Autumn rain fell like woven threads as the two brothers took shelter under the eaves outside someone’s home.
The bluestone steps were damp and cold with moisture. Qi Yuchen, pale from prolonged hunger, shivered uncontrollably, burrowing deeper into Qi Zhaoye’s embrace.
Qi Zhaoye held his frail body tightly, his mind numb, yet his body instinctively sought to protect his younger brother.
A dull ache throbbed at the back of his head, making him frown—an old injury from when Qi Dayong had beaten him. Earlier, while fighting for half a moldy steamed bun, he had been punched several times in the head and face. Now, soaked and chilled, the poorly healed wound flared up again, gnawing at his nerves like a waking venomous snake.
The young man gritted his teeth, the taste of rust-like blood filling his mouth. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, mingling with the icy raindrops as they slid down.
“Brother…” Qi Yuchen’s faint murmur seemed to come from a distant place. “Where are we going?”
Since escaping the kidnappers, the two had never stayed in one place for long.
At first, Qi Zhaoye never imagined he would end up homeless, reduced to begging. Now, everything was beyond repair. The good days of the past had become an unreachable dream. All he wanted now was to survive.
Food could be stolen or snatched, but the harsh northern winter could freeze a person to death. Since they had left Jingcheng and couldn’t find their way back, they continued southward, chasing the last remnants of warmth before winter arrived.
“We’re going to find a new home,” he whispered soothingly to Qi Yuchen, whose mind was already foggy from hunger.
Qi Yuchen whimpered softly and didn’t press further.
The raindrops dripping from the eaves gradually lessened, and the fine mist in the air resembled morning fog over a lake. Under the faint daylight, it looked like the apricot blossom rain that once fluttered down in Feiyunxuan, scattered by the wind.
Qi Zhaoye blinked, and with each breath, an image surfaced in his mind: beneath a sunlit apricot tree in spring, a woman’s lazy arm resting on a reclining chair, her snow-white wrist peeking from her sleeve, her fingertips lightly pinching a nut…
As if blending with some intangible old dream, a soft, warm fingertip pressed against his cold forehead.
She was clearly a heartless, wicked woman.
The young man sneered inwardly, not at her, but at himself—for repeatedly suffering loss and betrayal, for witnessing his own naivety and foolishness. Now, he had nothing left to cherish in memory, forced to borrow her shadow to relive even the briefest moments of past peace.
As if doing so could offer a fleeting redemption for his shattered, anxious heart.
He took a deep breath, his eyes growing moist.
During these months of displacement, he had remained constantly on edge, with even brief rest becoming a rare luxury.
In truth, there would be no home.
He no longer wanted to get close to others, to rely on anyone, or to beg for help. Who knew whether the next person he trusted would be a liar or a kidnapper? He had nothing left. If he naively trusted someone again as he had before, he might lose even his life if he gambled wrong.
Every past incident was a lesson written in blood and tears. For all the betrayals and abandonments, his tears had long since dried up.
Yet beneath the heavy weight of despair, a faint thread of defiance still lingered.
—What if there was? What if?
The feeble flame flickered only once in his heart before being extinguished by the damp chill creeping into his limbs.
The rain had stopped; it was time to move on.
Where would their next meal come from?
So cold.
Countless questions flooded his mind, leaving him no room to care about anything else. He could only continue walking forward, numb, fearful, and unwilling to accept his fate.
The passage of time, once pages of a book the young boy eagerly wished to turn quickly as he longed to grow up and achieve greatness, now felt like biting winds and cold rain chasing after them. The slightest misstep would invite tormenting illness and hunger, dragging them into the mire.
The boy’s slender body endured pain time and again. Like a stray dog, he fought for scraps of food, was chased, beaten, and spat upon. The pain grew so intense that his body lost all sensation, and even his heart felt crushed. Beyond the instinct to survive and the desperate determination to protect his only younger brother, he thought of nothing else.
He hated those people, hated everything he had suffered. The more he hated, the more powerless he felt.
On a golden autumn day, the high sun ripened crop after crop in the fields. On the ridges outside the village, the two brothers walked hand in hand, utterly exhausted.
Lately, the weather had warmed slightly.
Yet Qi Zhaoye felt no comfort at all. Instead, he broke into cold sweats, his hands and feet grew icy, and his body alternated between chills and fever. His foot slipped, and he tumbled down from the ridge.
“Brother!” Qi Yuchen’s childish voice cried out, but it failed to rouse Qi Zhaoye’s consciousness.
He had completely fainted.
Qi Zhaoye never considered himself delicate, but his body had endured too much devastation in just a few short months. Even in his unconscious state, he could not ignore the dull ache at the back of his head or the chaotic chills and fever raging within.
Darkness enveloped his vision. His body felt weightless, as if suspended over a fire one moment and pressed against a block of ice the next.
He thought he might be dying.
Reflecting on his brief life, aside from the fleeting joy of being falsely praised and elevated to the clouds, there was nothing beautiful worth remembering.
Deep down, he understood. His father was not a bad man, nor was his mother inherently wicked, but they did not love each other. In fact, they despised one another, so much so that they refused to speak, and even a single exchanged glance could turn the peaceful air heavy and oppressive.
A child born to such a resentful couple was never something to be anticipated. In this, he felt he could not even compare to Qi Yuchen. At least their aunt genuinely cared for Qi Yuchen, hoping that by looking after him, she could secure a place within Qi Jia.
At least Qi Yuchen had experienced a brief moment of “family” completeness—though the woman was not his mother, the affection she showed in that moment was something even his own mother had never expressed.
He felt a twinge of jealousy toward Qi Yuchen.
In the dim haze of his fading consciousness, hearing his younger brother’s sobs by his ear, he could muster no strength. He felt himself sinking bit by bit, his breaths growing fainter.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar yet kindly voice spoke, “You wish to seek refuge with relatives? Do you know where they live?”
In his daze, he recalled that deeply humiliating morning when, thinking himself clever, he had climbed the wall to eavesdrop. Sure enough, he overheard that woman discussing with her companion.
She said the apricot blossoms were beautiful, but her hometown was even more so.
Amidst the fresh scent of flowers, the young boy’s heart sketched, for the first time, an image of a paradise utterly different from Jingcheng.
“Apricot blossoms… wine…” he answered instinctively, as hot sweat soaked the hair on his forehead.
A warm cloth wiped his neck, and Qi Zhaoye vaguely regained some sensation. Only then did he hear the somewhat aged voice murmuring thoughtfully.
“Apricot blossom wine? We don’t brew that kind of wine here.”
“Could it be in the Yangzhou region? I’ve heard people there often drink apricot blossom wine…” a man’s voice interjected. In the background, Qi Yuchen’s sobs had quieted.
Qi Zhaoye drifted in and out of consciousness, hearing no more.
He woke again five days later.
“You’re finally awake. If you hadn’t woken up soon, your little brother would have cried himself into a faint too.”
An elderly woman with white hair, nearing seventy, entered the room carrying a bowl. Following behind her was Qi Yuchen, who had changed into clean clothes and re-tied his hair, looking much more refreshed now.
“Brother!” Qi Yuchen’s eyes were red and teary as he scrambled onto the edge of the bed, burrowing into his brother’s arms. “You slept for so many days, you scared me to death! It’s all my fault for eating too much, making you go hungry… I promise I’ll never fight you for food again…”
Qi Zhaoye sat up, patting his younger brother’s back as he gradually regained his senses. He looked toward the unfamiliar elderly woman.
“Did you save us?”
“My son was out in the fields cutting wheat when he heard your brother crying. That’s how he found you passed out in the field.” The old woman slowly walked over and handed him the bowl of thin porridge.
“You haven’t eaten in so long, your body is worn out from hunger. Have some porridge first.”
Qi Zhaoye stared at the steaming white porridge, his expression faltering. Before his eyes flashed the faces of those who had once seemed kind, only to tear off their masks and reveal their true, ferocious selves. His arm stiffened, and he hesitated to take the bowl.
Qi Yuchen wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, resting his head on his lap, and said gently, “Brother, Granny Li and Uncle Li are good people. They gave me food too, and they even cleaned up this room for us to sleep in.”
Looking down, Qi Zhaoye noticed that his brother’s complexion had improved compared to before, a clear sign that this family had taken good care of them.
Qi Zhaoye took the bowl of porridge. “Thank you.”
He took small sips of the porridge, his empty and numb stomach gradually filling with the warmth of the food. Only then did he feel the temperature and strength slowly returning to his body, as if he were coming back to life.
His brow trembled, and a wave of sorrow washed over him. The young man clenched his teeth, silently eating as Granny Li brought over a stool and sat down beside him.
“You two must have suffered a great deal.”
This sigh of sympathy was the first kindness they had felt since the catastrophe that had left them destitute.
Qi Zhaoye took a deep breath, his eyes growing moist.
Outside the window, the sun shone brightly, and the air was warm and dry, dispelling the chill and dampness that had clung to him. It felt soft and comforting.
It was the busy autumn harvest season. Once Qi Zhaoye had recovered, he followed Uncle Li and Aunt Li to the fields to gather wheat. Qi Yuchen was too young to work in the fields, so he stayed at home with Granny Li, helping with chores like tending the vegetable garden and feeding the chickens.
Farm work required great strength. The young boy’s slender back carried bundles of dried wheat several times heavier than himself. With each step, his feet sank into the soil, and sweat soaked his clothes.
Yet he found joy in it. The Li family provided them with food and shelter, and he was willing to repay them through hard work. Harvesting, threshing, and drying wheat—he quickly became skilled at it, pouring all his energy into the labor, working harder than an old ox.
Thanks to the two brothers, the Li family finished harvesting their grain in just half a month, a task that would have taken over twenty days otherwise.
With the wheat stored in the granary, the autumn harvest came to an end.
After days of continuous labor, Qi Zhaoye could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He looked forward to sleeping in the next day and hoped that, from then on, he could settle down in Li Village, relying on his own hands and feet to plant more crops and never go hungry again.
However, the atmosphere at dinner that evening grew strange.
Finally, Aunt Li spoke up: “Mother, Big Qi and Little Qi aren’t part of the Li family. What will people think if they stay here for long? It would be better to send them to their own relatives. Only then can everyone feel at ease.”
Granny Li put down her bowl unhappily. “What kind of talk is that? What’s wrong with them staying here?”
Aunt Li nudged her husband, but he didn’t respond. She rolled her eyes in displeasure. “Mother is a living bodhisattva, and it’s a good thing you want to do good deeds and accumulate virtue for the Li family. But it’s not like you don’t know where these two children’s relatives are. What’s the point of keeping them here for so long?”
Uncle Li coughed awkwardly. “Let’s eat first.”
Aunt Li put down her chopsticks. “Eat what? The wheat we harvest in a year is just that much. For the three of us, it’s barely enough to have some leftover grain. Add two more mouths, and we won’t have a single bit left. Mother, don’t you still want to hold your grandson?”
As she spoke, she glanced at the two brothers. The children didn’t dare touch their chopsticks, sitting motionless as they listened to the “battle” at the table.
“I asked about it last time we went into town. In Yunxi, Yangzhou, every household brews apricot blossom wine. It’s only a ten-day journey by following the merchant caravan. Mother, even if you mean well for these two boys, you can’t hide this forever.”
Grandma Li’s face turned pale, unable to argue.
Qi Zhaoye understood the meaning behind her words. He stood up and bowed to the three of them. “Aunt Li is right. My brother and I originally planned to seek refuge with our relatives. We have nothing to repay you for taking care of us all this time. If there’s any work left, please leave it to us.”
After the autumn harvest, there was no work left to do. Later, they would need to stock up on supplies for winter, but how could they let outsiders handle their money? None of the three family members responded.
Aunt Li looked at the clothes the two were wearing, regretting that these old clothes should have been worn by her future son but were instead given away by her mother-in-law to these two outsiders.
Receiving no response, the light in the eyes of the two children, one older and one younger, dimmed.
Qi Zhaoye forced himself to act as if nothing was wrong and continued, “The weather has been good these past few days. We plan to leave tomorrow.”
Hearing this, Aunt Li smiled, and Uncle Li nodded, motioning for him to sit down and eat. Grandma Li, sitting beside them, remained silent, too embarrassed to look at him.
Dinner resumed, but Qi Zhaoye was no longer in good spirits.
Fortunately, he was used to it. This time, being able to leave with a full stomach was already a blessing.
The next day, as dawn broke, Qi Zhaoye woke Qi Yuchen. They dressed, tidied the room, and set off, leaving the Li family.
As they stepped out of the fence gate, he looked back.
The doors of the rooms were tightly shut, silent. The laughter from the end of yesterday’s work seemed like a fleeting dream.
During the busy autumn harvest, the family woke up even earlier than this. Now that the busy season was over, no one had woken up yet—whether it was intentional or not, he no longer wanted to dwell on it.
The two brothers left Li Village, walked to the nearest town, and boarded a merchant caravan’s cart heading to Yunxi.
“Brother, do we have relatives in Yunxi?”
Behind the cart loaded with goods, two small figures huddled together, their legs swaying with the cart’s jolts, at risk of being thrown off at any moment.
Qi Zhaoye held Qi Yuchen close and didn’t answer.
In truth, it was just a false hope to keep himself and his brother going, but he wanted to go.
As long as they kept moving forward, there was still hope.
He would not give up.