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

After daybreak, the people who had escaped later caught up in twos and threes. Some were so exhausted from running that they collapsed on the roadside, panting. Others, holding their children, sat down on the ground and couldn't get up.

Jiang Xing and Ma Dadan were at the back. By the time they arrived, the area below the cliff was already dark and crowded.

"Third Uncle! Village Chief!" Jiang Xing called out.

Third Uncle emerged from behind the bushes and saw Jiang Xing covered in blood. His expression remained unchanged, but the fingers gripping his pipe tightened slightly.

He stepped aside so he wouldn't block the way. Zhang rushed out from behind, carrying the calf, and stood in front of Jiang Xing. She stretched out her hand but didn't dare touch him. The blood was still wet, and it was impossible to tell whose it was.

"It's not mine," Jiang Xing said.

Zhang's lips trembled slightly, but she did not respond.

Shen Dehou squeezed through the crowd, looked Jiang Xing up and down, and seeing that she could still stand and walk, he didn't ask any questions. He then turned to look at the people who had run back with her.

Ma Dadan squatted beside a rock, his left arm hanging down, afraid to move. A bulge appeared at his shoulder joint, and his sleeve was stretched taut. He gritted his teeth, and his forehead was covered in sweat.

Jiang Xing walked over, squatted down, and took a look: "It's dislocated."

"I know," Ma Dadan's voice squeezed out through clenched teeth.

Jiang Xing didn't ask any more questions. He reached out and pressed down on Ma Dadan's shoulder, then grasped his arm with his other hand, pushing and pulling it upwards. The sound of the bones realigning was muffled. Ma Dadan groaned, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, but his arm could move. He moved his shoulder and glanced at Jiang Xing.

Thanks.

Jiang Xing didn't reply, but stood up and walked away.

The dozens of households that ran out with Uncle San were unharmed.

Nothing was lost, no one was missing, and even the tarpaulin on the oxcart was neatly folded.

Aunt Wang, Granny Zhao, Widow Sun, Carpenter Liu's family, and Zhang Gensheng's family were all there.

Seeing that the people behind them were blue with cold and injured, they spontaneously went to chop firewood without waiting for anyone to speak. Carpenter Liu took an axe from his own cart, Zhang Gensheng took a machete, and the men went up the hillside together.

In less than half an hour, several piles of firewood had been built.

A fire was started, and the area beneath the cliff gradually warmed up. The injured sat around the fire, some wiping their wounds with snow water, others tearing pieces of their clothing to bandage them.

Widow Sun huddled beside the fire, holding Niu Niu in her arms. Her face was flushed from the heat, but her hands were still icy cold.

Jiang Xing was squatting next to his oxcart, just about to wipe his face with a wet cloth, when a voice suddenly erupted from the crowd.

"Shen Dehou! How dare you stand there!"

Jiang Caimao rushed out of the crowd, covered in mud and with blood on his face, it was unclear whether it was his own or someone else's.

His cotton-padded coat had a tear, and the cotton was coming out, causing it to wobble with every step he took.

Several people from Jiangjia Village followed behind him; they had all entered the village and managed to escape, but their families had not.

"You knew something was wrong with that village, why didn't you tell us?" Jiang Caimao's voice was shrill and sharp as he pointed his finger at Shen Dehou's nose, his whole body trembling. "You ran away with your men, did you care whether we lived or died? My wife is gone! My grandson is gone! Can you afford to compensate me?"

Shen Dehou's face darkened.

"I notified them," he said. "I notified them one by one."

"What the hell are you going to notify them for?!" Jiang Caimao's voice exploded. "If you had notified them, how could my family members have died! You're just digging our graves!"

His words were like a knife, cutting open the emotions of those who had lost family members in the crowd.

"Yes! Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"If we had known, a few more might have escaped!"

"You're the village chief, don't you care whether we live or die?"

"Captain Ma doesn't care! None of you care!"

The noise grew louder and more chaotic; people cried and cursed, even crowding towards Shen Dehou.

Ma Dadan stood up, and the two constables also stood up. The lame one blocked Shen Dehou's way, while the one with a cut on his face pulled his knife halfway out.

"What are you doing? Get back!" Ma Dadan shouted, but no one listened. The crowd surged forward, hands already outstretched, whether to push or grab something, it was unclear.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Jiang Caimao took two steps back and then turned to sneak towards Jiang Xingjia's oxcart.

Jiang Dazhu followed behind him, the two of them one in front and one behind, their eyes fixed on the grain bags and tarpaulins on the truck.

Just as Jiang Dazhu's hand touched the oilcloth, a short knife flew through the air and, with a "hiss," embedded itself in the wooden plank on the edge of the cart, the blade vibrating and humming.

The tip of the knife was less than an inch from Jiang Dazhu's finger.

Jiang Dazhu's legs went weak, and he sat down on the ground with a thud. Jiang Caimao's face was as white as paper, and he stood frozen in place, his fingers trembling.

Jiang Xing walked over from a dozen steps away, his pace neither fast nor slow. He reached out and pulled the short knife off the cart, wiped it twice on his sleeve, and put it back into the leather sheath at his waist.

She didn't look at Jiang Caimao, nor at Jiang Dazhu, and didn't even say a word to them. The two of them scrambled back, and Jiang Dazhu slipped on the ground, losing one shoe as he got up and ran.

Over there, Ma Dadan, unable to bear it any longer, drew his broadsword and held it to the neck of the most vocal man. The blade was pressed against his skin, and the man's cursing was stuck in his throat, causing him to freeze.

"If you utter another word, I'll send you back to your family." Ma Dadan's voice wasn't loud, but the man's legs had already started to tremble.

The crowd finally quieted down.

Shen Dehou stepped out from behind the rock, looking at the people in front of him whose eyes were red. His lips moved a few times, his voice not loud, but everyone heard him: "I warned you all. Before we set up camp that day, I went from house to house and told you that something was wrong in the village. Be careful, don't leave your things behind, and keep an eye on your children. Did anyone listen?"

No one speaks.

"Jiang Caimao was laughing at me for being timid, and you all laughed along with him." Shen Dehou glanced at Jiang Caimao, who lowered his head.

"Now that someone's dead, you want to blame me? I told you, but you didn't believe me. Did I put a knife to your throats and force you to believe me?"

Someone lowered their head, gritted their teeth, and seemed about to say something, but their mouth opened and then closed again.

After a moment of silence, someone spoke first: "Then you shouldn't have just run off on your own."

This sentence was like a match, reigniting the fires that hadn't yet gone out.

"Exactly! You knew it was dangerous, you ran away with your men, did you even care about us?"

"So many of us died, and not a single one of you died. Why?"

"The food is still here, the trucks are still here, everything is still here, but what about us? We have nothing left!"

The voices grew louder, not the impulsive cursing from before, but a more complex and distorted sound. They knew Shen Dehou had warned them, knew they hadn't listened, and knew they were the ones who had killed their family.

But they dare not admit it, because if they did, they would not be able to live. So they must find someone to blame, they must find someone to hate.

Some people started glancing at Jiang Xing's oxcart. The grain sacks were bulging, the oilcloth was neatly folded, and there were quilts, pots and pans, firewood, and everything else on the cart.

Jiang Xing leaned against the oxcart, watching the people.

There were still blood scabs on her face that hadn't been wiped off, and her cuffs were black, soaked in blood and frozen solid, like a shell.

The short knife was tucked behind his waist, and the machete was tucked to his side. Both knives were sharpened, and their blades gleamed in the morning light.

"If you're not afraid to die, then come forward," she said.

The sound wasn't loud, but everyone heard it.