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

The officers and soldiers led their troops through two streets and stopped in a spacious open space.

This place was originally a grain drying ground, with a flat, square surface that could accommodate several hundred people.

Now the area is surrounded by hemp ropes, and two soldiers with knives guard the entrance. Inside, a number of people have gathered, some sitting and some standing.

They were all refugees who had survived the ordeal last night; their voices were a jumbled mess, like a pot of water that hadn't boiled.

As soon as the people from Jiangjia Village entered, some with sharp eyes spotted familiar faces.

"Aunt Wang! You're still alive!" A woman rushed out from the crowd, grabbed Aunt Wang's arm, and burst into tears.

Aunt Wang was stunned for a moment, then recognized the person as Li Ersao from Lijia Village—her cousin's in-laws, whom she used to talk to often when they went to the market.

The two hugged each other, crying and laughing intermittently, repeating the same few phrases over and over: "It's good that you're alive," "I thought I'd never see you again," "Where's your spouse?" "It's okay, it's okay, they're all here."

The survivors in each village were filled with relief, yet they also embraced each other and wept.

These people, who were crying their hearts out, knew each other but were complete strangers. At that moment, being alive was the greatest blessing.

Too many people died on the way to escape famine. Those who could still stand together in the same place after the same calamity had an unspoken closeness to each other.

As Zhang was leading the calf towards the base of the wall, she suddenly heard someone call her name.

"Older sister! Zhang Xiuying..."

An elderly woman in her fifties squeezed through the crowd. She had gray hair, wore a gray cotton-padded jacket with numerous patches, and her face was so thin that her cheekbones protruded, but her eyes were bright.

Zhang was stunned for a moment before recognizing her as her cousin Chen Zhaodi from her maternal family, who had a large sloping leg. When Zhang was still a young girl, the two sisters were very close, often working together in the fields.

They all got married and lived in different villages, so they saw each other less often, but they were still considered some of Zhang's few maternal relatives.

"Zhaodi...you're alright too? We haven't seen each other for so many years..." Zhang's voice trembled slightly.

Granny Chen grabbed her hand tightly, as if afraid she would disappear if she let go: "I'm already an old man, and even the King of Hell won't take me. I've heard about what happened to Lao San... Your life is too miserable."

Zhang's eyes reddened, her lips moved but she didn't say anything. She patted the back of Chen Pozi's hand, which was covered with chapped lines and purplish-red scars from the cold.

Granny Chen looked behind her and saw Jiang Xing standing not far away, leading a calf.

Jiang Xing's gaze swept over this side, cold and aloof, completely different from the Jiang Daya who used to lower her head and shrink back when she saw people.

Granny Chen was secretly surprised, but she didn't say anything. She just patted Zhang's hand and said, "Fortunately, Daya is capable."

Zhang glanced back at Jiang Xing, a faint smile appearing on her lips, which she quickly suppressed.

"Yes, my Xing'er is so sensible and filial. Xing'er, Xiao Niu, come and meet your great-aunt."

Jiang Xing frowned, not expecting that Zhang Shi actually had a living relative. In the original owner's memories, Zhang Shi's maternal family members had all passed away.

However, she didn't ask, but still greeted the calf and said nothing more.

Jiang Xing didn't continue the conversation. Zhang Shi pulled Chen Pozi to sit down next to her, and the two old sisters touched heads and whispered about their experiences along the way.

Third Uncle didn't speak to anyone.

He carried the bag of grain, walked through groups of people, and sat down under an old locust tree in the far corner of the threshing ground.

The tree was bare, its bare branches stretching towards the gray sky. The soil at its roots was compacted and hardened, with a few withered leaves scattered on it, blown by the wind.

He placed the grain sack on his knees, one hand holding the opening of the sack, while the other hand instinctively reached for his waist.

I found nothing.

The pipe that I'd kept on my belt for decades is gone. I was running too fast last night, and I don't know when it fell off. Maybe it got snagged by a branch in the thorn bushes.

Third Uncle's hand paused for a moment at his waist, then slowly withdrew and rested on the grain sack. He lowered his head, his lips twitched downwards, then he closed his eyes and sighed softly.

The breath wasn't heavy; it was just slowly squeezed out from his sunken chest, mingling with the chilly morning wind, and quickly dissipated.

His old ox is gone too.

That old ox had been with him for ten years. When he bought it from a neighboring county ten years ago, it was just a half-grown calf, very stubborn. When plowing the field, it would always lean to the side. When he whipped it, the ox would turn its head and look at him with its wet eyes, chewing grass in its mouth, looking completely innocent.

Later, the man and the ox worked together, plowing the fields and turning over the mud in the spring, hauling grain to town to sell in the autumn, and in the winter, the hay in the cattle pen was thickly covered, and he would squat beside it smoking a pipe while the ox lay on the haystack ruminating, the jingling of the copper bells around its neck ringing intermittently.

That bell was the only valuable thing the old ox had. It was made of bronze and had a dull, muffled tone, not the crisp kind, but it sounded comforting.

Last night, when Jiang Xing said "we don't want the cow anymore," Third Uncle didn't argue. It wasn't that he didn't feel sorry for the cow, but he saw the look in Jiang Xing's eyes when he said those words. It wasn't that he was reluctant to part with it, but that he had no other choice.

He lived for sixty-six years and could distinguish what was most important, but that didn't mean he wasn't in pain.

He sat leaning against the locust tree trunk, his hands resting on the grain sacks, his knuckles slightly white. He had no children and never remarried after his wife died, living alone in the village all these years.

It's hard to say whether he was lonely or not; when he was young, he was used to traveling alone, eating alone, and spending the night alone by the fire.

But on this journey of fleeing famine, a few more people suddenly joined him, sharing a bowl of porridge, squeezing into a vehicle, and guarding a fire together. This made his hardened heart soften a little. He was afraid that he wouldn't have the strength to protect those things, and he was more afraid of losing them than he thought.

Jiang Xing stood not far from the locust tree and saw his third uncle's actions clearly.