After finishing breakfast the next morning, Shen Wenhe set out with Bai Nianqing.
Along the way, they saw many disaster victims in ragged clothing, their lips so dry they were peeling.
Some were leading or carrying children—clearly whole families.
Some traveled in groups, probably people from the same village.
When they noticed someone approaching, they lifted their heads, but their eyes held no light at all—only lifeless despair.
The sharper ones would immediately run forward upon seeing someone, reaching out their hands to beg for food.
Shen Wenhe and Bai Nianqing also encountered such people, but Shen Wenhe didn’t stop. He urged the carriage forward and rushed past them.
Some even ran after the carriage for a few steps, but eventually gave up when they couldn’t keep up.
“Xianggong, this is too terrifying. And this is only the beginning—it will only get worse from here. Less than one in a thousand of these people will survive.”
She sighed. The world was like this; she couldn’t change it. In this place, being able to keep herself alive was already fortunate.
As the carriage continued forward, every disaster victim they passed looked wax-yellow and sickly.
Inside the carriage, Bai Nianqing and Shen Wenhe both lost the mood to speak.
When they reached the city gate, the main gate was tightly shut. Only the small side gate was open, and it was guarded.
Anyone who wanted to enter the city had to show their household registration, and also pay two wen as an entrance fee.
A group of refugees crowded around the side gate, pleading anxiously:
“Sir, we beg you, please let us in. My little grandson is sick—if we don’t see a doctor soon, he won’t make it!”
“Please, sir, we’re begging you. Look, this is our household register. We’re not bad people—we only want to go in and buy some grain,” a man pleaded in a low voice.
“No, no! All of you step back. The lord has ordered it—other than those with local household registration, no one else is allowed to enter,” the guard said impatiently, waving them away.
“Officer, I beg you, have mercy. The child truly won’t last much longer. Please let us enter the city to find a doctor…”
Crying, an old woman picked up a child of about three or four from the roadside.
The child’s face was deathly pale, barely breathing—clearly on the verge of dying.
“Sir, look! The child is really about to die!” The old woman, afraid the guard wouldn’t believe her, tried to push the child closer to him.
Unexpectedly, the guard jumped back like he had seen something filthy.
“What are you doing? Take him away! If you come any closer, I’ll have you arrested!”
“Officer, my grandson is only sick—it’s not a plague, it’s not contagious!” the old woman cried, collapsing to the ground.
“Take him away! Who knows what illness he has? Hurry along. The lord has ordered it—no one without local registration may enter. You’re lucky it’s me here. If it were someone else… hmph.”
The guard looked annoyed, but he didn’t actually do anything to the old woman.
He wasn’t wrong. As the old saying goes: In front of a prime minister’s gate stands a seventh-rank official.
These yamen runners had no official titles, and were nobodies in front of actual officials.
But in front of commoners?
They were not to be provoked.
Some yamen runners had decent tempers; others were violent, beating or yelling at common people without hesitation. Even the nicer ones weren’t truly polite.
The refugees seemed to realize this and all subconsciously stepped back.
With no options left, the old woman sat on the ground and cried in despair.
Bai Nianqing looked at the child in her arms—the child’s cheeks were fiery red. He was clearly burning with fever. Without treatment, even if he survived, he might end up brain-damaged.
She couldn’t bear it. She tugged lightly on Shen Wenhe’s sleeve and quietly slipped a packet of medicinal powder out from her spatial storage, passing it to Shen Wenhe.
Shen Wenhe understood her intention. He, too, felt compassion for the child.
He approved of her decision.
Without saying much, Shen Wenhe stepped forward and placed the medicine onto the child’s body, speaking softly:
“This is fever medicine. Give it to the child.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned away and led Bai Nianqing toward the guards.
The old woman froze for a moment before realizing what had happened. She fell to her knees, kowtowing repeatedly:
“Thank you, benefactors! Thank you, thank you…”
The people nearby saw Shen Wenhe give something to the old woman, and perhaps thinking he was soft-hearted, they all crowded forward.
“Master, madam, please—we beg you, give us something to eat!”
“Please! Just a sip of water!”
“Madam, pity my daughter… please…”
Surrounded by desperate faces, their carriage could no longer move.
“What are you doing? Move aside! We’re going into the city to visit relatives—we don’t have anything for you!” Shen Wenhe pointed his whip at the crowd.
“Master, please, just a bite…”
“Madam, save us…”
Seeing their pitiful expressions, Shen Wenhe couldn’t bring himself to swing the whip.
“We really don’t have food,” Bai Nianqing said, lifting the carriage curtain to show them.
Perhaps they were not yet desperate enough to cause trouble at the city gate.
Or perhaps, seeing that they truly had nothing to give, the refugees slowly backed away.
Once the crowd dispersed, Shen Wenhe led the carriage to the guard. He took out their household registrations and a tael of silver, handing them over.
“Sir, we need to enter the city,” Shen Wenhe said.
“Oh! Young Master Shen? Of course you may enter. I’ll open the gate right away.”
The guard clearly recognized him.
That was no surprise— the Shen family was one of the wealthy families in the county. Yamen runners who dared bully common folk would never dare offend wealthy households.
“Yes, I have business in the city. Open the gate.” Shen Wenhe said naturally, tossing the guard another tael of silver.
“Thank you, Young Master Shen!”
Receiving the silver, the guard’s smile practically bloomed.
“Brothers! Open the gate for Young Master Shen!” he shouted.
The gate opened from inside.
Shen Wenhe nodded casually, leapt onto the carriage, and drove it into the city.
Because of the drought, even the city seemed far less lively than before.
The streets used to bustle with people and vendors, but now only a few scattered pedestrians remained.
Most shops were still open, but aside from grain shops, the others had no customers. Even the shop assistants looked listless.
Shen Wenhe stopped by a grain shop to inquire.
The price of coarse grain had risen to twenty wen per jin, and fine grain—forty wen per jin—and even then, it was hard to buy.
The shopkeeper said the shop’s supply would only last a few more days. They planned to close by tomorrow.