is waiting for you." Old Zhao waved his hand with a grin, watching his daughter clutch her bowl and trot into the line. Everybody along the way cheerfully moved aside.

Zhao Xiaobao cradled her bowl, a bunch of kids urging her to hurry to the front. The woman with the ladle was her third brother's wife's sister-in-law. When she saw Xiaobao, she grinned, pushed the ladle all the way down, and slowly brought it up. Once she had a full scoop of meat, she dropped it into the bowl, then added half a ladle of broth.

More meat, less broth—plain favoritism in full view of the kids.

But everybody was fine with it. Donkey didn't dare rush her—he was scared she'd spill and burn herself. Only after she'd safely made it to a clear spot, squatted down, and started sipping did he wipe his nose and step up, carefully holding out his bowl.

After that, it was fair and square: three slices of meat per kid, a full ladle of soup.

The bones sat at the bottom. After the kids finished their soup, they got the bones to gnaw. Even though the meat was mostly gone, they were still tasty to chew on.

One squatted, then another, then another—one by one, everybody picked a spot, spread their legs, and squatted, happily slurping their soup.

First, the warm soup to heat the body, then the rice-and-bean porridge to fill the stomach—careful planning, absolutely wonderful.

Old Zhao and his wife looked at the people scattered across the woods, crouching in every direction, and the faint worry in their hearts vanished. It was livelier than a village feast.

And this wasn't their first communal meal.

"Tomorrow, I'll take more people into the mountains. This time, we'll carry down more grain. Whether the snow stops or not, we won't stay any longer. We'll risk our lives and fight our way out."

If the dream was true, this heavy snow might be another great disaster.

And their current location, the environment they were in, and the remaining rations left them trapped in a difficult position.

He looked up at the sky, which had unknowingly darkened. The intertwined white and black, inseparable, were like the hard earth and fluttering white banners. Every choice, every step, was a gamble with life.

Win, you live. Lose, you die.

Wang patted the back of his hand, responding silently but firmly.

The road ahead was dangerous, but there was a single path to survival. They could only give it their all.