Hard Times

Once the old man died, the disaster victims grew even more numb. For a time, the open ground outside the city was utterly silent.

Steward Yang was quite pleased with himself. He took out a small Bronze Mirror to inspect his reflection, then looked at Liu Dabao.

"Are you selling or not?" Steward Yang no longer bothered to hide his meaning.

Liu Dabao cowered timidly. He looked at the dead old man on the ground, then at Steward Yang. Seeing the impatience on the man's face, he hurriedly dropped to his knees and pleaded bitterly, "Selling, selling! So long as I can stay alive, I'm willing to sell anything!"

Steward Yang smiled, rubbing his fingers together, then looked over the refugees. He stepped forward to inspect them. One hole clearly was not enough for him; he wanted to pick the best of the best and find a few more.

He skipped over all the older ones and looked only for handsome youths. Yet most of the victims had been worn thin beyond recognition by hunger, so he could only make out a rough impression.

After making a round, Steward Yang picked out several more before coming to Meng Yuan.

"Your bone structure looks decent enough, but you're so filthy I can't tell whether you're pretty or ugly." Steward Yang tucked his hands into his sleeves. "Grab some snow and scrub your face. Let this master have a look."

"Not selling," Meng Yuan replied directly.

"Pah! Putting on airs! Later, even if you want to sell yourself, you won't find a place that'll take you!" Steward Yang spat on the ground, gathered seven or eight youths, exchanged a few words with the constables, then hurried away in his carriage.

The constables paid no further attention either. They returned beneath the porridge shed to warm themselves by the fire, as though nothing had happened.

Heaven and earth lay silent. Now and then, a child whimpered softly, making the loneliness and desolation all the sharper.

Meng Yuan grabbed some snow and scrubbed his face, then went to the old man's side. Kneeling on one knee, he checked for breath, then felt the man's neck. He was plainly dead beyond doubt.

Just as he was wondering whether he could ask the yamen runners to handle the body, he heard someone spit.

Meng Yuan looked up to see a woman in a tattered floral padded jacket leaning against the wall at the mouth of a shabby alley, spitting out sunflower seed shells.

The woman's looks were ordinary, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Watching the carriage pass through the city gate, she said sourly, "It's already hard enough in a famine year. Fine, whores steal whores' business—but now men are stealing whores' business too! What kind of world is this? Pah!"

Clearly, this woman was not a disaster victim, but likely one of the secret prostitutes in the alley. However, her knowledge seemed limited. Those who delighted in rabbit boys presumably would not come to a dark alley seeking pleasure, so her claim about stolen business could not be taken seriously.

"Big sister." Meng Yuan sat in the snow. Only after seeing the woman look over did he ask, "May I ask whether you have an old, broken sleeping mat you no longer need?"

The woman laughed at that. Cracking sunflower seeds as she spoke, she said, "In weather this cold, what use is a sleeping mat? This sister has hot water in her room—and a warm body." As she spoke, she blinked at him. Unfortunately, her looks were plain and she did not know how to dress herself up. Rather than seductive, she looked a little comical.

"When a person dies, they should be buried. Even without a coffin, they should at least have a sleeping mat to wrap their body and cover their face." Meng Yuan lowered his head and pleaded.

Hearing that, the woman saw the youth's ragged, bloated clothes, the frostbite on his hands, and his gaunt, haggard face. He was a sorry sight. "Who is he to you?" she asked.

"I don't know him. We are all wretches fleeing disaster. He died for one word of justice; he cannot simply be left out in the open," Meng Yuan replied.

The woman spat and turned back into the alley, still spitting seed shells as she walked. "You come begging things from me? Haven't you heard that whores have no hearts?"

Meng Yuan did not lose heart. Drawing a breath, he found the constables warming themselves by the fire beneath the porridge shed.

"Constable." Meng Yuan cupped his hands in salute before saying, "Steward Yang just beat someone to death. May I ask how the body is to be dealt with?"

"What?" A bearded constable looked Meng Yuan up and down, one hand resting on the knife at his waist as he guarded against him. "You want justice?"

"I would not dare." Meng Yuan cupped his frostbitten hands again. "It is freezing cold, and this place is chaotic and crowded. More disaster victims will likely keep gathering here. If the corpse is left unattended, an epidemic may arise. A few dead victims would be nothing, but you constables are here on official duty. It would inevitably disturb your peace and quiet. That is why I came to ask whether there is a mass grave or charity mortuary nearby, so I can drag him there and see to him."

"You kid sure know how to conduct yourself. There's a mass grave half a li southwest!" Seeing that he had come to curry favor, and that he spoke with some sense, the constable relaxed his grip on his knife.

"I truly have no strength left. Please grant me another bowl of porridge to eat," Meng Yuan made a small request.

"The porridge is long gone!" The constable glanced at Meng Yuan, felt his money pouch, and said impatiently, "This is enough for you to find another person to help. Go on!" He tossed out more than ten copper coins, then turned to another constable. "What exactly did the higher-ups say? What are we supposed to do with these disaster victims? I came to provide relief, and not only did they give me no travel allowance, I have to pay out of my own pocket!"

The copper coins scattered across the ground. Meng Yuan bent down and picked them up one by one, then cupped his hands in another salute before returning to the corpse.

"This world..." Old Man Jiang came over as well. He seemed to want to say something, but only said, "I'll lend a hand."

"That works." Meng Yuan grabbed some snow and wiped the blood from the dead man's face, revealing an aged, weathered countenance.

"Here!" Just then, the woman who had left earlier returned. She had an old broken sleeping mat tucked beneath her arm and a flatbread in one hand, and she tossed both before Meng Yuan.

Meng Yuan hurriedly caught the mat and covered the dead man with it. He tucked away the flatbread and said gratefully, "Big sister, I will surely repay this great kindness someday."

"Enough, enough. Talking about gratitude and repayment! You men only speak the truth when you're shuddering that one time!" The woman waved him off, cracked another sunflower seed, and laughed. "If you truly have a conscience, then once you're settled in the future, come to Auspicious Lane every month and screw this old lady a few times. That would be better than anything else! Remember it—this old lady is called Sister Hua. Don't go screwing the wrong person!"

Meng Yuan thanked her again and again. He broke the flatbread in half and shared it with Old Man Jiang, who then broke off half of his portion for his granddaughter.

The three wolfed it down, then grabbed snow to wash it down their throats.

Meng Yuan did not dare delay. Afraid the corpse would stiffen and become difficult to carry, he quickly wrapped it in the sleeping mat and, together with Old Man Jiang, carried it toward the mass grave.

Having been frozen and hungry for so long, neither of them had much strength. The half-li journey took a full hour.

The snow was heavy and the cold bitter, and the earth had frozen solid. With no tools at hand for digging, Meng Yuan simply cleared out a patch of snow, laid the man down, then found broken stones to cover him. That would have to serve as a grave.

In these hard times, that was all they could do.

When they returned to the city gate, they saw that the refugees seemed to have increased again.

"Let's go eat something first." Seeing that Old Man Jiang's granddaughter could no longer walk, Meng Yuan made the suggestion.

"I have no money," Old Man Jiang said.

Meng Yuan stretched out his hand, produced a handful of copper coins, and smiled. "The official rewarded us. It's payment for moving the corpse."

Without waiting for Old Man Jiang to speak, Meng Yuan glanced into the shabby alleys beneath the city wall. Avoiding Auspicious Lane, he headed inside.

Food was expensive in a famine year. After asking at several stalls, he finally chose one selling hot tofu. Six coins a bowl; Meng Yuan ordered two large bowls and one small bowl.

After taking the payment, the stall owner grabbed a large bowl, lifted the pot lid, scooped out two large blocks of tofu, scraped some salt from a salt brick, ladled on a generous spoonful of Leek Flower Sauce, dripped in two drops of sesame oil, and finally added a ladle of hot broth.

The tofu was piping hot, and the Leek Flower Sauce fragrant and spicy. Mixed together, a bowl in the biting winter cold was truly a peerless delight.

They gulped it down, even cleaning the bottoms of their bowls. The chill was immediately driven away. Steam rose from Meng Yuan's head, warmth spreading through him from within. At last, he felt truly alive again.

This meal had been satisfying, but he still did not know where the next would come from. It was time to find a way to survive.