Soon, Nan Jianli learned from the villagers’ murmurs why Old Mrs. Meng and her family reacted so violently.
“Zheng Lao’er is at it again. Girls whose reputations he’s ruined with that filthy mouth of his—there have to be at least seven or eight, if not ten. We’re about to flee the famine, and he still won’t settle down. Now he’s set his sights on a simple-minded girl.”
“That’s right! He deserves a beating!”
“Deserves more than a beating! We ought to drive that trash out of the group. He’s not even one of us Mengs—why should he come along?”
“Exactly. If he’s with us on the road, every family with daughters will be on edge the whole way.”
The moment those words were spoken, they ignited the crowd of onlookers. The murmuring grew louder, and many turned to stare in their direction.
Meng Shande’s face darkened with each passing word. The village chief was fifty-two years old, once the top scholar in the provincial examination. After traveling to the capital for the imperial exams in the third year of Qingyou, he failed to secure any official post and returned home to teach.
Though a man of letters, he carried none of the scholarly air. He said nothing, waiting until Meng Cheng had pinned Zheng Lao’er to the ground before speaking: “Cheng, stop.”
The gathered villagers fell silent at once. Zhang Shi hurried forward, pulling Meng Cheng back and explaining to the chief: “Uncle, it wasn’t Cheng who started the trouble…”
“That’s right, clan elder, you must do right by us.” A young woman holding a child stepped forward, her eyes full of venom as she looked at Zheng Lao’er. “Zheng Lao’er’s filthy mouth has ruined how many girls in this village? If you let him come with us, what about all the unmarried girls here?”
“Yes! Grand-uncle, you just saw it—he was harassing Simple Big Girl, that’s why Uncle Cheng hit him. We don’t want him coming along.” A girl of seventeen or eighteen poked her head out to shout, only to be yanked back by her mother.
Meng Shande’s face was as dark as iron. He fixed his gaze on Zheng Lao’er, who had scrambled to his feet and was dusting himself off, and his voice was cold enough to cut bone: “We haven’t even set out yet, and you’re already stirring up trouble. Did you take my earlier warning as wind passing through your ears?”
Zheng Lao’er shrank his neck, trying to defend himself, but was cut off by the chief’s harsh tone.
“For the sake of our shared village, I won’t drive you out.” Meng Shande pointed to the very back of the line. “But you won’t march in the middle of the group—you’ll follow at the tail! Cause any more trouble, and you’re out of the group!”
Zheng Lao’er wanted to argue, but meeting the village chief’s eyes, he cowered, shrank his neck, grabbed his belongings, and slunk off to the rear.
“Break it up, all of you. Line up in the order we discussed yesterday—we’re setting out soon.” Meng Shande waved his hand, signaling the villagers to get ready.
The drought was ravaging the land, and war had broken out anew. The towns and villages to the north were nearly emptied. On their southward journey, they were sure to encounter many refugees just like themselves.
Their group was too large, the line stretched too long, so the village chief had arranged the marching order the day before. Families with many children and elderly walked at the front; the strong and able-bodied brought up the rear.
Old Mrs. Meng’s family—old and young alike—naturally took their place at the head of the line.
At exactly the fourth ke of the Chen hour, the group set off on time.
The noisy crowd gradually fell silent as they marched away step by step. An old man leaning on a cane turned back again and again, wiped away his tears, and then stopped altogether, refusing to go on.
His sons and grandsons immediately crowded around, pleading with him, and the whole family dissolved into tears.
One family wept, and then every family wept.
These people had been born here, raised here. Their parents and grandparents were buried in this soil. This land was seared deep into their souls, and now they had to tear themselves away from it—how could that not wrench their hearts apart?
Seeing this, Meng Shande swallowed his own grief and moved through the line, offering comfort: “If we stay, we’ll starve. As long as the green hills remain, there’s no shortage of firewood. Once things settle down, we’ll come back.”
But more and more of the elderly refused to leave. Some even began turning back.
“I’m not going. I’m staying. I’ll save my share of food for the children.”
“Exactly. We’re already up to our necks in yellow earth—what’s the point of living on?”
As a dozen or so elders turned back, the group immediately fell into chaos. Old Mrs. Meng, infected by the mood, reddened her eyes and looked back at the village, then at the children gathered around her, her heart churning.
She suddenly grabbed Meng Cheng’s hand: “Eldest, promise your mother—”
Meng Cheng was startled by his mother, and before he could react, Nan Jianli rolled her eyes at the old woman and suddenly raised her voice: “Grandma, what did you say? Starving refugees eat people!”
“What? How would I know…” Old Mrs. Meng was startled, her face full of shock.
“They slice them up and eat them.” Nan Jianli pressed on, still shouting.
“You’re talking nonsense…” Old Mrs. Meng sucked in a sharp breath and reached out to cover Nan Jianli’s mouth, but the girl tilted her head to dodge, then added with great gravity: “They don’t kill them first—they carve them alive, afraid the meat will spoil… tsk tsk tsk, so tragic…”
The air froze solid. Dozens of eyes from the villagers all fixed on Meng Cheng’s family, their expressions subtle and complicated.
The dozen or so elderly people returning to the village with them felt as if their feet were weighted with lead, too heavy to lift even half a step. After a moment of silence, they all turned around and hurried back to their younger family members, not forgetting to wave repeatedly at Village Chief Meng.
“We’re leaving, we’re leaving—don’t let us hold up the important business.”
With that commotion, the refugee procession started moving again, their pace noticeably quicker than before.
As they pressed onward, time slipped by and the sun climbed higher. The scorching rays licked at the earth, baking even the air until it burned, each breath searing the throat.
The cracks in the dirt road were wide enough to fit a finger, and the scorching yellow soil kicked up clouds of dust with every step, coating faces in a gritty film.
The crop fields lining the road had withered into yellowish-brown shreds, lying flat on the ground, crumbling to powder at the slightest step.
The leaves on the roadside trees had long since fallen, leaving bare, twisted branches reaching toward the sky like withered hands—struggling, grasping for survival.
On the first day of departure, despite the heat, the villagers were used to toiling in the fields year-round. Apart from the youngest children and the frail elderly who were already exhausted and had to be pulled along or supported by family, everyone else was in decent shape.
Just past noon, when the villagers were on the verge of collapsing from the blazing sun, they finally spotted a village in the distance. It was the first stop they had planned.
They could take shelter in the shade of the buildings and ride out the worst of the day’s heat.
Seeing hope on the horizon, everyone’s eyes lit up instantly. Their legs, which had felt heavy as lead, suddenly seemed to muster new strength. Even the coughing quieted, and they stumbled forward, rushing toward the village.
Nan Jianli felt a surge of excitement too, pushing Meng Lou and Meng Boyang along at a quicker pace. Old Mrs. Meng, holding Meng Zhu’s hand, soon fell several steps behind.
Seeing this, Nan Jianli stopped at once, turned around, and urged Old Mrs. Meng anxiously, “Grandma, you and A’Zhu get on the cart quickly—we’ll run faster.”
Old Mrs. Meng’s face was flushed dark red, her lips cracked and dry. She waved a hand weakly. “No need, we’re almost there. You go on ahead.”
“Go on? By the time you get there, we won’t have a good spot left.” Nan Jianli grabbed Old Mrs. Meng by the arm and pushed her toward the wheelbarrow.
“Hey, A’Li, you’re quick on your feet—you can grab a spot just the same.” Old Mrs. Meng clung to the cart’s shaft, refusing to get on.
“I’m a fool—who am I going to outfight?” Nan Jianli put her strength into it and shoved the old woman up onto the cart.
With Old Mrs. Meng aboard, she turned her gaze to Meng Zhu. The little girl’s face was flushed red from the sun. When she saw Nan Jianli looking at her, she quickly waved a hand. “Big Sister, I can keep up.”
Nan Jianli nodded at that, told her to stay close, and then pushed off with her legs, charging forward with the wheelbarrow.
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