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

Zhang had already set up the tarpaulin shed. Seeing Jiang Xing's family quickly set up the shed, the villagers felt relieved and began to arrange their own beds.

In their view, as long as they followed Jiang Xing's actions, they were bound to be right.

While cooking dinner that evening, Zhang suddenly remembered what had happened during the day and asked Jiang Xing, "Xing'er, what did you say to that refugee that you talked for so long during the day? I sat next to him and didn't understand a word. I could only make out one or two words occasionally. The tone sounded familiar, but I just couldn't figure out what it meant."

Third Uncle nodded as well: "I didn't understand either. But I heard people speak this southwestern Mandarin when I was young in a caravan. It's very different from the north. The tone is soft and full of twists and turns."

Jiang Xing slowly stirred the porridge with a stick, making a half-circle motion in the pot: "I don't know how I learned it, it's just that as soon as I hear those words, my brain automatically knows what they mean. I guess I have this talent, and I just figured it out myself."

She placed the branch next to the casserole and sat up straighter: "Actually, Southwestern Mandarin isn't difficult. The main differences compared to Northern Mandarin are in a few areas. First, the tones are different. Northern Mandarin only has four tones, but the pitch changes of each word in Southwestern Mandarin are the opposite. Words that rise in the North fall in Southwestern Mandarin, and vice versa. Try listening to them in reverse; you'll understand much more. Second, there are fewer words with the 'zi' radical in Southwestern Mandarin; they're either omitted or replaced with other expressions. Third, pay attention to their mouth shapes. Southwesterners tend to jut their chins out when they speak, and their lips don't move as forcefully as Northerners. Following their mouth shapes will give you a general idea."

After listening, Zhang frowned and tried to imitate the phrases, but her tongue was tied and she couldn't get it right. Uncle San, on the other hand, understood a few key points and closed his eyes to ponder them repeatedly.

The little calf squatted to the side, resting its chin on its hand and listening for a while. Suddenly, it spoke up and said, "Sister, is this how it is? 'Why aren't you eating?'"

Jiang Xing paused for a moment, holding the branch in his hand.

This child could automatically find the pattern after hearing just a few sentences, and accurately repeat it in a different setting.

She reached out and patted his head. The little calf was puzzled by the touch, grinned, and then lowered his head to continue reciting two more sentences in his Southwestern dialect, as if he had received a new toy.

Night fell, and the camp quieted down. The fire had burned down to embers, and a dim oil lamp still shone in the straw hut of a few soldiers at the city gate in the distance.

Third Uncle and Zhang Shi were asleep, wrapped in quilts. Little Niu, huddled next to Third Uncle, rolled over in his sleep and mumbled a sentence in a southwestern accent: "...It wasn't me who took it...I didn't even see it..."

Jiang Xing forced herself to fall asleep. She finally arrived at the gate of a county town where soldiers were stationed. She wanted to take the opportunity to get a good night's sleep.

But she didn't sleep well.

I don't know how long I slept, but suddenly the sound of one or two pebbles hitting the tarpaulin came from above.

She opened her eyes, her fingers just touching the hilt of the knife, when suddenly she heard the sound of a calf coming from the blankets behind her.

"...Don't try to take it...Get away..."

Soft and languid, with a half-awake drowsiness, she spoke in the southwestern dialect she had just learned today.

Jiang Xing's pupils suddenly contracted.

The man during the day claimed to be a refugee and was dressed in tattered clothes.

But he spoke fluent Southwestern Mandarin, his voice strong and clear, without a trace of weakness from prolonged hunger. The Southwest is the farthest place from war, one in the south and one in the north, so the refugees would only come from other places, and would never be a native-born local.

During the day, she was so engrossed in the familiar local accent that she overlooked a crucial flaw.