Sold immediately after wearing it? I took my family and fled the famine.

As noon approached, a commotion finally broke out at the back of the line.

Zhou turned around abruptly and saw three figures at the end of the official road: two men and a woman, rushing towards them. The one in the lead, walking the fastest, was Jiang Dazhu. His trousers were rolled up to his knees, his shoes were covered in mud, his face was covered in sweat, and he walked with a limp, clearly having blisters on his feet.

Following behind was a nineteen-year-old youth, wearing a blue cloth long gown, clutching a book in his hand, panting heavily, his face flushed red—it was Jiang Qingshan.

At the very back was a seventeen-year-old girl, wearing a light blue cloth dress, her hair tied up with a wooden hairpin, carrying a large bundle on her back, walking slowly – this was Jiang Qingyue.

All three of them were exhausted, but at least they were all together.

"Qingshan! Qingyue!" Zhou rushed out of the crowd, running to meet them, her voice trembling, "My children! You've finally returned!"

Jiang Qingshan was hugged by Zhou Shi. He frowned slightly but did not push her away.

The young man's voice was usually clear and deep, but now it burned with pain. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and low, like a bellows: "Mother, is there any water? I'm dying of thirst."

Zhou quickly took out a water pouch from her bundle and handed it to Jiang Qingshan, then turned to pull Jiang Qingyue's arm, saying, "Yue'er, you must be exhausted. Take a rest!"

Jiang Qingyue unloaded the bundle from her back, rubbed her shoulders, and looked exhausted. She had studied embroidery in the workshop for three years, so she had a solid foundation for enduring hardship.

"Mother, none of the sisters in the embroidery room left, only I ran away," Jiang Qingyue said, her tone tinged with resentment.

"Let her run away, life is more important than her skills!" Zhou held her daughter's hand, tears welling up in her eyes again.

Jiang Dazhu limped over, his legs trembling. He had walked nearly forty miles that night and morning, first to pick up Jiang Qingshan in the town, then detouring to the next town to pick up Jiang Qingyue. The back-and-forth trips left his legs feeling like lead, and the soles of his feet covered in blisters.

He was panting heavily when he said to the villagers who had gathered around him, "The town... is empty."

An uproar erupted in the crowd.

What does "empty" mean?

"The city gates are closed." Jiang Dazhu wiped his sweat. "When I got to the town, the city gates were already closed. The soldiers guarding the city said that the prefect had already fled, and the town was undefended. The people had to find their own way. I went around to the base of the city wall. All the grain shops, pharmacies, and cloth shops in the town were closed. The wealthy families had already fled."

Someone gasped.

"Can we still go back to our village?"

No one answered the question.

Village chief Shen Dehou walked over, his face grave: "Dazhu, what else did you see?"

Jiang Dazhu thought for a moment and said, "The official road is full of people. People from Yongzhou and the north are all heading south. I heard that the imperial court is organizing people to flee famine in the prefectural city. They are telling people from all the villages to head towards the prefectural city, and then they will be made up in a unified manner once they get there."

Jiang Dazhu continued, "When I came out of the town, I met some refugees from the north. They said that the rebels had already passed Yongzhou, and their vanguard was less than a hundred li away from Qingzhou Prefecture."

"A hundred li?" someone exclaimed. "Doesn't that mean they'll attack in three to five days?"

"So we have to leave quickly," Jiang Dazhu said.

"Unified arrangement? Where will we be arranged?"

"I don't know," Jiang Dazhu shook his head, "but everyone's heading that way, so following them is always a good idea."

Village chief Shen Dehou walked over, his face grave. He pulled Jiang Dazhu aside and asked him a few questions in a low voice.

Jiang Dazhu said something else, and Shen Dehou's brows furrowed even more.

Jiang Xing stood beside the oxcart, taking in each of these words.

Shen Dehou remained silent for a moment, then turned and shouted to the group, "You all heard me! Head towards the prefectural city! We'll talk more when we get there!"

The group resumed moving. But this time, the atmosphere was even more oppressive than in the morning.

Even the wealthy families in town have fled, and the city gates are closed. Where can these peasants possibly escape to?

She glanced back at her grandmother and the calf.

Zhang sat in the car, her face pale and her lips trembling slightly. The calf, unaware of what had happened, was lying on the edge of the car counting ants.

Jiang Xing unconsciously gripped the carriage shaft tightly.

We need to speed things up; the team has been walking for another day.

On the evening of the third day, the group was setting up camp at the foot of a mountain when a middle-aged man, panting heavily, caught up from behind. He was Li Laosan from the neighboring Lijia Village.

He didn't follow the main group; he stayed in the village to pack his things. He set off a day late and chased after them, losing his shoes in the process.

His face was covered in ash, his clothes had burn marks, and his left hand was wrapped in a dirty strip of cloth, which was seeping blood.

"It's burned...it's all burned..." Li Laosan collapsed to the ground, trembling all over. "The rebels...the rebels entered Li Family Village...looting, burning houses, killing people..."

An uproar erupted in the crowd.

"Li Family Village? It's only five miles away from our Jiang Family Village!" someone shouted.

"What about Jiangjia Village?"

Li Laosan shook his head: "I don't know... I only know about Li Family Village... but the rebels came from the north, and Jiang Family Village is in the north... so it must be too..."

No one said "it must be something," everyone knew the answer, but no one was willing to say it out loud.

Aunt Wang was the first to burst into tears.

She squatted on the ground, covering her face, sobs leaking through her fingers. Her husband, Wang Laoshi, stood beside her, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word, his eyes red as if about to bleed.

Granny Zhao plopped down on the ground, slapping her thigh and wailing, "My house! My house that I built thirty years ago! My pickle jars are still buried in the backyard..."

Standing beside the cart, Liu's face was as white as paper, her lips trembling. After a long pause, she managed to squeeze out, "Then... what about our land?"

No one answered her.

Jiang Erzhu stood there silently, his hands gripping the cart shafts, his knuckles white. Jiang Laifu stood beside him, his expression shifting from shock to fear, then from fear to anger: "I told you we shouldn't have left! Staying in the village, at least we could have protected it."

"Guard what?" Jiang Erzhu finally spoke, his voice so low it seemed to be squeezed out of his throat: "What will you use to guard it? Your mouth?"

Jiang Laifu choked, his face turning bright red.

Jiang Caiyun huddled in the car, hugging her knees. Her gaze had accidentally fallen on Jiang Qingshan, and she immediately buried her head, her body trembling slightly.

Village chief Shen Dehou stood in the middle of the crowd, his face lined with wrinkles. He remained silent for a long while before finally speaking.

"Being alive is more important than anything else."

His voice was trembling. This man, who had been the village chief for more than ten years and was known for his fairness, was trembling.

"Houses can be rebuilt, land can be developed again. But if people are gone... then nothing is left." Shen Dehou raised his head and looked at everyone present.

"Stop crying. Crying won't bring back the house or the land. Keep moving forward and living is the only right thing to do."

The crying subsided, and the villagers regained their composure.

Sitting on the oxcart, Zhang's face turned as white as paper after hearing Li Laosan's words. Her lips trembled for a long time before she finally managed to squeeze out a sentence: "Then...your grandfather's and your father's graves..."

Jiang Xing stood beside the oxcart, his knuckles white as he gripped the shaft.

She has no feelings.

For her, Jiangjia Village was just a place she had lived in; it didn't even qualify as her "home."

But Zhang was different. She lived in Jiangjia Village for most of her life, getting married, having children, becoming a widow, raising her son, watching him die, and raising her granddaughters and grandsons. Her whole life was spent in that village.

Jiang Xing said softly, "Grandma, the house is gone, but the people are still here. I'm here, Xiao Niu is here, the three of us are together, wherever we go is home."

Zhang looked at her, her lips trembling, and finally reached out and touched Jiang Xing's face.

"Xing'er...you've grown up."

Jiang Xing didn't say anything.

She looked up and glanced at the northern sky.

The sky was blue, there was no smoke, no fire, not a trace at all.

But behind him was already nothingness.

Third Uncle sat on the oxcart, put a pipe in his mouth, lit it, and the smoke rose up, spreading quickly in the wind.

"Let's go," he said.

The old ox strode forward, its cowbells jingling.

The group continued walking, and no one looked back.