The low, dilapidated thatched hut was surrounded by overgrown weeds nearly waist-high, a dense thicket that wrapped around the building so tightly it was hard to find a place to step.
There was no helping it—this had been one of Xu Village’s abandoned houses, picked over by the refugees who had settled here. The last one left was bound to have plenty of problems.
With her siblings in tow and bedding strapped to her back, Yuanxiang pushed through the weeds in front of the door and gently pulled open the old wooden gate, which creaked loudly as it swung open.
A cloud of dust mixed with the smell of rotting wood billowed out.
The hut was dim inside, with only a few shafts of light filtering through a hole in the roof. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, the walls were stained and peeling, and a pile of broken wooden planks lay in the corner.
Looking around, Yuanxiang understood why this place had been left for last.
Small and cramped with just one room, it sat in a remote spot at the foot of the mountain—the nearest neighbor was quite a walk away. Cold wind whistled through the leaky roof, and she suddenly realized that even the drafty woodshed at Uncle Song’s place had been better, at least its roof was intact.
Sanxi tugged at Yuanxiang’s sleeve, her eyes wide with confusion as she asked softly: “A-Jie… are we really going to live here?”
Erguo clutched their bundle of belongings. After a moment’s hesitation, he set his jaw and said firmly: “We’ll live here! Even if we starve, we’re never going back!”
He stared ahead, his gaze unfocused—his words seemed as much for himself as for his sister.
Yuanxiang patted Sanxi’s head and spoke gently: “Don’t worry, Sanxi. There’s a saying—Heaven never seals off all paths to survival.”
Seeing the little girl still looked bewildered, she added reassuringly: “It’ll be alright. You’ve got me.”
When Sanxi saw her sister’s warm smile, her earlier fear and unease slowly faded. She couldn’t help but feel that something about A-Jie was different now. Before, at times like this, A-Jie would have been crying, and Sanxi would have cried along with her. But looking into her sister’s smiling eyes, she finally nodded.
Watching the little girl’s big, deer-like eyes fixed on her with complete trust, Yuanxiang felt her heart melt. As she stroked Sanxi’s head again, she noticed how dry and yellow her hair was, how thin her cheeks looked—clear signs of malnutrition from not having enough to eat.
She turned to look at Erguo too. The nine-year-old boy was gaunt, his frame as thin as a bamboo pole, and his clothes were patched over and over again. Yuanxiang lifted her own slender wrist; even without a mirror, she knew the original Yuanxiang had been in much the same state.
Growing up in the distant modern world where hunger was rare, she felt a pang of sadness seeing them like this. But now was not the time for melancholy—there was too much work to be done. She brightened her tone and said: “Let’s clean up the hut first. We’ll be staying here tonight.”
With that, she went inside and began clearing away the pile of broken planks. Seeing their sister get to work, Erguo and Sanxi hurried to help her. The planks must have been left behind by the previous occupants.
“We can piece these together to make a bed frame,” Yuanxiang said, measuring the planks with her hands.
“Does that mean we’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight?” Sanxi asked excitedly.
Yuanxiang nodded. As they moved the planks aside, they discovered a broken clay basin with a hole in it. She picked it up and examined it—the hole was as big as a fist, useless to most people, but to them who had nothing at all, it felt like a precious gift!
She gathered a handful of large leaves from outside, packed them tightly into the hole, then handed the basin to Erguo.
“Erguo, go look around for water and bring back a basin full. The place is far too dirty—we need to wipe it down.”
Without a word, Erguo took the basin and headed out.
Yuanxiang and Sanxi continued tidying up inside. Before long, Erguo was back, carrying the basin carefully—though some water had leaked out along the way, most of it was still there.
“ A-Jie! There’s a spring and a small pond at the foot of the mountain, right near our hut—so close!” he called out excitedly.
Yuanxiang and Sanxi smiled—having water nearby would make daily life much easier.
They collected some branches and straw from outside, bound them together to make makeshift dusters, then rolled up their sleeves to get to work. While some dusted and others scrubbed, the swirling dirt made them cough repeatedly, but none of them stopped.
Erguo brought back some flat stones and placed them under the cleaned planks, creating a bed. Watching the two children wipe down the planks and spread out their bedding from the bundle, Yuanxiang was impressed by how quick and capable they were.
The hut had been neglected for so long that even this simple cleaning left all three of them exhausted.
Just then, a loud rumbling sound echoed through the room. Sanxi touched her stomach sheepishly.
Yuanxiang stopped working, suddenly remembering none of them had eaten breakfast. In fact, Sanxi had been hungry for a while, but had kept quiet—between her sister nearly drowning and their hasty move, there had been no time to think about food.
Scratching her head awkwardly, she said: “A-Jie… how are we going to eat?”
When they’d left their uncle’s house, they hadn’t brought any food with them.
But Yuanxiang already had a plan. She tossed aside her tattered rag, stepped outside, and pointed at the mountain just ahead of them.
“We’ll do what mountain folk always do—live off the mountain. We’ll look for wild vegetables and fruits; we’ll find something to fill our bellies.”
Sanxi looked a little scared at the thought of going up the mountain. “But people say wild beasts come down from the mountain sometimes…”
“Don’t worry,” Yuanxiang assured her. “We’ll only stay on the outer slopes—we won’t go deep inside.”
It was still cold out, so most animals were still hibernating. Sticking to the outer areas should be safe enough. But before they went, they needed to borrow some tools from their neighbors.
A short while later, Song Yuanxiang knocked on their neighbor’s door. Even calling them neighbors was a stretch—given how remote her hut was, she still had to walk a fair distance to get there.
The door was opened by Granny Zhao.
“Yuanxiang? Come in, come in and sit down,” Granny Zhao said warmly when she saw who it was.
Her daughter-in-law Jinfeng had come home earlier complaining about how heartless Song Lianggui was and how pitiful Yuanxiang and the children were, so Granny Zhao had just learned that they’d moved out of their uncle’s house.
Granny Zhao’s family had been from the same village as the original Yuanxiang and had fled with them all the way here—they were people she knew well.
As soon as Yuanxiang stepped through the door, she heard a voice shouting from inside: “I’m not drinking it! What’s the point of drinking this stuff every day?”
A woman’s voice, thick with tears, tried to soothe him: “Dashan, please drink it. We spent money on this medicine—if you don’t take it, you’ll never get better.”
Hearing the argument, Granny Zhao hurried into the inner room, calling out anxiously: “What’s going on now? Why are you two arguing again? Dashan, drink it—this medicine cost us a lot, and we simmered it for hours!”
The voices inside quieted down, and Yuanxiang could hear the man let out a long sigh, full of helplessness and resignation.
Yuanxiang knew about Granny Zhao’s family troubles. Her son Song Dashan had been injured on their journey here—his left leg had been hurt so badly and for so long that even after seeing a doctor in Xu Village, there was nothing to be done. It seemed likely he would be lame for the rest of his life. As the only able-bodied man in the family, this had left Granny Zhao and Jinfeng worrying endlessly.
Granny Zhao’s hut was divided into two sections by a cloth curtain—the inner one served as their living quarters.
“ Sister Yuanxiang!”
Yuanxiang turned to see Shuanzi, Granny Zhao’s grandson. He was younger than Sanxi and was standing on a stool, eating his breakfast from a bowl while grinning and waving at her.
Before Yuanxiang could warn him about being unsafe, the cloth curtain moved and two women emerged—Granny Zhao and Jinfeng.
The moment Jinfeng saw her son’s reckless posture, her anger flared up. “You little rascal! Get down from there this instant—if you fall and hurt yourself, don’t come crying to me!”
Granny Zhao rushed over to lift him down when she saw him leaning over the table with his feet dangling and kicking on the stool.
Only then did Jinfeng notice they had a guest. Her eyes were still slightly red as she greeted Yuanxiang: “Yuanxiang, you’re here! Come, sit down.”
Jinfeng was the same woman who had reminded her to change out of her wet clothes at her uncle’s house, so Yuanxiang already felt fond of her.
Smiling and waving her hand, Yuanxiang said: “Sister Jinfeng, I won’t sit— I’ve come to borrow a hoe.”
Hoes were essential tools for farming families, and she was sure Granny Zhao’s would have one.
As soon as she finished speaking, Granny Zhao set her grandson down and went to fetch it from the corner without asking questions. They had only just settled in themselves, and the area around their house had been so overgrown they’d only finished clearing and tilling the nearby land the day before.
“Here you go—be careful with it, don’t cut your foot,” Granny Zhao warned as she handed it over.
“Thank you, Granny,” Yuanxiang replied with a smile.
The mother-in-law and daughter-in-law exchanged a glance—Yuanxiang had been through so much, yet she remained calm and greeted everyone with a smile. They couldn’t help but admire her resilience.
After a few more words, as Yuanxiang was leaving, Granny Zhao pressed a few cornmeal buns into her hands for her siblings to eat.
Yuanxiang knew that with everyone just settling in, no land to farm yet and no crops to harvest, food was precious and came only from their own savings. She hesitated to accept.
But Granny Zhao pushed the buns into her arms firmly, her voice full of affection—having watched Yuanxiang grow up in their old village, she truly cared for her.
“Yuanxiang, your uncle’s family… they were cruel to cast you out like this, but there’s little we can do about it. Life… is what you make of it, and the most important thing is to stand on your own two feet.
“You know, we’re the lucky ones—there are so many more refugees outside the city now, and Pingzhou City isn’t taking anyone else in.” Granny Zhao said this to comfort her—compared to others, their situation could have been much worse.
Yuanxiang nodded with a smile. “I understand, Granny. Thank you.”
Carrying the hoe on her shoulder, Yuanxiang made her way back to their hut and divided the cornmeal buns between the two children. To be honest, the buns were dry and rough, almost scratching her throat as she swallowed them with water—but she was glad to see how happily the children ate theirs.
Once they’d finished eating, they prepared to head up the mountain.
As a child, Yuanxiang had lived in the mountains and gone into the woods often. She used soft vines to tie their trouser legs tightly to keep snakes and insects away, and had each of them carry a stick to tap at tall grass before stepping through it.
With Yuanxiang carrying the hoe, Erguo with a basket on his back, and Sanxi tapping here and there with her stick, the three of them followed the path up the mountain.