No one knew whether this earthquake was stronger than the one in the past.
But that one had happened in summer, while this one came in the depths of winter. Wang Shi could only comfort herself—at least now, even if people died, their bodies could remain at home for seven days without rotting as quickly as in summer. Even if there were still people who took advantage of the chaos to loot, the officials should have learned from experience and would not repeat the tragedy of the past.
Wang Shi calmed her pounding heart. She wrapped Zhao Xiaobao tightly in a blanket, not letting in even a trace of cold wind, then handed her to Zhao Deng, who stood nearby. “Hold your little aunt carefully. Xi’er, come with Grandma to dig things out.”
“Okay!” Zhao Xi quickly agreed and followed behind her eagerly.
Wang Shi looked at the main house, now in complete ruin, and let out a deep sigh. After choosing a direction, she began directing Zhao Xi to dig. The most valuable box she had hidden with Xiaobao, but there was still some everyday money left outside—copper coins and bits of silver amounting to several taels, stored in a wooden box under the bed.
Now they had a lot to dig for.
Zhao Xi was young but strong. Wang Shi couldn’t match her grandson’s stamina. After digging out clothes, shoes, and bedding, she was already sweating heavily. She told him to continue while she hastily put on her shoes and threw on whatever clothes she could find, not caring whether they were dirty or wet—it was better than freezing.
“Mother, where should we put the bedding and clothes?” Sun asked, holding two dirty quilts, unsure what to do. There wasn’t even a proper place to stand now.
Wang Shi felt a headache just seeing her. The third daughter-in-law was careless and couldn’t make decisions. “The bed boards should still be intact. Find them, clean them up, and put anything that must stay dry on top. Be careful.”
“Alright!” Sun replied, finally seeming to have a clear task instead of running around aimlessly.
Zhu gathered wooden boards from the collapsed rooms and assembled them in the courtyard. She placed bedding and clothes on top, then covered them with an oilcloth she had dug out. After that, she moved the grain Luo had recovered onto the boards. The flour, coarse salt, and lard were all ruined, but the cured meat, though dirty, could still be kept. Anything from the kitchen that could still be eaten or used was put into baskets and carried onto the boards.
During this time, the earth shook several more times, frightening the whole family into huddling together.
Fortunately, each tremor was weaker than the last, no longer as violent as the first. However, from deep in the back mountain, occasional sounds of massive rocks crashing down echoed through the dark night, enough to make anyone tremble with fear.
Everyone’s eyes were filled with anxiety.
Old Man Zhao took his two sons to the clan elder’s house first. He still called the old man there “Second Brother,” but before they even got close, they heard heart-wrenching cries. The younger people had managed to escape when the ground shook, but the old man, who normally needed a cane to walk, wasn’t so lucky. By the time his family dug him out, he was already gone.
“Uncle, my father is gone…” A man about the same age as Old Man Zhao cried uncontrollably, kneeling on the ground, his legs too weak to stand.
“Shuanzi, pull yourself together. Your whole family depends on you now. You can’t lose anyone else,” Old Man Zhao said, glancing at the family—some sitting, some kneeling, some collapsed. They all had injuries, but none seemed fatal. They would recover with time.
Only the old man had died.
“Great-Uncle, is this an ‘earth dragon turning’?” Shuanzi’s son, a simple and inexperienced man, asked. He had heard the elders mention such things before and thought this might be it.
Old Man Zhao nodded solemnly. This was not the time for grief. Turning to Zhao Shuanzi, he said, “Shuanzi, the King of Hell doesn’t wait. Right now, saving the living comes first. I’ll take Da Niu and Er Niu to help others. Settle your father properly and dig out whatever you can from your home before it gets damp.”
Without waiting for a reply, he took the two brothers and hurried to the next house.
Old Man Zhao held a high position in the clan. When he spoke, people listened. Even if someone had died in the family, they had to hold back their grief for now. The living came first; the dead came later. This was how every household acted. Anyone who acted selfishly would become an enemy of the whole village and receive no help in the future.
With him taking the lead, Wanxia Village seemed to find its backbone. Torches were lit in every household, their flames moving from house to house as shouts for help echoed nonstop.
The women cried until their voices were hoarse, collapsing to the ground, kneeling and begging the heavens for mercy…
More and more men followed Old Man Zhao, listening to his instructions as they went from house to house, rescuing villagers trapped under beams, walls, and rubble.
At this moment, no one cared about surnames, past arguments, or grudges. Even families who had long refused to speak to each other worked together to save lives.
“Grandpa!”
Old Man Zhao was at the village chief’s house, helping carry the chief’s body into the courtyard. Hearing the cry, he turned and saw his eldest grandson running toward him, eyes red. His heart sank.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping forward, unwilling to look at the grieving family behind him.
Zhao Xiao Wu wiped his tears and said in a choked voice, “Erlai was hit on the head by a falling beam…”
After leaving home, he and his brothers had split up to check on their close friends and help. He had gone to Erlai’s house. As soon as he reached the courtyard, he heard Erlai’s mother wailing loudly. His father held the boy silently, tears covering his face.
Erlai, who had been playing with them just that day, now lay limp in his father’s arms. Blood from the back of his head stained the white snow red—it was a horrifying sight.
Erlai was his parents’ only son. Just days ago, he had nearly died from a severe cold. They had only just saved him, and now he had been struck on the head again.
Tears fell from Zhao Xiao Wu’s eyes as his body trembled. “Grandpa, do we have any medicine for head injuries? Erlai… he might not make it. I don’t want him to die.”
Old Man Zhao saw that his hands were covered in dirt, his fingernails packed with grime. He stepped forward and firmly patted his shoulder, saying nothing, then led him quickly toward Erlai’s house.
Erlai’s home wasn’t far from the village chief’s. Everywhere in the village looked the same—collapsed houses, some with a single wall still standing, but most reduced to piles of straw, tiles, beams, and dirt, leaving no place to stand.
Crying filled Erlai’s home. His grandmother and mother had cried until their voices were hoarse.
“Who did my Erlai offend in the heavens? He wasn’t taken by illness before—must he be taken now?!” his grandmother cried, kicking her legs as she sat on the ground.
“My Lai, my son, wake up… don’t sleep…” his mother sobbed, clutching him, laughing and crying at the same time, her mind already slipping.
His father and grandfather sat on the ground, stunned, staring blankly at their destroyed home.
Old Man Zhao called out to them several times but got no response.
Erlai’s family line had always been thin. His father had been born late in his grandparents’ lives, and it had taken many years for him to have a son. They had finally raised Erlai to nine years old—just past the most fragile age—only for him to nearly die from illness. They had just saved him, and now this disaster had struck…
Old Man Zhao didn’t dare imagine what would happen if the boy died.
“Niece-in-law, let me take a look at Erlai,” he said softly, stepping forward.
Erlai’s mother lifted her tear-filled eyes and finally noticed him. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, “Uncle Dagen, please save my Erlai. The beam hit the back of his head—he’s lost so much blood… He’s not dead yet. He still has a breath left.”
Old Man Zhao reached out and felt for the boy’s breath. It was faint—but he was still alive.
But in this situation, let alone going to town for a doctor, even finding a village healer nearby was nearly impossible. The earthquake had been massive—neighboring villages were likely just as devastated. To put it bluntly, there was no guarantee the healer was even alive.
Even if Erlai could be saved, there was no way to save him.
Old Man Zhao said nothing. To Erlai’s mother, his silence meant there was no hope. As if her last bit of hope had vanished, she collapsed to her knees, crying uncontrollably.
“Someone save my son! He’s not dead—he can still be saved…”
…
At Zhao the Lame’s house:
Zhao Quan was also crying. The tall, bearded man knelt on the ground, sobbing like a child. His father was dead.
The moment the earthquake began, he had rushed to his father’s room, but he was too late. His father, old and unable to move well, had been struck by the collapsing wall. By the time they dug him out, he was already gone.
Zhao Quan had focused on his father and didn’t have time to check on his son. In the end, both had been buried. Fortunately, his son survived, but his leg was crushed. He now lay in the courtyard, screaming in pain and rolling on the ground.
Zhao Ertian looked at the bodies and injuries, then at Zhao Quan crying like a child. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he said nothing and went to the next house.
At a time like this, there were no comforting words.
All night long, Old Man Zhao and his two sons moved from house to house. As time passed, everyone’s expressions grew heavier. Crying and despair lingered over the small village, refusing to fade.
Familiar faces now lay cold and lifeless on the ground.
In a single night, the living and the dead were separated forever.
When dawn finally broke, Old Man Zhao dragged his exhausted body back home. Seeing Zhao Xiaobao sitting quietly on the wooden boards, hugging her knees and not moving at all, tears almost burst from his eyes.
Losing the house didn’t matter—as long as the family was safe.
“Xiaobao… Father is back.”
Only then did he realize his legs were so weak he could barely walk. The exhaustion had finally caught up with him.