Duckweed

The chaotic noises persisted for a long time. During this, Qin Fang tried to rise, but his body felt incredibly weak, devoid of any strength, and his stomach began to growl...

He was hungry again.

How could he not be?

He hadn't eaten anything for several days straight, save for a few bowls of thin millet porridge the night before last, after which he had fallen ill.

Yesterday, he hadn't consumed a single grain of rice or a drop of water.

His physical condition had been so dire yesterday that the sensation of hunger was masked by other, more agonizing pains.

Today, as his condition improved slightly, the hunger finally began to resurface.

Though it was a struggle, he forced himself to sit up. The movement strained the wounds on his waist and left shoulder, causing him to wince and knit his brows.

The simple act of sitting upright left him gasping for air, sweat beading on his forehead.

With this movement, a foul, sour stench wafted up from his chest... even Qin Fang couldn't help but wrinkle his nose repeatedly.

He looked down to see his hands still blackened and caked in mud; clearly, while they had saved him, they hadn't bothered to clean him up properly.

He had broken into a sweat again yesterday, and while it was bearable when lying still in bed, the moment he moved, the odor surged upward.

The smell on him now... could be detected from ten paces away.

His straw sandals were gone, and he looked down to see no shoes under the bed. Just as he was frowning, the door creaked open.

"Damn, what is that smell?"

A young voice rang out.

Qin Fang looked up to see two young men entering, both around his age and dressed in coarse cloth garments.

The one who spoke had caught the scent the moment he stepped inside; his expression shifted immediately, and he instinctively covered his nose and mouth.

The other, who appeared slightly older and more composed, also frowned as they surveyed the room.

Their eyes landed on Qin Fang sitting on the bed, and the one covering his face let out a startled cry: "A refugee?!"

Qin Fang remained silent, merely watching them, a sense of wariness rising within him as well.

His gaze swept over them and landed on the tray in their hands, which held some food... he immediately realized these two must have been sent by Old Man Wu to bring him a meal.

"Why is there a refugee in the hall?"

The youth covering his nose exclaimed repeatedly.

The other youth looked more composed, but his eyes were now filled with caution and vigilance.

Qin Fang recalled Old Man Wu's words and immediately understood... this was the fallout from the refugee uprising.

It seemed the situation was dire indeed... otherwise, these two youths wouldn't have reacted so strongly to his presence.

Even after their initial shock, the look in their eyes as they stared at him was filled with clear wariness and disgust.

Qin Fang spoke in a hoarse voice: "Did Old Man Wu send you to bring me food? My thanks to you both... I nearly died yesterday, and it was only thanks to Old Man Wu's treatment that I survived."

Qin Fang's sudden interjection left both of them stunned.

Nearly died yesterday and was treated by Old Man Wu?

That meant... he certainly hadn't participated in the uprising.

However, looking at his current state, it seemed unlikely he could have participated in any such chaos anyway.

After exchanging a glance, they still didn't offer Qin Fang a friendly look, though they did walk in and place the tray on the table where the oil lamp sat.

They then turned to leave without a word.

Qin Fang spoke up at that moment: "Please, wait a moment."

The two instinctively stopped, then frowned as they looked at Qin Fang. The more blunt one made no effort to hide his disgust: "What else do you want?"

"Old Man Wu mentioned something to me earlier... I heard there was a refugee uprising, and that many people were killed or injured?"

Qin Fang had barely started the topic when the youth let out a cold snort, grinding his teeth: "You suffered a disaster and fled here, and we people of True Martial County kindly took you in. I never expected that instead of being grateful, you would riot and attack our True Martial people! And you have the nerve to ask?!"

His tone was clearly indignant.

It left Qin Fang's subsequent words stuck in his throat.

However, Qin Fang understood this mentality.

Even in his past life, there was regional prejudice.

How much more so in this era where transportation was so underdeveloped?

The sudden, inexplicable riot of the refugees had impacted True Martial County and even caused casualties. As a member of True Martial County, it was perfectly natural for them to despise him for being a refugee as well.

If he were in their shoes, he would likely also instinctively despise and guard against other refugees.

"My apologies, I was truly unaware of this," Qin Fang apologized directly.

Seeing Qin Fang's sincere apology, the two were taken aback.

Though they still didn't look pleased, they didn't continue to target him, merely snorting before turning to leave.

In the end, they did not answer any more of Qin Fang's questions.

Qin Fang knew that these two would not say anything to him in the short term... They couldn't even stand the sight of him, so why would they talk to him?

However, practice makes perfect; if he spoke to them more often, he believed they would gradually realize he posed no threat and would eventually be willing to talk to him more.

He then looked at the tray on the table, ignoring the lack of shoes and walking over directly on his gauze-wrapped feet.

Upon landing, a wave of pain shot through the soles of his feet... though it was significantly better than before.

Exhaling softly, he reached the table. The food on the tray could hardly be called a meal—just a simple bowl of porridge, two steamed buns, and two small dishes of pickles.

Yet, despite such simple fare, Qin Fang couldn't help but swallow his saliva frantically.

How long had it been since he had eaten such "solid" food?

He couldn't care less about anything else; he grabbed a bun and began to eat in large mouthfuls, alternating with the porridge and pickles.

Soon, all the food was wiped clean.

The other party had been very thoughtful, even providing water. After gulping down the entire pot, Qin Fang finally let out a long, satisfied sigh.

...It had been so long since he felt this completely full.

The commotion outside continued, and Qin Fang hesitated, but ultimately decided not to leave the room rashly.

...From the reactions of the two youths, it was clear that the current attitude in True Martial County toward refugees was extremely hostile.

Those shouting and wailing outside might very well be refugees.

If he were to show his face now, he would likely be targeted by their displaced anger the moment he was spotted.

...He knew the methods of those refugees all too well.

People driven mad by hunger used tactics that exceeded the imagination of ordinary folk.

And once their courage had been broken, any subsequent actions—even if not driven by hunger—would be far more vicious than those of a normal person.

To say nothing of others, even he... was he not the same?

Having survived that gauntlet of refugees, his heart no longer felt a ripple at the thought of "killing."

His mindset had shifted toward the extreme.

If this were truly a refugee riot, then the refugees would certainly be aiming for their opponents' lives.

Because during exile, conflicts rarely occurred, but once they did... it was a matter of life and death.

Because if you didn't kill the other person, the one who died would be you.

Accustomed to this mode of thinking, one could easily imagine how ruthless their strikes would be.

Qin Fang simply returned to the bed, choosing not to leave the room rashly.

After lying back down, he kept his ears pricked, listening to the movements outside.

Before long, a wave of exhaustion washed over him.

...With the hunger pangs eased, his other ailments began to surface again.

He had no idea how long it would take for this body to fully recover.

He pursed his lips, feeling that things were dire.

However, compared to his time in exile, his current situation was undoubtedly much more stable.

At the very least, he no longer had to be on guard every second, nor did he have to keep moving; the situation was infinitely better than before.

It was just a shame his dagger had been confiscated; in all likelihood, those people from the Iron Tiger Gang had tossed it somewhere.

He couldn't even practice his cultivation.

His body was like willow catkins, his life like duckweed...

This was his most direct and intense feeling at this moment.

With a heart full of worry, he once again drifted into a deep sleep.