Dock

They drew closer and closer.

Fang Zhixing soon got a clear look at Little Clear River Market Town. Houses covered the ground, with bluestone-paved roads.

Those houses were not earthen walls, nor were they thatched huts.

They were buildings made from stone and wood, with carved beams and painted rafters, exuding an elegant, antique charm.

The town and the villages stood in stark contrast, like two entirely different worlds, as far apart as heaven and earth.

"So this is a market town. Not bad!"

Skinny Dog raised his head and stretched out his nose. Catching the faint scent of roasted meat and spices drifting through the air, he could not help raising his tail and wagging it back and forth, his heart already roaming there.

Fang Zhixing nodded to himself and transmitted his voice, "Skinny Dog, look at those tall buildings with glazed-tile roofs. Don't they have a bit of that Dreaming Back to the Tang Dynasty feel?"

"Dreaming Back to the Tang Dynasty?"

Skinny Dog was unimpressed and complained, "Too bad it's the damn Late Tang. The land lies shattered, the people are born into troubled times, forced from their homes, their lives worth less than ants, and misery is everywhere."

He sighed solemnly, "Ah, how did that saying go? When the state prospers, the people suffer; when it falls, the people suffer."

"Hmph, who gives a damn about the people?"

Fang Zhixing curled his lip in utter disdain and said expressionlessly, "Let me tell you, whether it's an age of prosperity or an age of chaos, those at the bottom will always suffer—poor, destitute, and unable to control their own fates.

"But likewise, whether it's an age of prosperity or an age of chaos, there will always be people who hold towering power and wealth, turning clouds into rain with a flip of the hand, enjoying pleasures without end."

He looked toward the most prosperous part of the market town, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Where there are bones of the frozen dead by the roadside, there must be wine and meat rotting behind vermilion gates! Our goal is to become those vermilion gates where wine and meat rot."

For a moment, Skinny Dog had no answer.

Fang Zhixing was an extremely pragmatic person, emotionally steady and not prone to such sentimental melancholy.

The crowd poured into the town.

Looking out, they saw two intersecting diagonal avenues that divided the entire market town into four irregular districts.

The district to the east was cut off by a high wall. The buildings behind it were rather splendid and imposing, far better than those in the other three districts. One glance was enough to tell that it was where the wealthy gathered.

The refugees did not slow their steps. They surged forward in a swarm and passed straight through the street.

At the end of the street was a great river—the Little Clear River.

Though it was called the Little Clear River, it was not small at all. The river was forty to fifty meters wide.

A dock had been built along the bank.

The surging waters were crowded with many black-canopied boats and bamboo boats, packed tightly together side by side.

There were also three large ships.

Each ship had lanterns hanging from it, swaying in the wind and casting rippling glimmers over the river.

Night had long fallen, yet many laborers were still loading and unloading cargo in a scene of bustling activity.

"Quick, quick, let's go to the dock!"

Most of the refugees raced toward the dock, scrambling to be first, their eyes brimming with a certain hope.

Seeing this, Fang Zhixing could not help asking curiously, "Where do they want to go by boat?"

"Outside!"

The Buffalo Fort chief answered, "Little Clear River Market Town is really just a transit point. From here, half a day by boat will take you out of the Crouching Ox Mountains and into the outside world."

"That's right!"

The Little Cow Village chief nodded repeatedly. "These refugees have no way to survive in the Crouching Ox Mountains anymore. They have no choice but to leave. Beyond the mountains are fertile lands, prosperous towns, and Qinghe Commandery City."

The Black Ox Village chief deeply agreed and sighed. "I heard that the people in the commandery city feast and sing every night, drowning in luxury and indulgence, never going hungry or cold. If these refugees go there, even if they only pick up scraps of cold leftovers, they will still be able to survive."

Fang Zhixing understood and nodded. "You don't need to leave the market town, do you? Where are we staying tonight?"

The Buffalo Fort chief quickly replied, "There is an inn in town. It's fairly large and cheap. Every time we come to the market town to sell goods, we stay there."

The three elderly elders led the way.

Before long, the group arrived at a low, sprawling courtyard.

Fang Zhixing looked it over. There was no signboard hanging above the entrance, nor any archway erected outside. It did not look like an inn at all.

"Welcome, welcome."

A middle-aged couple came out, their faces piled with smiles.

"Boss, Madam Boss."

The Buffalo Fort chief greeted them with a smile. "How has business been lately? The room rates haven't gone up, have they?"

The boss spread his hands and smiled. "Ah, times are getting harder and harder. The room rates are still the same, no increase, but the food costs..."

The Buffalo Fort chief understood and laughed. "No matter. We brought our own dry provisions."

The boss quickly said, "Good, good, good. Please, come in."

The group entered through the gate, crossed the courtyard, and went into a very large room.

The moment Fang Zhixing reached the doorway, a sharp stench of shit, urine, and farts rushed at his face, making him frown tightly.

The room was enormous, larger than a basketball court, yet there was not a single bed.

The floor was covered with a layer of straw.

At that moment, there were more than a hundred people inside, mostly filthy, disheveled refugees of all ages and both sexes.

Some lay sleeping, while others sat directly on the ground.

From a corner came the loud wails of a baby. A woman had no choice but to turn her back to the wall, undo her buttons, and nurse the child.

The boss smiled. "Please, please, please. There is absolutely enough room for all of you."

The Buffalo Fort chief did not complain in the slightest and nodded. "It's fine. We can squeeze in."

The group filed inside one after another.

Fang Zhixing did not move. Turning his head, he asked the boss, "Do you have private rooms?"

The boss immediately perked up and quickly said, "I do, but they're a little expensive. One night costs forty-five large coins!"

Fang Zhixing replied, "Give me a clean one."

"Good, good, good. This way, please."

Overjoyed, the boss instantly became incomparably enthusiastic, bowing and scraping as he led the way.

Before long, he brought Fang Zhixing into a separate guest room.

Fang Zhixing glanced around. The room was not large, containing only one bed, with a pillow and bedding on it.

"Honored guest, are you satisfied? If not, I can change you to another room, though they're all more or less the same. None are much better, and none are much worse."

The boss rubbed his hands together and smiled apologetically.

Fang Zhixing nodded, then asked, "Can I use your kitchen to cook?"

The boss nodded. "Of course, but firewood costs extra. One bundle of firewood is one large coin. Water is free."

Fang Zhixing had no objection.

Afterward, he went to the kitchen, lit a fire and cooked himself a meal. After eating his fill and feeding the donkey, he finally returned to his room to sleep.

The night passed quickly.

The next morning, Fang Zhixing was woken from deep sleep by a burst of commotion.

He got up and opened the door. Outside, dawn was still dim and fog had risen.

Many refugees moved about in the courtyard, leaving the inn one after another.

The three elderly elders were among them, each departing with his own caravan.

Fang Zhixing yawned, lay back down, and slept a while longer. He did not get up until the sky had fully brightened.

Skinny Dog jumped onto the bed, squatted in front of Fang Zhixing, and asked, "What are you planning to do next?"