Chapter 793 - 553: Refugees
Ning City!
The city gate tower stood tall and majestic, its blue-black bricks polished to a shine by time, like a giant beast lying in wait.
The city gate was tightly shut, a bright brass lock on the bolt, exuding a cold hardness that kept people at a distance.
Beneath the gate tower, the refugees were densely packed, like withered grass swept in by a fierce wind.
Tattered clothes, sallow faces and emaciated bodies, some leaned on broken sticks, others held barely breathing children.
Their muddy eyes held nothing but exhaustion and bewilderment, with only a faint glimmer of hope when gazing towards the city gate.
"Order from the County Magistrate! To prevent the spread of the epidemic, the city gate is to close immediately, all refugees are strictly prohibited from entering the city!"
Above the gate, two public servants in green robes, holding brass gongs, shouted sternly, their voices penetrating the crowd with a degree of cruelty:
"Refugee shelters have been set up outside the city suburbs, porridge is being distributed by the constables, please go quickly, do not linger or make noise!"
The hope on the refugees’ faces was instantly doused with cold water.
No one dared to resist, no one dared to complain.
In chaotic times, having a bowl of porridge was already a great blessing.
They helped each other, dragging their heavy footsteps, slowly moving towards the city suburbs.
In the depths of the crowd, a tall yet emaciated man carried an old woman on his back, stumbling along.
The man’s name was Li Shi, originally a farmer from the neighboring county.
His hometown was struck by disaster, home destroyed, family gone, his wife and children all dead, leaving only him and his elderly mother relying on each other for survival.
"Mother... just hold on a little longer, once in the city I will ask a doctor to treat your illness."
The frail old woman on his back could be blown over by a gust of wind, her breathing rapid and weak, eyes barely open, fixed on the back of her son’s head:
"Son... don’t exhaust yourself... it’s fate... your mother’s illness, cannot be cured..."
"No, Mother, it can be cured! It definitely can!"
Li Shi’s voice choked, his eyes instantly reddened, scorching tears mixed with dust creating two black trails on his face.
He bit his teeth trying to quicken his pace, but his legs had already been emptied by hunger, each step felt like walking on knife edges.
The old woman lightly patted his shoulder: "Let’s go... to the shelter... if I have a bowl of porridge, I will be content... don’t insist on entering the city."
Li Shi could no longer hold back, suppressed sobs spilled from his throat, his steps grew heavier, carrying his mother, step by step merging into the crowd.
...
The refugee shelters in the city suburbs, constructed of withered grass and wooden sticks, were densely packed.
The air was filled with the stench of mold, sweat, and foul odors.
The open space between the shelters was filled with refugees lying curled up on the ground, eyes hollow, completely lifeless.
"Line up! All of you line up! No cutting, no noise!"
A few constables in black uniforms, wielding sticks and whips, bore fierce expressions and harsh gazes.
The sticks struck the ground with a thud, intimidating those present.
A frail child couldn’t help but squeeze forward, receiving a lash on the back, causing him to cry out in pain, but not daring to move further, trembling where he stood.
The porridge distribution point was set up in the center of the shelter area.
Beside a broken wooden table, an old constable leisurely ladled porridge, his face full of impatience, while the porridge in the barrel behind him was so thin it could reflect one’s image, with fine sand settling at the bottom.
"Grain stores are limited, we can only do our best to offer some relief, everyone please be patient."
The old constable muttered unconcernedly, without a trace of compassion, just perfunctory.
A young refugee reached the front, received a bowl of porridge, and looked down, seeing the grains of sand clearly, as thin as water.
He said nothing, tilting his head to drink it all.
The coarse sand scratched his throat painfully, moldiness filled his mouth.
After setting down the bowl, he clenched his fists, cursing under his breath:
"These dog officials, taking the people’s grain, yet they feed us pig slop!"
The white-haired elder beside him bitterly shook his head, whispering in persuasion:
"Young man, don’t blame them! Having anything to eat is already not bad, they fear if we eat fully, we’ll have the energy to cause trouble."
The young man fell silent, slowly unclenching his fists, helplessness replacing anger.
He had fled famine, witnessing too many cities refusing even to distribute porridge, with constables directly driving people away with sticks.
Ning City’s bowl of thin porridge was considered "benevolence."
But he knew in his heart, this porridge distribution wouldn’t last long.
It would only get thinner, with more sand mixed in.
Eventually, they’d cut the porridge, reduce the water, and under the cover of night, drive them to the neighboring county.
And the officials of Ning City could then falsely report their achievements to higher-ups:
"Refugees left for the neighboring county of their own accord, our county has managed the peace effectively, maintaining stability."
"Thousands of refugees, porridge distribution ongoing, not a single person starves within our borders."
High-sounding words, just tools for deceiving superiors and seeking prestige.
"One bowl per person, no extra requests!"
The old constable’s voice once more interrupted the young man’s thoughts.
Li Shi, carrying his mother, finally reached the front, receiving two bowls of thin porridge with both hands, cautiously guarding them in his embrace, fearing a single drop might spill.
He slowly squatted down, bringing the porridge to his mother’s mouth, speaking in an incredibly soft voice:
"Mother, drink the porridge, take it slow, don’t choke."
The old woman slightly opened her mouth, Li Shi scooped a spoonful, blowing on it repeatedly, before gently feeding it into her mouth.
"Yes, you should drink too, son, you’re also starving."
Li Shi nodded, picked up the other bowl, drank it all at once, the porridge going down offering no warmth, leaving only a dry throat.
But he still considered this the most precious meal.
He licked his cracked lips, wanting to ask for another bowl, but facing the constables’ fierce gaze, he ultimately swallowed his words.
At this moment, the old woman gently pushed his hand back, offering her own remaining half bowl of porridge to him:
"You drink... if I drink, it’s just wasted... you drink more, to have the strength to carry me."
Li Shi’s tears instantly broke through the dam.
"Mother, please drink! Please drink!" he choked out, refusing to accept, "I’m not hungry, I can endure, you are weak and must eat more!"
Mother and son kept insisting, neither willing to relent.
The surrounding refugees watched, silently bowing their heads in full sympathy.
A bowl of thin porridge, more valuable than gold!
Before long, the porridge barrel was empty.
The constables cursed as they packed up, turning away.
The refugees collapsed, too weak even to speak.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want to protest, but they were too starved to have the strength, that bowl of thin porridge merely sustaining them.
The sun tilted westward, and a commotion arose in the shelter area.
A few rural gentry, dressed in silk and looking well-fed, leisurely entered the area with their servants and stewards.
Their gaze was scrutinizing, like selecting livestock, prodding the refugees curled on the ground with their feet:
"Handy ones, come with me to be servants, we’ll provide food and lodging!"
"Girls with proper looks, become maids in the house, you’ll never worry about food or clothing again!"
At these words, the demoralized refugees suddenly became lively, struggling to their feet, vying to show their skills.
Some slapped their chests proclaiming their strength, some tidied their clothes and forced smiles.
This was their only way to live!
In these times, securing a full meal and a place to stay was a great fortune.
Li Shi was tempted too, but looked at his mother on his back and ultimately gave up, if he left, no one would care for her.
...
Dusk fell, the sunset painting the sky red.
Just as the refugees sank into despair, the sound of hooves and wagon wheels suddenly broke the silence in the distance:
"The Zhang Family is distributing porridge!"
"The Wu Family is distributing porridge! And there’s hot water!"
Hope lit up the refugees’ eyes as they struggled to rise, looking in the direction of the sound.
A procession of wagons slowly approached, bearing banners of "Zhang," "Wu," "Zhao," etc., their barrels filled with grain, the aroma of rice wafting through the air.
"It’s the gentry! The kind-hearted ones come to distribute porridge!"
"We are saved!"
The refugees cheered, hope rekindled in their eyes.
In a year of famine, there were very few rural gentry willing to distribute porridge to the refugees.
These charitable gentry were all followers of Chen Sheng!