After Big Radish and Little Radish finished bowing at the mourning hall and returned, Zhao Xiaobao was no longer in the shelter.
They didn’t think much of it. The two brothers hunched their shoulders against the cold, walked over, and lay down on either side of their mother, sniffing from the chill.
“Brother, is Mother getting better?” Little Radish pressed tightly against her, reaching out to grab her rough hand. It felt a bit warmer now, not as cold as the night before.
“Yes. Mother drank the medicine. She’ll get better soon,” Big Radish said, though he was actually very anxious inside. But he was the older brother—he couldn’t show fear in front of his younger brother.
The night before, he hadn’t dared to close his eyes at all. His mother’s cold body felt exactly like his father’s on the night he died. He didn’t dare show fear, so he could only cry silently. Their house had collapsed, and both chickens had been crushed to death. When the village pooled money to send Uncle Dashan and the others to town to find a doctor, he and his brother had spent half a day digging through the ruins of their home, but they didn’t find even a single copper coin. He didn’t know if there was any money left in the house, or where his mother had hidden it. He had begged Uncle Dashan, who told him not to speak of it and used his own money to buy medicine for his mother.
Now every family in the village had suffered. Even their relatives avoided them. It was Uncle Ertian who rescued their mother. Grandma Wang helped them get this shelter. Xiao Wu brought them to eat at the communal meals. Uncle Dashan bought the medicine. Aunt Xiaobao told them to go bow at the mourning hall…
Big Radish thought about how, just now, when he brought his brother to bow to the deceased elders, many adults had smiled at them, praised them for being sensible, and kindly asked about their mother. It was completely different from how they had been ignored during the day.
He didn’t blame the villagers for treating them coldly. As long as they weren’t abandoned, that was already good enough.
Thinking of this, he secretly clenched his fists and swore that in the future he would listen to the Zhao family. Whatever they said, he would do. He would become their loyal follower.
When he grew up, he would work hard to earn money—he had to repay the cost of his mother’s medicine.
“Little Radish, stay here and watch over Mother. I’m going outside to help,” Big Radish said, getting up. Though his face was still childish, there was now a trace of determination. He could carry wood, gather straw, and tend the fire. He couldn’t just sit and wait for others to help because he was young. If that went on too long, the villagers would start to resent them.
“I’ll stay with Mother. I’m not afraid,” Little Radish said, sniffling constantly, his small body trembling from the cold. Without his brother by his side, he was actually very scared, but he was obedient and didn’t complain.
Big Radish grabbed two handfuls of dry straw and stuffed them into Little Radish’s clothes. It was the only way to keep out the cold—they no longer had extra bedding.
“I’m going now. Take good care of Mother,” he said again before leaving.
“Mm!” Little Radish nodded firmly.
…
Zhao Xiaobao poked her head out from behind a straw curtain and was immediately spotted by Chun Ya’s mother, who quickly called her inside so she wouldn’t stay out in the cold wind.
Chun Ya’s mother was boiling medicine. The smell was unpleasant, but with the fire burning, the shelter was warmer than Sister Li’s.
“Auntie, is Chun Ya any better?” Zhao Xiaobao didn’t really want to go in because of the strong smell, but Chun Ya was her good friend, so she slowly stepped inside.
Chun Ya’s complexion looked much better than Sister Li’s. Zhao Xiaobao leaned by the bedside and squeezed her calloused little hand—it felt warm.
“She’s much better. This morning when I called her, her eyelids moved. She can hear now,” Chun Ya’s mother said, pulling over a small stool. Zhao Xiaobao quickly sat down, resting her elbows on her knees and holding her face as she watched the medicine boil, chatting idly.
Since she was little, Zhao Xiaobao had run all over the village, chatting easily with anyone. Her father had a high status in the village, so whether people were teasing her or genuinely fond of her, she could enter any courtyard and sit for a while.
That was how her lively and fearless personality had developed.
“Once she drinks the medicine, she’ll get better,” she said obediently.
“We really have to thank your family. If Dashan and the others hadn’t gone to town to get medicine, Chun Ya probably wouldn’t have survived,” Chun Ya’s mother said gently, smoothing the blanket over her daughter.
At that moment, Chun Ya’s grandmother came in with a gloomy expression to grab a basket, said nothing, and left immediately.
Zhao Xiaobao couldn’t help pouting. The Zhou family valued boys over girls. Chun Ya had been injured because everyone in the family had rushed to save the boys, Datou and Santou, and forgot about Chun Ya and Chun Miao. It was Chun Ya’s mother who cried out that her daughters were still buried. A passing second uncle heard and called others to dig them out.
Chun Ya had protected her younger sister. When they were rescued, her whole body was badly injured. She had been clever—when she saw she couldn’t escape, she hid in a corner, shielding her sister underneath her body while taking the impact of falling tiles, dirt, and debris. Chun Miao wasn’t injured at all, but Chun Ya was left barely alive, clinging to life.
When the village collected money for medicine, Chun Ya’s grandmother was extremely unwilling, even sitting on the ground crying about being poor. Under the watch of the entire village, Chun Ya’s grandfather couldn’t bear the shame and slapped her, forcing her to reluctantly pay.
Zhao Xiaobao had witnessed quite a lot of such scenes these past few days.
After a few more days, the tremors became less frequent and less frightening. The rocks from the back mountain stopped falling. Gradually, as time passed, everyone’s anxious hearts began to calm.
What else could they do if they didn’t calm down? Life had to go on. As long as even one family member survived, they had to keep living.
Once again, the villagers worked together. The men labored day and night digging graves in the back mountain. Some families with elderly members had already prepared simple coffins in advance. Now, whether damaged or not, as long as they could hold a body, they were used.
But too many people had died this time—there weren’t enough coffins for everyone. After discussion, the coffins were reserved for the elderly. The young and the children who died in this disaster were wrapped in straw mats and buried with their heads and feet exposed.
After the funerals, the mourning hall was dismantled, and each family began urgently rebuilding their homes.
Families like the Zhao family, with many able-bodied men, quickly moved out of the temporary shelters. With everyone working together, they built two rooms in less than half a month and even cleared out a yard. The rest could be built slowly—there was no rush.
But families like Big Radish and Little Radish’s still lived in shelters. Only after other families finished rebuilding their own homes would they have time to help them.
Of course, whether people would actually be willing to help was another matter. For now, that was just how things stood. The communal meals stopped, and each family took back their own grain. As for whether Big Radish and his brother could survive on their own, the villagers wouldn’t interfere on the surface. They couldn’t keep helping forever—everyone had their own lives to manage.
“Big Radish, stay in the shelter for now. Once our family is done, we brothers will come help you,” Xiao Wu and the others secretly told him. When their own house was finished, they would help build his instead of going off to play.
“Mm!” Big Radish nodded hard. These days he had been following the Zhao family around, helping with everything—carrying wood, gathering firewood, doing all kinds of work. He didn’t ask for anything in return—he was simply grateful. “Thank you, Xiao Wu.”
“Hey, why are you being so formal? We’ve been good brothers since we were little. When there’s trouble, we help each other,” Zhao Wu said with a grin, throwing an arm around his neck. Zhao Xi jumped up and patted his shoulder. The group of boys immediately burst into laughter.
Their cheerful laughter spread through the village, dispersing some of the lingering gloom after the disaster.
And so, the year passed—filled with blood, tears, and separation, amid the destruction of their homes and the busy work of rebuilding.
Wanxia Village was extremely remote, and there wasn’t much news from outside. Only married daughters returning home or families with wives from other villages brought bits of information—mostly about how many people had died in other villages, how many new graves appeared on the back mountain, or how entire families had perished.
Many had been rescued but later died from injuries or cold, without medicine—suffering to death.
Not far from home, Zhao Xiaobao’s eldest sister-in-law Zhu’s family had lost a nephew. After returning, her eyes were swollen for days, and she cried whenever it was mentioned.
As time passed, more news trickled in. The towns of Xinping, Anding, and Quyang were in even worse condition than Tongjiang—fewer than one in ten people survived. Entire households were wiped out, with no one left to bury the dead. It was said that even wealthy families had been completely looted. The officials didn’t intervene—if you had the ability, you could take valuables, but after taking gold and silver, you had to move the bodies out.
No matter where they were placed, people were assigned to collect the corpses later. If someone claimed them, they could take them back. If not, they would be burned together.
Yes—burned.
Lessons learned from the past meant precautions for the future. The magistrate gave a simple and harsh order: no epidemics could be allowed after the disaster. The way to prevent that was to burn the bodies, eliminating any hidden danger.
As for whether this was disrespectful to heaven?
The magistrate thought: in the northern snow disasters of previous years, countless bodies had already been burned. The court had gained experience dealing with repeated disasters. Except for the one at the very top who worried about reputation, most officials had already accepted this method—killing potential danger before it could grow.
Since that ruler took the throne, the court and the land had rarely known peace.
These repeated natural disasters—were they not also a warning from heaven?
Of course, no one dared to say such things openly. At most, they muttered a few words in private. No one was eager to die.
Compared to those three towns, the people of Wanxia Village felt somewhat relieved. Some even regretted not going to Xinping earlier to try their luck. Moving bodies wasn’t difficult—if they got lucky and found gold or hidden wealth, they could have struck it rich.
But regret came too late. Now it was already the second month of spring, with grass growing and birds singing. The bodies had long been burned clean—there was nothing left to take.
Another two months passed, and no epidemics appeared. Collapsed houses were rebuilt. Old men worked the fields with their hoes, children ran through the village. Life seemed to return to how it was before.
Except for the few remaining shelters at the drying ground and the extra graves on the back mountain—traces of the disaster.
Aside from that, sorrow, pain, and the ruins were gradually erased by time.