Frontier Hero: From Receiving a Convicted Woman to Becoming an Emperor for All Time

The old man's body stiffened.

He slowly raised his head, his cloudy eyes filled with disbelief.

Shen Chuxiao didn't say much. He took out the dry rations that Wang Yilu had given him before he left the pass, broke off a large piece, and handed it to the old man.

"eat."

The old man stared blankly at the piece of dry rations, stunned.

He had lived most of his life, and not a single soldier had ever given him food. The only time he received food was when the border troops came to collect grain while he was in the village. If they didn't give him any, they would smash his door; if they gave him too little, they would beat him.

From then on, he would feel weak in the knees whenever he saw someone wearing armor.

But now, the soldier is squatting in front of him and handing him his dry rations.

The old man was trembling all over; he dared not accept the call.

He feared it was a trap, that the soldier would suddenly turn on him after he accepted the rations. He had been fooled too many times; every time someone came claiming to be there to rescue them, they would end up either stealing the rations or arresting people.

He no longer believes it.

Shen Chuxiao did not urge him.

They then forcibly stuffed the dry food into the old man's hands, their fingers touching the old man's frostbitten palms, which felt as rough as sandpaper.

"Eat, that's an order!"

The old man looked down at the dry food in his hand, and tears suddenly welled up in his eyes.

He didn't put it in his mouth.

He turned around and shakily handed it to a skinny child behind him.

"Baby...eat quickly...eat quickly..."

The child took the dry food and stuffed it into his mouth, wolfing it down. He ate too fast and choked, coughing a few times, but he couldn't bear to spit it out. He covered his mouth with his hand, his face covered in tears and snot.

The surrounding refugees were all stunned.

The kowtowing stopped, and the pleas for mercy subsided.

They looked at Shen Chuxiao, their fear turning into confusion. Why hadn't this border soldier drawn his sword? Why hadn't he kicked the old man away? Why was he distributing food?

Confusion turned into caution, disbelief, and a sense of fragility—

hope!

Someone started to cry quietly.

It wasn't the heart-wrenching pleas for mercy from before; it was a suppressed, muffled sob, as if afraid that making too much noise would wake her from the dream.

Shen Chuxiao stood up and walked along the ditch.

The woman, holding a baby in her arms, was still kowtowing, repeating her words of mercy with a blank expression.

Her forehead was bruised and battered, and blood and mud smeared all over her face.

She felt no pain, or rather, she could no longer feel pain. All her senses were focused on holding the small, stiff body in her arms.

Shen Chuxiao squatted down and reached out to check the baby's breath.

She has stopped breathing.

Shen Chuxiao took off his outer robe and draped it over the woman.

The woman suddenly looked up at him.

"The child is gone."

Shen Chuxiao's voice was very soft.

"But you still have to live."

The woman's tears finally fell.

It doesn't flow silently.

She burst into tears.

She held the dead baby, crying so hard her body convulsed, and she couldn't breathe.

Shen Chuxiao stood up and was about to leave when his ankle was suddenly grabbed by a withered hand.

He looked down and saw an old man lying in the snow.

The old man's legs were blackened by the cold, his toes sticking out like charred twigs. His lips were cracked and bleeding, his eyes were half-open, and his pupils were dilated.

"Sir..." the old man's voice seemed to drift from afar, "My son... he was also drafted... three years... he hasn't come back... have you... have you seen him?"

Shen Chuxiao squatted down and grasped that withered hand.

"What's his name?"

The old man opened his mouth, his lips trembled a few times, but no sound came out. His hand suddenly went limp, falling to his sides into the snow. His eyes were still open, but the sliver of light in his pupils...

Went out.

Shen Chuxiao reached out and gently closed the old man's eyes.

He then stood up and looked around at this corner that had been forgotten by heaven.

He didn't know where these people's fields were, where their houses were, or where their hometowns were.

All he knew was that their house had been burned down, their food looted, and their relatives killed. They had nothing left but this dried-up ditch and the days of waiting to die in it.

Tie Niu stood behind, his eyes red-rimmed.

He planted the broadsword in the ground, turned his face away, and wiped his eyes hard with his sleeve.

Sun Ergou didn't speak, but his lips were trembling.

Too many people have been killed this winter.

For the first time, Shen Chuxiao truly felt how rotten this world was.

It's not rotten in one thing, it's rotten in the swords of every border soldier, rotten in the pens of every official, rotten in the eyes of every person in a high position.

They couldn't see the people kneeling in the snow, the children who had frozen to death, or the bodies that had been gnawed down to bones.

They can only see themselves.

Shen Chuxiao recalled what Lu Chenzhou had said: "The roots of the Great Jing tree are rotten."

The roots are rotten.

Will the branches and leaves on top still survive?

He looked up at the gray sky, snowflakes falling on his face and into his eyes.

He didn't close his eyes; he just stared at the sky for a long time.

Snow water streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from snow water or something else entirely.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked.

His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm, drawing blood, but he didn't let go.

"Have you seen enough?"

His voice was still hoarse.

Shen Chuxiao did not answer.

"These people have been here for half a month."

The man in the straw raincoat said in a deep voice, "Half a month ago, their village was massacred by barbarians. The men were killed, the women were raped, and the children were thrown to their deaths. The survivors fled here, but they have no food, no clothes, and can only wait to die."

"Where are the border troops?"

His voice was calm, but the man in the straw raincoat could hear the suppressed anger beneath that calm.

"Border troops?"

The man in the straw raincoat gave a cold laugh.

"The border troops dared not come. When the barbarians massacred the village, the nearest border troop camp was less than thirty li away. They received the villagers' plea for help, but they did not send troops."

Why?

"Because there are orders from above not to engage in conflict with the barbarians, so as to avoid triggering a large-scale war."

Shen Chuxiao laughed in exasperation.

When Tie Niu heard this from behind, he was so angry that he trembled all over.

He gripped the knife hilt, his knuckles white, his lips trembling, and after a long pause, he managed to squeeze out a single sentence: "Damn it...damn it...what about the common people?"

No one answered him.

The wind was blowing down from the mountain ridges, growing stronger and stronger.

The snowflakes stung my face.

Shen Chuxiao turned around and asked:

"Where are the supplies?"

"Qingfeng Mountain".

"Who robbed them?"

The man in the straw raincoat did not answer; he simply looked at Shen Chuxiao.

Shen Chuxiao already knew the answer.

He then took one last look at the hellish scene in the ditch before heading up the mountain ridge.

"Boss!" Tie Niu called from behind.

Shen Chuxiao did not turn around.

"Walk."

"Where to?"

"Qingfeng Mountain, bring back the grain supplies."

"But not for us."

He said those words silently to himself.