In the third year of the Chongzhen reign, a great drought struck the five northern provinces.
The land lay scorched for a thousand miles. Rivers dried up, and the people had no choice but to leave their homes and wander in search of survival.
Late at night.
Inside a ruined temple.
A deliberately lowered voice urged, “Hurry up—don’t wake her.”
“I know, stop rushing me.”
Lu Minggui was old and slept lightly. She was soon awakened by the faint, rustling sounds.
Starving to the point that her entire body was swollen, she struggled to open her cloudy, aged eyes. What she saw was her eldest son’s family, neatly dressed, with all their belongings already loaded onto a flatbed cart.
“Are we setting off?” she asked. “Why didn’t you wake your mother?”
As she spoke, Lu Minggui struggled to sit up and even forced a smile. “Mother must have slept too deeply.”
“It feels like I just closed my eyes. How is it time to leave again already?”
“Fleeing from famine is really exhausting…”
Before she finished speaking, she sensed something was wrong.
The ruined temple was extremely dilapidated, and a full moon shone in through a hole in the roof.
How could this be morning? It was clearly still the middle of the night!
Looking again at the eldest son’s family, already fully prepared, how could she not understand what was going on?
Song Dazhi had planned to abandon his old mother in the ruined temple and slip away in the dead of night. He hadn’t expected to be discovered.
Since things were exposed, he simply laid his cards on the table. “Mother, you’re old now. Following us will only make you suffer.”
“For the rest of the road, you shouldn’t come with us.”
“They say the sooner one dies, the sooner one is reborn. Don’t blame your son for being cruel.”
Lu Minggui’s aged face darkened, her lips cracked and dry. Her cloudy eyes stared at her son and daughter-in-law in disbelief. She trembled, unable to speak.
On this journey of fleeing the famine, she had barely dared to eat or drink, afraid that her eldest son and his wife would abandon her.
Yet after only half a month on the road, they still intended to cast her aside—here, in such a desolate and deserted place!
Seeing that his mother said nothing, impatience crept into Song Dazhi’s heart. He shot a look at his wife.
Hu Cuihua immediately understood and stepped forward to persuade her. “Mother, please, just pity us.”
“If you eat one more bite, your two eldest grandsons will eat one bite less!”
“Do you want to starve them to death?”
As she spoke, saliva flew from her mouth, spraying onto Lu Minggui’s hair and face.
Lu Minggui remained unmoved, staring only at Song Dazhi. “Son, say something. Is it really you who wants to abandon your mother?”
They called it leaving—but in truth, they were forcing her to die.
On this road, there wasn’t even water to drink, let alone food. If this wasn’t trying to force her death, what was?
Song Dazhi scratched his head, growing more and more irritated.
“Mother, what are you saying?”
“The village has been in drought for more than half a year. All the crops died, the wells dried up—we had no choice but to flee.”
“But look at this road. It’s all drought everywhere. Everyone’s gone. There isn’t even a place to beg for food!”
“It’s not that I want to abandon you. If this continues, our whole family will die!”
Lu Minggui felt a deep desolation in her heart. She never imagined that the son she had always loved the most would abandon her.
She begged bitterly, “My son, Mother doesn’t eat much, and I hardly drink water. Just take me with you!”
“Mother… Mother doesn’t want to die yet!”
Hu Cuihua sneered, her upturned eyes full of coldness. “That’s easy for you to say. Who wants to die if they can live?”
“But if we take you, none of us will survive!”
“Old woman, you really don’t know when to quit. At your age, you should have died long ago.”
“If I were you, I’d have just died at home. Why bother fleeing in the first place?”
Song Dazhi spoke even more bluntly. “Mother, just consider your son unfilial.”
“You stay here in this ruined temple. Maybe you’ll meet a kind-hearted person who’ll take you along.”
“A kind-hearted person?” Lu Minggui’s heart had already sunk to the bottom. In these barren mountains and wastelands, where would there be any kind-hearted people?
Besides, this was a year of famine. Every household lacked food!
If even her own son wouldn’t care for her, why would strangers?
Panicking, Lu Minggui turned her gaze to the children of the eldest household and pleaded, “Jinbao, Yinbao, Erfen—has Grandma ever treated you badly?”
“Please beg your parents. Ask them to take Grandma along, all right?”
The three children said nothing. With blank expressions, they turned their heads away.
Lu Minggui’s heart gradually turned cold. Even the grandchildren who used to cling to her the most now ignored her.
Hu Cuihua impatiently shoved Song Dazhi. “Why are you wasting words with her?”
“She’s already found out. Since it’s out in the open, let’s hurry and go!”
The villagers had originally fled the famine together. During the day, they had used the excuse that the elderly and children couldn’t walk fast and deliberately lagged behind, avoiding the rest of the village.
They had done this on purpose—to abandon Lu Minggui without attracting gossip.
Later, they could just say the old woman fell ill and died.
In times like these, even if the villagers knew full well that Old Madam Lu had been abandoned, no one would stir up trouble by exposing it.
Right now, the most important thing was to hurry and catch up with the others. Traveling together would be safer.
Song Dazhi nodded, said no more, and didn’t even glance at Old Madam Lu. He pushed the cart forward and left.
Beside him walked Hu Cuihua and the three children of the eldest household.
The group moved ahead without looking back—not even the grandchildren whom Lu Minggui had always doted on spared her a backward glance.
Watching their retreating figures, a deep sense of grievance and unwillingness surged in Lu Minggui’s heart.
She had borne three sons and one daughter in her life. Her husband had died early, and she had raised her children through untold hardship.
Among them, her eldest son, Song Dazhi, was the one she loved the most.
After Song Dazhi married, Lu Minggui stopped managing the household and handed all the family silver over to his family to control.
In daily life, the eldest household always had the best food and supplies; everyone else had to step aside.
And now, they had only just begun fleeing the famine, yet the eldest son was already cruel enough to abandon her!
If he had said so clearly from the start, she would rather have died back in their old home!
Driven by this unwillingness, she hurried a few steps forward and grabbed Song Dazhi by the arm.
“Dazhi, you can’t abandon your mother.”
“I’ve always treated you the best, and I’ve never treated Cuihua badly either. How can you do this to me?”
“Your father died early—it was me who—”
Before she could finish, Hu Cuihua flared up.
“What’s ‘good’ about that? Do you have silver? Do you have grain?”
“Just flapping your lips makes it ‘good’?”
The trace of hesitation in Song Dazhi’s eyes was instantly shattered by those words.
He raised his arm and violently shook Lu Minggui off. “What choice do I have? If you want to blame someone, blame your age—you’re useless now!”
But Lu Minggui no longer had the capacity to care about what Song Dazhi said.
Thrown so forcefully, she lost her balance and fell backward.
Behind her was a dried-up ditch. The cracked riverbed was exposed, littered with stones.
Lu Minggui rolled straight down into the ditch. After a dizzying whirl, she slammed heavily onto the rocks. Her legs twitched a few times—then went still.
Song Dazhi and his wife hurried down into the ditch. He stretched out a finger under her nose. “Seems like she’s not breathing.”
“Oh—her head’s broken open. She’s bleeding!”
“Dead is dead. Let’s go—quickly!”
“You three, hurry up and follow!”
Lu Minggui tried desperately to open her eyes, but she could only hear their voices growing farther and farther away.
She then sank into eternal darkness.
And the blood flowing from the back of her head trickled down, dripping onto the wooden hairpin atop her head.