Chapter 262

Chapter 262

The old couple kept tight-lipped, keeping quiet about Xiaobao possibly having another dream from everyone. They didn’t mention it to anyone—not even their three sons, pretending it never happened.

After the soup and meal left them full and warm, some cleared snow, others curled up in their bedding to stay cozy. Old Man Zhao carried a bowl of the last hot soup scraped together from the pot bottoms, squatting by the fire as he looked at the old and young gathered around and spoke: "None of us are lazy farmers who don't know the seasons. In past years, after the first month, you all know how busy the fields were. The hardworking ones would take their whole families out to weed starting the fifth or sixth. Every place has its own climate, but it's mostly the same. For such heavy snow to keep falling for days even after the New Year—that's the kind of freak weather we haven't seen in decades. It's not a good sign."

He finished speaking and took a slow sip of the hot soup.

Seeing everyone frowning in silence, their brows heavy with worry—especially the seasoned farmers, who kept shaking their heads and sighing—he continued: "My original plan was to stay a few more days, hunt more game. When you’re full, you have strength to travel, right? But plans can’t keep up with changes. The heavens aren't cooperating. Our shelters up here, no matter how sturdy, can't match village houses. Even if we keep clearing snow, they'll give out eventually."

"The kids' hands and feet have been cold all day. The heat can’t be kept. Our quilts and winter clothes can't keep out the cold that seeps into the bones. Even if we have food, without houses to shelter from the wind and snow, without thick, warm bedding, the kids won’t last long. Not just them—none of us can hold out forever." His rough palms cradled the chipped bowl as he looked at the little bundles huddled together after eating and drinking, still shivering and chattering with cold. "Only moving will do it. Moving makes the body warm and holds the heat."

Though tiring, it was the only option now.

They couldn't find a cave big enough for all these people, and they didn't have enough warm clothes. Lying still could stave off hunger longer, but they couldn't change the weather. Even if they hunted enough game and ate their fill, they could still freeze to death.

Not every old man was as lucky as him, with a daughter like a celestial being.

Old age is old age. A worn-out body is like an old rattan chair—looks decent from afar, but falls apart at a touch.

Their lives were slipping away every moment. Extreme cold and hunger only sped up death. Waiting was just another way to prolong the process.

Zhao Shanao wiped his face. His body was failing day by day, and he could feel it. His legs had less strength, he was always drowsy, and though hungry, he couldn’t eat much.

An old man understands everything. He had sons and grandsons—he hadn’t lived in vain, and had no great regrets. Now, running for his life, he was afraid of dying on the road. Though his children and grandchildren would cremate him and take him along, he hadn’t seen a new home, lived a few stable days, or eaten a few peaceful meals. He was still reluctant to close his eyes.

He wanted to fight, to live a bit longer.

"Then let’s go. Keep moving." He touched his pipe, pulled a strained smile, and said lightly, "Not afraid of the snow blocking the road. If there’s not enough rope, we’ll peel tree bark and braid it. A rope ties a few people—front ones tied to back ones. As long as no one’s left behind, we won’t get lost. Falling’s no big deal. Even if we fall in a heap, it’s nothing. If we break a leg, we can hop forward. If both legs are broken, we’ll abandon the baggage and carry each other."

He looked at the people packed in layers—men, women, children, elderly, from two villages and those who joined midway—all listening intently. "Don’t be afraid if we meet wolves. If we can’t fight them off, we old bones will stay behind as food. They’ll be full and won’t chase. Us grandpas and grandmas have to carve a path for the younger generations. Even if only one per family survives, we don’t lose. The bloodline continues, and they’ll burn incense for us. Even as ghosts, we won’t starve."

Having traveled together, everyone more or less knew Zhao Dagen. When he said this, it meant they were going to fight.

Yeah, what could you do when Heaven refused to cooperate? They’d planned to hunt and store food, waiting for a merchant caravan to travel with. But as soon as they stepped into the mountains, heavy snow began.

The shelters were barely up when the village houses collapsed.

If they stayed, the weather was too cold, and the kids couldn’t take it. If they left, they feared the danger on the road—tigers and wolves blocking the way.

Every time things seemed to look up, Heaven played a trick on them.

Several old men thought alike: Was Heaven after their lives? Since they refused to die, every obstacle was a torment.

Old folks said that in years with many disasters, Heaven was out to collect souls.

If the quota wasn’t filled, disaster after disaster would come, with no peace.

The superstitious old men went quiet, while the less superstitious young men were more gutsy. Rubbing their freezing arms, they said, "Tigers and wolves ain't as scary as bandits or deserters. At worst, we all swarm in, each stabbing once. Beasts bully the weak and fear the strong—just like the dogs in the next village. They bark at strangers and lunge to bite, but if you hold a stick and face them, showing your spirit, they’ll tuck their tails and back off."

"With so many of us, if we ain't scared and we go all out, even a wolf pack would give us a wide berth."

"Wolves are smarter than dogs—they'll hightail it faster if they meet mean folks."

As for tigers, since they'd never seen one, they were scared but figured they were just old folks' tales—legendary stuff.

Surely they wouldn't be that unlucky to run into one.

"Grandpa Dagen, we ain't just lucky to have made it this far," a man voiced everyone’s thoughts. "Don't carry so much weight. No matter what, our family owes yours only gratitude, not resentment. We’ll follow your lead—stay or go. Just say the word. Life and death are up to fate. Don't blame anyone."

"Even if our whole family dies on the road, falls into a ravine with nobody to bury us, or becomes food for tigers and wolves, turned into dung to fertilize the forest, I won’t blame Heaven, Earth, or you."

"When danger comes, point where you need us, and we’ll charge with hoes. That’s how we’ve come the whole way. Don't worry yourself. Arrange things as you see fit. I have no objections. I've already gotten more than my share. Without you, Dashan, and the others helping us escape, my family’s graves would be overgrown with weeds."

Everyone nodded.

They were clumsy with words but clear-eyed and clear-hearted. They could see that Old Uncle was on edge. He was always harsh with his words but soft underneath, claiming they were just an afterthought, but he never left them behind when things happened. He carried so much on his shoulders. They all saw it.

In fact, this scene and these words had been repeated several times on the road, but they always gave their unconditional support, building more trust.

Old people, like children, need coaxing. Old Uncle, leading them through the famine, also needed their constant care.

"Pressure my ass!" Old Man Zhao tilted his head back and downed the leftover soup. It was stone cold, with congealed fat all over his lips. He wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve and handed the bowl to Old Three. "A grown man saying such mushy stuff. I’m just informing you. Tonight, arrange a few to follow me into the mountains tomorrow. We got a good haul from the escaped convicts’ den—need to bring back the rest of the grain. The shelters won’t last long. Since that’s the case, let’s hurry. Every extra day wastes supplies. People move, trees die—we’ve crossed mountains and rivers to get here. We weren’t captured by rebels, didn’t die under bandits’ knives, survived the plague. You think we're gonna be scared of a mountain trail?"

He slapped his knee and bellowed: "No way we're that chicken!"

The men felt their blood pumping, even their frozen hands and feet warming up. Damn right! What was there to fear? They were country folk who’d been climbing mountains since they could walk. The thick calluses on their soles came from crossing mountains to chop firewood. They shouldn’t fear mountains—that had been their road all their lives.

Mancang hugged himself, face red with cold, hands, feet, and ears all frostbitten. His teeth were chattering as he spoke: "Right! What's that saying—good things and bad come in pairs. If some wolf pack is blind enough to attack, we'll treat 'em as delivered pelts. In Tongjiang Town, a wealthy old gentleman’s winter scarf was made from mixed fox fur. I heard it’s especially warm, but expensive as hell. Fur is fur. Wolf fur can’t be bad—better than the clothes we’re wearing."

"You sure got big dreams," Old Man Zhao laughed and cussed. "You ain't never been to the county seat. Those ready-to-wear shops sell scarves and fox-fur coats. Not to mention the good ones—even the mixed-fox scarves you mentioned can cost several years’ income for us country folk. They're damn pricey, alright."

He shook his head, thinking of that fool fox. Tough luck it ran into them. Anybody else would have skinned it.

Wolf fur—he didn't even dare to hope for that. As long as they weren’t attacked, he’d rather get more fugitives with bounties on the official notice.

That kind of money was less hot to handle.

"You're a piece of work, Li Mancang! Already eyeing wolf fur. I remember back in the village, when you heard wolves howl, you said you’d bolt the door tight for fear they’d climb over the wall." The man squatting beside him elbowed him. "What, running for your life gave you guts?"

"Get lost, I’ve never been afraid. You must be remembering wrong. That was Man Liang who said that!" Mancang refused to admit it.

Man Liang across from him wouldn’t let that slide—no way to shift blame when they were from the same village. "Fifth brother, don’t argue with him. Don’t you know his character? He’s never admitted fault since childhood."

"Go to hell, Li Manliang! When did I never admit fault?!"

The brothers started digging up old grudges, each one sure he was right, making the Sunset Village men roar with laughter. They’d all worn the same trousers growing up—who didn’t know who?

Through all the banter, the group for tomorrow’s mountain trip was settled.

Six men from Liuhe Village, plus Zhu Laicai and Shi Dalang, and another six from Sunset Village. The Zhao family was separate. Old Man Zhao would still go into the mountains, this time taking Zhao Sandi. Zhao Dashan and Zhao Ertian would stay behind to guard the group.

Qing Xuan would stay too. The boy was at a growing age and needed rest.

The choices were made. But at dawn the next day, Zhao Xiaowu begged and insisted on going into the mountains, saying he couldn't rest easy unless he was watching over his little aunt—he’d stick to her side. His words implied he didn’t trust Grandpa.

"Grandpa is busy. So many people need your arrangements. Little aunt needs constant care," he said confidently.

Old Man Zhao fumed. But then he thought—he really couldn’t keep his eyes on his daughter all the time. He’d missed her dreaming this time. After thinking it over, he agreed to take the eldest grandson.

But once one grandson agreed, the others weren’t happy.

"I’m going too!" Xi’er was the first to speak up. If the eldest brother could, so could he. "I need to take care of little aunt too! She likes me best!"

Auntie can't do without me; I'm her favorite nephew." A Deng reached out and tightly gripped the basket. He also wanted to go into the mountains. He had no fear of the deep forest, only a longing to encounter a wolf pack.

"Fourth brother, that's bullshit! Auntie clearly likes me the best!"

"You're the most annoying, and you don't even bathe often. You stink all day. How could Auntie possibly like you best?"

"Bull! I scrub my arms every day!"

"Stop arguing, you two. Actually, Auntie likes me the most." Gu Zi, who was usually more reserved, quietly stepped forward.

Fengzi said nothing, just reached out and tightly gripped the other end of the basket.

Among the five brothers, one was completely calm, two were locked in a silent standoff, and the remaining two were arguing so fiercely they nearly came to blows.

Old Man Zhao paid them no mind. Seeing that everyone was ready, he knew the mountain paths were rugged, the forests dense, and shoulder poles were a pain in the dense woods. The men all carried big back baskets and hemp ropes, which they could tie up to hold plenty of grain.

He was determined to bleed cash this time. The grain he'd swiped from the big granary had been mostly consumed along the journey, and he had to supplement it with some of the harvest from the divine land.

He firmly believed that things grown in the divine soil were priceless treasures that no amount of money could buy. If those old fellows ate a few more bowls of divine rice, they might just live a few more years.

Xiaobao agreed too. She said she hoped all the village elders could live to reach their new home, and even if they died, their bodies should not be burned to ashes—how awful would that be!

They should go into the coffin with all their parts—that's the only way to honor their tough journey.