Her voice was not loud, carried away by the cold wind.
Around the other bonfires, people who had been silently keeping to themselves gradually stopped their whispers and turned to listen.
“But there are so many Hu people on the road…” another servant whispered, his voice filled with fear.
“So we must be fast and careful,” Ming Zhao took over. “Uncle Zhao has arranged everything meticulously. We have capable fighters scouting ahead and guarding the rear. As long as we stay united and move quickly, avoiding large groups of Hu people, there is still a chance.”
As she spoke, her gaze swept over the crowd. “Haven’t we already avoided several traces of Hu cavalry along the way? What made it possible? It was the intelligence bought with the lives of our scouts, our determination to press on despite exhaustion, and the vigilance of those keeping watch at night, not daring to close their eyes.”
Her words rang true.
Several servants who had taken turns on night watch nodded involuntarily. Yes, although the journey had been perilous, they had not yet encountered large groups of Hu people head-on. Everyone knew that some of the scattered soldiers and retainers who had gone ahead to scout had never returned.
“Besides,” Ming Zhao’s voice carried the innocent certainty of a child, “we are not going to fight a war. We are going to seek refuge with Father. Once we find him, we will have support. Father has soldiers, provisions, and city walls. That is far better than being stranded here, starving or freezing to death, or fleeing south only to be abandoned as burdens.”
These words struck a chord with most of the people.
Seeking refuge with their master was the instinct of servants in chaotic times. Finding a safe city was the simplest wish of all refugees.
Before, they had been terrified by the very idea of heading north, instinctively believing it to be a path to certain death. But what if…
What if the general was still alive and had managed to hold a pass?
Hope, even the faintest glimmer of it, was enough to make those on the brink of death struggle to take one more breath.
“Young mistress speaks wisely!” Zhao Yong had walked over at some point. Tall and imposing, he stood by the bonfire like a wall, blocking much of the cold wind.
He looked around at the crowd and said solemnly, “What kind of man is the general? Would he fall so easily? Following the old madam and the young mistress, we are taking a dangerous path, but it is also a path to survival! It is a hundred times better than wandering aimlessly like headless flies or waiting to be abandoned by the southern lords!”
He paused, his voice growing sharper. “But this path must be forged by all of us together! If anyone dares to shake morale or hold us back again, do not blame Zhao Yong’s blade for showing no mercy!”
The last sentence was harsh, but in such times, harsh words brought a sense of reassurance. At the very least, there was a strong, clear leader to rely on.
A Shi and the other servants lowered their heads, not daring to utter another word, but the fear on their faces visibly faded, replaced by a resigned determination.
Ming Zhao stood up and gave Zhao Yong a slight nod. “Thank you for your hard work, Uncle Zhao.”
“It is my duty,” Zhao Yong clasped his hands in salute, deeply impressed by the young mistress’s maturity. In the face of such upheaval, she remained so composed and steady.
The night deepened, and the cold wind Whiz.
Most people wrapped themselves tightly in their meager clothing, curling up by the bonfires or inside the carriages, sinking into exhausted slumber, their tired snores filling the air.
Those on watch, clutching makeshift weapons, paced slowly along the edges of the camp, their eyes alert, fixed on the depths of the darkness.
Ming Zhao helped her grandmother back into the felt-covered carriage. The old lady seemed a bit more spirited now and, by the faint firelight seeping through the carriage curtain, carefully examined her granddaughter’s face.
“Zhaozhao,” she said hoarsely, “Huguan… is your father really in Huguan?” Her eyes held hope, but also a deep, bottomless worry.
She was not entirely ignorant of military affairs. If Huguan still stood, how could the situation have deteriorated to this extent?
Ming Zhao fell silent for a moment. Instead of answering directly, she took her grandmother’s hand and said softly, “Grandmother, if we don’t go to Huguan, where else can we go? To the south—we have no boat there. Staying here means waiting for death. Only by heading north, toward where Father might be, do we have a sliver of vitality. Huguan, at the very least, is a place name—somewhere that can give everyone a sense of direction.”
The old lady was taken aback, then understood her granddaughter’s intention. She let out a long sigh, closed her eyes, and tears glistened at their corners. “You’ve suffered, child.”
“I haven’t suffered,” Ming Zhao shook her head, her voice very soft. “To be able to walk, to run, to see the sky, to breathe… that is not suffering.”
This was her truest thought.
Compared to the despair of lying on a sickbed, too weak to even turn over, staring only at the pale ceiling, all the hardships and dangers before her now—even the ever-present threat of death—carried a raw, real vitality.
The old lady held her tighter. “Zhaozhao, you should have gone south with your uncle. There’s no war there, no hunger or cold. The Yu Family has been zan ying for generations; they could have protected you.”
Ming Zhao shook her head. “I won’t go. After Mother passed, I have no kin left in the Yu Family either.”
Her mother was a shu mei of the Yu Family, named Hanzhang. She had never received much attention since childhood. Zhao Zhen, styled Huaishuo, came from a collateral branch of the Zhao Clan. He gained fame in his youth, widely admired for his exceptional looks.
He was born into a Humble Family—wealthy but without influence. In those times, red gates matched red gates, bamboo gates matched bamboo gates; by all reason, he should never have been able to reach the status of the Yu clan.
The aesthetic ideal of that era was someone like Yu Xuandu—an elegant, noble young master. Yet, in the face of extreme beauty, one’s preference for appearance need not be limited to delicate, aristocratic refinement. The eyes are honest. When Zhao Zhen first entered Luoyang, riding past on horseback like a celestial being, he was nearly struck to death by thrown sachets.
That was when Zhao Huaishuo was at the height of his youthful success. Yu Xuandu, as the di zi of the Langya Yu clan, possessed unparalleled grace and condescended to befriend him. Yu Xuandu admired him greatly, but Zhao Zhen was straight, so he gave him his younger sister in marriage.
He introduced his shu mei to Zhao Zhen. At the time, Zhao Zhen was already the dream lover of many young ladies in Luoyang. Yu Hanzhang took a liking to him. Unfavored by her legitimate mother and living a difficult life in Yu Fu, she exchanged tokens with him, wishing to become his wife.
A noble young lady from a high-ranking family marrying into a Humble Family—this infuriated Yu Hanzhang’s father. He refused to acknowledge Zhao Zhen as a son-in-law. What use were good looks? High ranks have no humble families, low ranks have no aristocratic clans.
What was the status of the Yu Family? What was Zhao Zhen’s status? Did he even have a gate? Was he worthy?!
But Yu Xuandu, successful and influential in his youth, held considerable sway. And since his daughter was determined to marry, her father reluctantly agreed, though not without sarcasm and resentment.
Zhao Zhen’s fortunes rose with this connection, allowing him to enter officialdom. Yet he could not master the aristocratic art of pure conversation, nor endure the drug-taking and beauty rituals. He was a man full of lofty ambitions. He abandoned the prosperity of Luoyang and took up the profession most despised by scions of scholarly families:
He joined the military.
Whether he had a natural talent or whether military strategy was simply straightforward for him, he embarked on a legend of invincibility.
But how easy was it to become a general of the Jin dynasty? How could the esteemed lords watch a son of the Humble Families rise step by step?
And still hold Military Power?
The highest ranks had no place for the Humble Families.
The more he won, the more the esteemed lords dragged him down. Cutoffs of Food Supplies were common, and in the midst of fighting, they would order him back to court.
He had no choice but to defy the natural order, bribing the esteemed lords with vast sums of gold and silver, begging them not to cause more trouble.
But were the esteemed lords normal people?
Was there anything in the Jin dynasty that didn’t make one’s heart seize with frustration?
Being targeted was common. The more he won, the deeper the suspicion grew. He had already been suppressed to remote corners. When the War of the Eight Princes erupted, plunging the world into chaos, and the Hu people invaded, Zhao Zhen happened to be in a small border town, his heart willing but strength insufficient.
He could only watch helplessly as Luoyang burned and was devastated, as the Hu barbarians invaded, and the Han people were reduced to two-legged sheep.
They ate people.
Yu Hanzhang passed away from illness when Ming Zhao was four years old. She had died after a difficult childbirth with a younger son, who did not survive. Once her health failed, she was gone.
Zhao Mingzhao sifted through the memories in her mind, her impression of her mother faint. She had always followed her grandmother, who sighed occasionally, saying her mother had not lived to see such chaotic times, passing early—perhaps a fortunate thing.
May she be reborn in a peaceful world.
Zhao Mingzhao’s previous life had been arduous. She knew this world too well: the good things had to be seized by oneself. What others allocated were only scraps and leftovers.
In this world, the only things one could obtain without struggle were poverty and illness.
Just as the great clans despised ambitious sons of the Humble Families, and men despised strong, ambitious women—it was all fear. Fear that they were clear-minded and would come to seize the resources in their hands.
Zhao Mingzhao had finally gained a healthy body. Of course, she would live this life vigorously for herself.
She did not fear this earthly hell.
Because she had come from hell.
Outside the carriage, the North Wind howled, swirling snowflakes that beat against the worn felt canopy.
On this cold, perilous night, within this small, upstream-journeying group, Morale was coalescing. Not blind optimism, but a nearly tragic resolve after facing reality.
To survive.
Northward.
To Huguan—
As dawn approached, a rapid clatter of hoofbeats sounded in the distance. A scout rider sent out earlier galloped back at full speed, tumbling from his saddle. Someone hurried to support him.
“Northeast direction! Ten li! A Hu people camp spotted! Numbers… no less than three hundred! They’re lighting fires and preparing meals!”
At these words, the camp instantly erupted into chaos.
With their movements, those asleep were startled awake, frantically grabbing whatever was at hand.
Zhao Yong’s face turned ashen. He rushed to the scout rider in a few strides. “Are you sure? Which direction are they headed? Have they spotted us?”
“S-sure! The camp also has many plundered cattle, sheep, and women. They seem to have just returned from a raid and are Resting and Reorganizing! Direction… looks like westward, not heading toward us for now!”
Three hundred Hu cavalry!
For their exhausted, unevenly skilled group, this was nothing short of a catastrophe. If entangled, there would be no chance of survival.
“Uncle Zhao!” Ming Zhao had already helped her grandmother down from the carriage and walked to Zhao Yong’s side, her small face tense. “We can’t fight head-on. Before they discover us, we must change direction immediately and detour around them!”
Zhao Yong nodded; he was thinking the same. He quickly issued orders: “Everyone, pack up immediately! No loud noises! The nobles, into the carriages quickly! Able-bodied men, take up arms for defense! Follow me, retreat to the forest in the southwest direction! Hurry!”
The order was given, and the team, gripped by extreme panic, erupted with the instinctive efficiency of fleeing for their lives.
Bulky chests and trunks were abandoned, a few truly dilapidated carts had their wheels removed, leaving only two relatively better carriages. Food and furs were hastily packed.
Zhao Yong led the retainers and those routed soldiers who still obeyed commands, weapons in hand, spreading out around the front, back, left, and right of the group.
Ming Zhao helped her grandmother into the carriage and climbed in herself. She looked back; in the faint morning light, the camp was in disarray, discarded debris scattered everywhere, swept over by the fierce wind. Everyone’s face was etched with lingering fear and dread of the impending pursuit.
“Move!” Zhao Yong took the lead, rushing toward the hilly, forested terrain to the southwest.
The group, like a herd of startled beasts, hastily vanished into the deepest darkness before dawn and the rugged mountainous land.
Behind them, ten miles away, the cooking smoke rising from the Hu people’s camp drifted lazily across the gray-white horizon, like a death banner summoning souls.
The group plunged headlong into the forests and mountains to the southwest.
The morning light was fragmented by dense, bare branches, barely illuminating the rugged, slippery path underfoot, strewn with scattered rocks and dead branches.
Vehicles were nearly impassable; the last two carriages were abandoned at the mountain pass, forcing everyone to proceed on foot.
Food and furs for warmth were distributed for everyone to carry. Each person’s steps were exceptionally heavy, their panting breaths particularly loud in the silent forest.
Ming Zhao tightly supported her grandmother with one hand. The elderly woman, already frail and ill, now stumbled along, relying entirely on her granddaughter and Qing Niang beside her, half-supported and half-carried forward.
Her other hand was gripped tightly by an equally thin and small girl, her fingertips icy cold and trembling slightly.
That was her cousin, Zhao Mingshu, who had just turned six this year. Her father was a younger cousin of Zhao Zhen. During the southern migration, he lacked the funds to secure a boat, couldn’t seize one, and remembering the occasional assistance Zhao Zhen’s family had provided in the past, gritted his teeth and brought his wife and daughter north with the elderly lady.
Now, Mingshu’s mother walked ahead, carrying the youngest brother, already overwhelmed herself. Mingshu, terrified, her little face pale as a sheet, clung to Ming Zhao like a frightened fledgling, not daring to stray half a step away.
“Sister… Sister…” Mingshu whimpered, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, “I’m scared… my feet hurt…”
Ming Zhao looked down at her. Her own soles had long gone numb, but there was no time to dwell on that now.
“Be good, Shu’er, don’t be afraid.” Ming Zhao softened her voice, squeezing the little girl’s cold hand. “Look, everyone is walking. Uncle Zhao and the others are clearing the path ahead. We just need to follow. Even if your feet hurt, you must endure it a little longer, alright?”
The calm in her voice comforted Mingshu. The little girl nodded vigorously, biting her lower lip, trying hard to move her small legs. Though she still staggered, tears welling in her eyes, she no longer cried out loud.
The grandmother’s weight almost entirely rested on her and Qing Niang. The elderly woman occasionally let out one or two suppressed coughs, her complexion frighteningly ashen.
Ming Zhao could feel her grandmother’s body rapidly deteriorating. This desperate flight was nothing short of torture for her.
“Uncle Zhao!” Ming Zhao gasped, raising her voice, hoarse from exhaustion.
Hearing her, Zhao Yong turned back a few steps from the front. “Young mistress?”
“We can’t keep pushing on like this,” Ming Zhao pointed to her grandmother, who was nearly half-unconscious beside her, then looked around at the many elderly, weak, women, and children who were on the verge of collapse. “Grandmother can’t hold on any longer, and everyone else is nearing their limit. We must find a place to rest, or we’ll collapse ourselves before anything else.”
Zhao Yong frowned deeply, scanning their surroundings. The forest was deep and the terrain rugged, truly unsuitable for prolonged, intense flight. “But young mistress, this is no place to linger. We must find a safe resting spot before nightfall…”
“I know,” Ming Zhao cut him off, her gaze sweeping over the landscape. “But we don’t need a perfect hiding place—just somewhere temporarily off the main path, relatively sheltered from the wind, where everyone can sit and catch their breath. Uncle Zhao, you’re familiar with the mountains. Is there such a spot nearby? Like behind a wind-blocking rock, or a densely wooded hollow where visibility is poor?”
Following her gaze, Zhao Yong pondered briefly before pointing toward a slope to their left. “Over there, see that pile of rubble? Behind it seems to be a recessed cliff face that might block some wind and offer concealment. But it’s small—it won’t fit everyone.”
“Then we’ll rest in shifts,” Ming Zhao decided promptly. “Those still strong enough—half the able-bodied adults and retainers—can stand guard around the area. The other half, along with all the elderly, weak, women, and children, will rest there first, then we’ll rotate. This way, we can recover our strength without dropping our guard entirely.”
Zhao Yong’s eyes lit up. Though crude, this was the most feasible plan under the circumstances. “Good! We’ll do as the young mistress says!”
He immediately turned and relayed the orders in a low voice. Under Zhao Yong’s direction, some of the stronger retainers and scattered soldiers quickly dispersed to key positions around them, lying low to keep watch.
The rest, led by a few experienced retainers, helped each other along, struggling toward the cliff face behind the rubble pile.
Ming Zhao and Qing Niang practically half-dragged, half-carried their grandmother, while Mingshu clung tightly to Ming Zhao’s sleeve, stumbling along with each step.
The recess beneath the cliff was indeed warmer than outside, sheltering them from most of the biting mountain wind. The space was cramped—over a hundred people squeezed together, nearly pressed against one another. But no one complained. Being able to sit down, even on the cold, hard ground, felt like a luxurious relief.
Ming Zhao had Qing Niang look after their grandmother while she, along with a few maidservants who still had some strength left, distributed dry rations and water to the weakest among them.
“Elder sister…” Mingshu looked up, her large eyes misty with tears.
“Eat. You’ll need strength,” Ming Zhao said softly, patting her head.
Author’s Note: