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

Ma Dadan moved the geomantic map aside and lowered his voice: "When we were taking headcount today, I had my men ask around to find out who was assigned to Zhongnan. There are less than a hundred households in total. The yamen runner who was in charge of them died last night, and the documents are also missing."

Shen Dehou frowned. Jiang Xing squatted beside him, saying nothing.

Ma Dadan continued, "If these people were to leave on their own, unarmed, without any officials or clerks, they wouldn't even be able to enter the city gates of Zhongnan Prefecture. Would they be willing to do that? What if they became radicalized..."

"No," Shen Dehou said. "I won't agree."

"So I've been thinking about it all afternoon." Ma Dadan looked at her. "What idea do you have?"

Jiang Xing did not answer immediately.

She looked at the red circle around Guandu Ferry on the feng shui map and thought for a while. "Let's test the waters first. Call them over and ask if they'd like to walk by themselves. If they do, don't stop them; if they don't..."

She paused for a moment.

"Those people are dead. They were killed by that group of people. It wasn't just one village that died. Their identities, documents, nothing was left behind. If anyone is willing to use those people's identities to travel to the southwest..."

Ma Dadan's eyes lit up, but he didn't reply, waiting for her to finish speaking.

"Forging documents is too late, but signatures can be altered. Official signatures are only verified upon arrival in the prefectural city; checks along the way are lax. As long as those people don't say anything, who will know where they were originally supposed to go?"

Ma Dadan remained silent for a moment, then stood up and cupped his hands in a respectful gesture towards Jiang Xing. It wasn't a polite cupping gesture, but a serious one, with his palms touching the backs of his hands.

"I was reckless before. If I had listened to Village Chief Shen that day and left overnight, my brothers wouldn't have died there."

Shen Dehou waved his hand: "It's not my doing. It was Jiang Yatou who reminded me that something was wrong with the village that day, so I went to talk to you about it."

Jiang Xing glanced at Shen Dehou, but didn't reply. He stood up and patted the grass clippings off his knees.

"Everyone is tired. Get some rest, we have to travel tomorrow."

On the second day of their journey, the people of Jiangjia Village inexplicably moved forward, with the soldiers following closely behind.

Jiang Dazhu's family walked in the middle of the procession.

Zhou sat on the cart, her face ashen, her lips chapped and peeling, her eyes red and swollen. Her food was almost gone. She had survived all day yesterday on wild vegetables, and hadn't eaten anything this morning, only wanting to save as much as possible for Jiang Qingshan.

Jiang Qingyue sat next to her, her chin was so thin that she looked sharp, and her eyes were bigger than before, but they were so big that they made people feel uneasy.

Jiang Dazhu drove the cart, his back bent, like a tree bent by the wind.

His cotton-padded jacket was covered in mud, and the sleeves were worn out, revealing a hard, old piece of cotton underneath.

Jiang Qingshan walked beside the cart, without a book in his hand.

He held onto the edge of the cart with one hand and gripped a wooden stick he'd picked up on the road to use as a walking stick with the other. His cotton-padded coat was thin and the wind could easily see through it, but he walked steadily, his steps neither fast nor slow, following behind his father.

"Qingshan," Jiang Dazhu called out.

"Um."

"Your mother...your mother hasn't eaten anything all day."

Jiang Qingshan didn't reply. He glanced at Zhou Shi, whose eyes were closed, and he couldn't tell if she was asleep or not. He looked away and continued walking.

Jiang Erzhu's family walked a little further back.

The Liu family's cart was noticeably less full; they hadn't thrown it away, they had eaten it. The grain sacks were mostly empty, and wild vegetables filled a large portion of the pot.

But Liu's mouth didn't stop: "Laifu, move the blanket next to you inwards, so you don't fall off."

"Caiyun, hurry up, don't dawdle."

"Erzhu, watch your step and don't go into the potholes."

Jiang Laifu sat in the car, huddled under the blanket, with only his head showing. He had lost weight and his chin was sharper, but he hadn't lost all the flesh on his face and still looked a bit fatter than his peers.

He held a piece of bread in his hand, not eating it, taking it out to look at it every now and then, and then putting it back.

Jiang Caiyun walked behind the car, head down, following step by step. Her feet were blistered, and she frowned with every step, but she didn't complain.

Jiang Erzhu drove the cart without saying a word. He wasn't a talkative man, but he did all the work he was supposed to do.

Yang Cuihua's family walked at the very back of the procession.

He Daliang walked at the front, with a scar on his face, the origin of which was unknown.

His two sons followed behind, one carrying a bundle and the other pushing a wheelbarrow.

There wasn't much in the car: a few blankets, a broken pot, and a bag of mixed grain flour—the grain bag was lost when they escaped yesterday, and this was all that was left.

He Daliang was no pushover. He had been holding back his anger since last night. He had lost his grain, his wife was useless, his daughter didn't recognize him, and he didn't even have a place to stay.

They camped next to Jiang Xing's house, not on purpose, but because when they got to the back, that was the only open space left.

The aroma of white porridge wafted from Jiang Xing's shed at night, mixed with the smell of meat, which was particularly stimulating in the cold air. He Daliang swallowed his saliva several times, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, and kicked Yang Cuihua.

"Your daughter eats better than anyone else."

Yang Cuihua remained silent.

"You gave birth to such a good daughter. She eats and drinks the finest food, while her own mother is left to starve in the snow."

Yang Cuihua remained silent.

He Daliang kicked her again, then turned over and went to sleep.

Yang Cuihua lay there with her eyes open for a long time, her mind racing. When dawn broke, her eyes were red.

She didn't witness Jiang Xing kill anyone; last night, she only saw her standing at the village entrance covered in blood, which terrified her so much that her legs went weak, and she was dragged away by Granny Li.

Later, she heard people say that Jiang Xing had killed many people, but she didn't believe it.

How could she not know her own daughter? How could a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl have the ability to kill someone? Those people are exaggerating and trying to scare people.

She watched the oxcart's silhouette recede into the distance.

Jiang Xing walked beside the car wearing a new cotton-padded coat. The coat was bluish-gray, and the new cotton padding made it look warm and cozy.

The calf sat on the cart, wearing new cotton shoes, its feet dangling on the edge of the cart.

Zhang was sitting at the very back, with a cotton quilt covering her legs and an old pair of cotton trousers draped over the quilt, which she was taking apart.

Yang Cuihua's eyes reddened, not from the urge to cry, but from her frustration.

Wasn't she good to Xiao Niu? She gave birth to him! And now? Xiao Niu doesn't recognize her, her daughter doesn't recognize her, and her own daughter is protecting a bunch of outsiders.

What does the people of Jiangjia Village have to do with her? What does Shen Dehou have to do with her? What does her Third Uncle have to do with her?

He Daliang walked ahead, glanced back at her, and said, "What are you looking at? If you're so capable, go and ask for it."

Yang Cuihua lowered her head and didn't speak, but her hand, which was gripping the bundle, dug her nails into the cloth until her knuckles turned white.

At noon, the group arrived at Guandu Ferry.

Guandukou is not a ferry crossing, but a fork in the road.

Heading east, cross a stone bridge, and after another ten or so miles you'll reach the riverbank, from where you can cross the river to the south-central region; heading west, continue along the official road into the mountains, which leads to the southwest.

The two roads fork here, separated by a dry ditch. A stone slab bridge spans the ditch, and at the other end of the bridge stands a stone tablet inscribed with the three characters "Guandukou," the characters now blurred by weathering.

Ma Dadan stood beside the stone tablet, looking at the dense crowd below. He ordered his men to bring out the refugees who had been assigned to Zhongnan.

About a hundred households, young and old, stood together, hunched over, wondering what had happened.

Ma Dadan cleared his throat: "Those of you assigned to Zhongnan, the yamen runner leading your team is gone last night, and the documents are lost too. You'll have to go on your own. No one will care about you on the road. Once you reach Zhongnan Prefecture, you won't be able to enter the city without the documents. Now you have two options—either come with us to the Southwest and land there using someone else's identity; or you'll have to go on your own, cross the bridge and the river, and your life is in the hands of fate."

After saying that, he waited for a while.

People were talking quietly in the crowd, their voices buzzing, but it quickly fell silent again.

"We'll go with you," someone in the crowd shouted.

"We don't want to walk on our own."

"I'm fine with going anywhere, as long as I'm alive."

Ma Dadan glanced at Jiang Xing, who remained expressionless. He then looked at Shen Dehou, who nodded.

Chen Xiucai stood in the crowd, listening to these words, he hesitated for a long time, his hand came out from his sleeve, and then he withdrew it.

He was originally assigned to Zhongnan, where his family still had a few acres of poor land and some members of his clan. But were those clansmen still alive? He didn't know. Were the fields still there? He didn't know either. Chen Zhilan stood behind him, her veil hanging down, so his face was not visible.

"Father?" Her voice was very soft.

Chen Xiucai turned around, glanced at his daughter, then walked to Ma Dadan, cupped his hands in greeting, and said, "Captain Ma, I... am willing to follow the team to the southwest."

Ma Dadan glanced at him: "You're a scholar, have you thought it through?"

Chen Xiucai nodded.

The group stopped to rest at Guandukou. Those going to the southwest did not need to cross the river; they could simply continue along the official road. However, after walking for most of the day, both people and animals were exhausted. Ma Dadan told everyone to rest for an hour before continuing their journey.

Taking advantage of the break, Zhang finished disassembling the old cotton trousers.

The cotton was taken out, spread on a piece of cloth, and sewed into a thick layer.

She used a piece of cloth from Jiang Xing's blood-stained clothes, which she had washed clean, as the outer fabric, and sewed it up with tight, even stitches to make a pair of socks.

The socks had thick soles and could be worn inside the shoes to keep warm. After she finished making them, she didn't give them to Jiang Xing; instead, she stuffed them into her own sleeve, intending to give them to him when he came over.

Jiang Xing did not wait at the ferry crossing. She walked half a mile along the official road and went up the hillside next to it.

The hillside wasn't high, but you could see far from the top. The procession below was resting; the oxcarts, carts, and people looked as small as ants.

Ahead was a road heading southwest, with mountains on both sides. The mountains were bare, with no trees, and the rocks and snow mixed together, creating a grayish-white scene.

With the weather frozen and snowy, wild vegetables are hard to find. In a while, it will probably get even colder with rain and snow.

She stood on the hillside, looking into the distance. Mountains stretched out one after another, and she had originally wanted to see if there were any caves, but there were none at all.