Refugees

Three days later, at the Linhe County docks.

The morning fog had yet to clear, and the air was forever steeped in the docks' distinctive fishy stench.

Carrying two battered wicker trunks and a bulging blue cloth bundle, Chen Mo walked onto the pier with the stream of passengers disembarking.

The sight before him made his steps falter almost imperceptibly.

The open ground at the docks, the walls of the warehouses, the muddy roads... every corner where a person could barely squeeze in was packed with dense crowds.

Most were dressed in rags, with disheveled hair and dirty faces. Their eyes were vacant or fearful.

Makeshift shelters of torn mats, ragged cloth, and a few branches stretched as far as the eye could see. The feeble cries of children and the shoving and cursing over scarce space and food blended into a buzzing sea of misery.

They were refugees fleeing disaster from the south.

Their numbers were far beyond the ordinary, and they had nearly turned the docks into a vast refugee camp.

The filthy, murky aura hanging in the air was even thicker than the yin-tainted gloom he had sensed at the roadside inn on the outskirts of Jin City.

Chen Mo furrowed his brow. His complexion remained pallid, as was characteristic after practicing the Taiyin Ghost Form Manual, and his lean frame looked even thinner beneath his loose, worn robe.

Carrying his luggage, he headed out of the docks along the dirt road, where the crowds and scattered belongings had squeezed the passage down to a narrow path.

Just after squeezing through the most crowded part of the dockside freight yard, he reached a relatively quiet alley entrance. Several figures darted out from behind a crooked stack of crates and blocked his way.

There were four men, all dressed in rags with fierce expressions.

None of them were very old, but their eyes held little of the numbness common among refugees. They were filled instead with malice.

Their leader was a broad-framed young man with a square face and a buzz cut. His eye sockets were sunken, making it clear he had gone hungry for some time.

He stared at Chen Mo's pale face and luggage, then licked his cracked lips.

"Hey, young master..." The buzz-cut youth spoke in a sly voice, forcing a twisted smile. "Show some kindness and spare us a bite, will you? My brothers and I haven't eaten in days."

As he spoke, the other three spread out in a tacit half-circle, subtly blocking Chen Mo's retreat.

Chen Mo stopped and calmly swept his gaze over the four men.

Along with the grime of refugees, they carried the swagger of street thugs. They were clearly not honest farmers fleeing famine, but more like lowlifes who had been scraping by at the bottom of society long before this.

"I don't have any." Chen Mo's voice was quiet and emotionless. "I'd advise you not to bring trouble on yourselves."

The buzz-cut youth's face darkened, and his feigned friendliness vanished in an instant. "Kid, don't push your luck! This place is a mess. We can see you're weak, so we're offering to carry your luggage for you. We're doing you a favor!"

As he spoke, he reached for the wicker trunk hanging from Chen Mo's arm.

His movement seemed casual, but it carried a vicious force. His knuckles were thick, and he clearly had some rough-and-ready fighting experience.

The other three advanced with cruel grins.

Chen Mo didn't move.

Only when the dirty hand was about to touch the trunk handle did he casually sidestep.

The buzz-cut youth grabbed at empty air, and his weight pitched forward.

Just as his momentum ran out and he had yet to gather new strength,

Chen Mo raised his leg and kicked precisely into the side of the man's advancing knee.

"Crack!"

The sound of a bone snapping made one's teeth ache.

"Argh!!!"

The buzz-cut youth let out a shrill scream and pitched forward onto the ground, curling around his twisted right leg.

His face turned deathly pale and broke out in a cold sweat. The pain left him too weak even to roll around.

The other three halted mid-charge. Their snarls froze as they stared in disbelief at their fallen leader, then at Chen Mo, who was still holding his luggage.

Chen Mo didn't even look at them again. He carried his trunks and walked calmly past the fallen buzz-cut youth.

The other three were completely cowed by his cold indifference, as though they were beneath his notice, and the decisive kick he had just delivered. They stood rooted to the spot, watching him walk away without daring to move.

When he left the alley and merged into the slightly thicker crowd, the buzz-cut youth's muffled groans and his companions' panicked whispers were quickly swallowed by the noisy din of the street.

Chen Mo kept walking with an unchanged expression. From the roadside, however, he caught the resentful voices of two men who seemed to be local laborers:

"There's every kind of devil and demon among these people from the south! Damn it, the county magistrate's a coward. One word from above, and he dumps all these mouths right here in our Linhe County!"

"Shh! Keep it down! Didn't you see the notice posted at the city gate a couple days ago? The United Government issued strict orders. All the refugees from the south have to be resettled in the outer counties around Linhe. They're forbidden from heading farther north into Jin City!"

"They say it's to keep them from offending the bigwigs in Jin City and ruining the place's good name!"

"Good name? Bah! There are so many mouths to feed that even we can't eat our fill. How are we supposed to resettle them? Sooner or later, there's going to be a disaster..."

"Ah, isn't that the truth... I heard someone was beaten to death yesterday in the west of the city, all over a bowl of gruel..."

Their conversation gradually faded.

Chen Mo didn't stop, though his eyes shifted slightly.

No wonder Linhe County had so many refugees.

It was only about fifty kilometers from Jin City. Even fleeing disaster, they should have been heading for a big city like Jin City.

It seemed Linhe County was in for troubled times. He wondered how high rice prices had climbed by now...

Worried, Chen Mo quickened his pace. In less than the time it took to drink a cup of tea, he reached the entrance to Funeral Street.

Even now, beneath the eaves along Funeral Street, gaunt refugees sat or lay crowded together. Liu Shoucai, the owner of Fortune and Longevity Coffins, was arguing with several refugees sitting on his front steps.

"Get lost, get lost, get lost! This is a place of business, not a charity hall! If you keep squatting here, I'll splash you all with a bucket of filthy water I used to wash coffins!"

Liu Shoucai spat as he spoke and waved his arms, his face flushed with anger.

An old refugee on the steps looked as though he were about to cry. "Please, shopkeeper, take pity on us. Just let us shelter under your eaves from the sun. We won't come inside..."

"No! You'll bring bad luck!" Liu Shoucai said flatly.

Just then, he caught sight of Chen Mo carrying his luggage out of the corner of his eye, and his voice cut off abruptly.

He immediately abandoned the refugees on the steps and hurried across the street to Chen Mo. "Chen Mo? Oh, you're finally back!"

"You came back just in time! There's something important I need to tell you, right away!"

"Your father's back!" Liu Shoucai spoke quickly, his eyes darting about. "And he didn't come back alone. He brought two people with him!"

He paused, apparently watching Chen Mo's reaction. "A lady, and a little girl who looks about seven or eight!"

"Oh, I already knew."

Chen Mo glanced at him curiously. Chen Dachuan was back—what was Liu Shoucai so excited about?

"Aren't you curious who that woman is?"

His voice brimmed with barely restrained gossip.

"Could she be Shopkeeper Liu's ex-wife?"