Immortal Rope
Lingzhou City lay in sight in the distance.
All along the way, the Daoist had seen corpses of the starved scattered everywhere.
No one knew how many bodies had fallen by the roadside. The riverbeds had dried up and cracked, and not even grass could grow in the fields.
There was smoke from human dwellings, yet the living looked like ghosts.
The outskirts of Lingzhou City were packed with disaster victims, huddled weakly beneath the city walls, staring into the distance as they waited for death.
Several city gates were shut tight, allowing no passage in or out, seemingly for fear that the refugees might storm the city. At the sole open gate, soldiers stood one after another with fierce, godlike scowls, blades in hand and armor on their backs. Any disturbance was treated as enemy banditry; they guarded against the people as though holding back a flood.
Yet the Daoist entered the city with ease.
The city was far better off than outside. Though most shops along the streets had closed their doors, there were few pedestrians, and every household was tightly shut, at least some breath of life remained.
After all, this was a Prefectural City. Many who lived within were wealthy households, rich merchants, high officials, and nobles. It seemed they had not yet reached the crisis of running out of food.
Leading his donkey down the main road, he saw a compound of high walls and vermilion gates at the far end of the street. The scene abruptly changed.
Gongs and drums thundered, clanging and pounding, brimming with festive bustle.
Guards stood in tight ranks at the entrance, carriages and horses filled the area, and servants either sat atop carriages or leaned against the tea stalls by the gate, waiting in boredom.
From within