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

At night, Jiang Xing kept watch. Ever since Jiang Dazhu's grain was stolen, he often sat by the cart for most of the night, his eyes wide open, clutching a carrying pole in his hand. He dared not sleep anymore.

Jiang Xing turned her gaze away from that direction. The wind had died down and it was getting colder tonight. She pulled up the collar of her cotton-padded coat and moved the dagger to her right side.

In the distance, the lights were still on in Chen Xiucai's carriage.

Through the gap in the carriage curtain, one could see the silhouette of a woman doing needlework under the lamp.

From the direction of Jiang Qingshan's house, there was the sound of turning pages; it was already past midnight, and he was still reading.

No, the frequency of turning the pages is wrong. I'm flipping through the same page over and over again, and it's been going on for ages without me getting to the next one.

Jiang Xing opened his eyes and glanced in Jiang Qingshan's direction.

He was indeed reading, but his eyes weren't on the book; they were fixed on the direction of Chen Xiucai's carriage.

Jiang Xing withdrew his gaze and closed his eyes.

She didn't understand the thoughts of scholars, nor did she want to.

All she knew was that on this journey of fleeing famine, food was more important than a girl, and a knife was more useful than a book.

The lights were still on in Qian Baozhu's carriage, and the sound of the maid being scolded could be heard. The words were faint and fragmented, and the harshness in the tone was clear.

Length of night.

Ten days or so after leaving the prefectural city, the groups heading southwest and those heading central and southern were still traveling together.

The official road grew narrower and narrower, and the mountains on both sides drew closer and closer, like two rows of gray walls, sandwiching people in the middle.

Ox carts, handcarts, wheelbarrows, people carrying loads on shoulder poles, and people carrying bundles on their backs were all mixed together, raising clouds of dust.

Jiang Xing walked beside the oxcart, not because she felt there was imminent danger, but because her vigilance wouldn't allow her to relax.

My third uncle was driving the cart, a pipe in his mouth, but he hadn't lit it.

The tobacco is completely gone; holding the pipe in my mouth is just a habit now.

The calf's head injury has mostly healed, and it no longer sits on the oxcart every day; most of the time it gets off and walks around.

Zhang sat in the car with her eyes closed. She had been exposed to a draft while sleeping the night before and had been feeling dizzy since waking up in the morning. She had been trying to stay awake the whole way with her eyes closed. Even though she was wearing a new cotton-padded coat that was warm and cozy, her complexion was still not very good.

"Grandma, have some water." Jiang Xing handed her the water pouch.

Zhang opened her eyes, took the water bag, drank a small sip, and then handed it back to her.

"Are you feeling better?" Jiang Xing asked.

"I'm feeling better," Zhang said, but her voice was still weak.

The little calf leaned closer and said, "Grandma, I'll rub your head in a bit."

Zhang patted the calf's head: "Good boy."

Noon

There was a flat area by the roadside, backed by a small hill, which could barely accommodate a thousand people. Everyone stopped and found a place to rest.

Jiang Xing squatted down next to the oxcart and took out a flat package wrapped in oil paper from his basket—actually, from his spatial storage.

It contains tobacco.

She bought it from a general store when she was in the capital city. She didn't take it out at the time and hid it in her spatial storage.

She wrapped the oil paper carefully and stuffed it into her third uncle's bundle, placing it at the very bottom.

Then she stood up and went to start a fire to cook.

After Uncle San woke up, he went to look for something in his bundle and found the packet of tobacco.

He paused for a moment, took it out, opened it, smelled it, and then looked up at Jiang Xing.

Jiang Xing squatted by the pot, his back to him, stirring the porridge.

Uncle San didn't say anything. He put the tobacco into the pipe, lit it, and took a puff.

The smoke rose and dispersed in the morning light.

The calf woke up, poked its head out from under the covers, saw its third uncle smoking, and said, "Third Uncle, you're smoking a pipe again."

Third Uncle blew smoke out of his nose and said, "Hmm."

"Isn't the tobacco gone?"

"It's happening again."

"Where did it come from?"

Third Uncle glanced at Jiang Xing and said, "I don't know, it might have been brought by the wind."

The calf didn't believe it.

Zhang sat beside her, watching everything unfold, and lowered her head to hide the emotions in her eyes.

Jiang Xing served the porridge, one bowl for each person. "Eat," she said.

The four people buried their heads in their porridge.