Turbulent Times

After resting for two hours, it was already midmorning in the blink of an eye.

Fang Zhixing checked his body. Most of his strength had returned.

Heh, heh. As expected of an eighteen-year-old body—its stamina recovered quickly.

"Come on, let's catch some more from the river and make sure we have something for lunch." He picked up the broken bamboo basket and headed back toward the riverbank.

Skinny Dog followed at his heels, tail wagging as he trotted along in cheerful little steps.

Before long, Fang Zhixing waded into the muddy river again, feeling his way along the weed-choked bank while Skinny Dog ran ahead to scout things out.

One clam, then another clam...

Fang Zhixing soon discovered that there were actually quite a few clams buried in the silt, and they were all fairly large. It seemed no one usually harvested them.

Thinking carefully, Fang Zhixing realized that in the memories of the original owner, Big Ox, he had never eaten clams, nor had he ever seen anyone else eat them.

"Could it be that people in this world don't know clams are edible?" Fang Zhixing pondered.

And so, more than half an hour flashed by.

Fang Zhixing had reaped a bountiful haul. He felt up more than twenty clams and river snails, filling over half the basket. During that time, he had also dug into three holes, but unfortunately, every one came up empty.

"I can't keep feeling around. I won't be able to carry it."

With great effort, Fang Zhixing dragged the broken bamboo basket ashore. He looked at his haul with delight; it was enough for him to make a mess of for one meal.

Earlier, he had thought that finding food during a famine year would be exceptionally difficult, that he might have to eat grass and gnaw bark. He had never imagined that the river alone contained so many ingredients.

But why had none of the other villagers come to harvest them? Why were they all running into the mountains instead?

As he was mulling it over, Skinny Dog came up and glanced inside the broken bamboo basket. Satisfied, he said, "The two of us did well. Pleasant cooperation."

Fang Zhixing said contemptuously, "With or without you, the result would've been no different."

Skinny Dog immediately barked, "What kind of talk is that? Didn't I help you find several holes? Didn't I keep watch for you? You're turning your back on a dog once you've gotten what you wanted. Keep this up, and your conscience will turn black sooner or later—so black even dogs won't eat it."

"Heh, with those eyes of yours, you found all of three holes, and there was nothing inside any of them. You've still got the nerve to talk? Your dog face is really thick!"

Fang Zhixing dismissed him with disdain.

The man and dog bickered until noon, then lit another fire and grilled their catch, enjoying a hearty meal.

Two filling meals in a row was an exceptionally rare luxury.

Fang Zhixing was brimming with energy. At three in the afternoon, he went down to the river to harvest again, his target clear: clams.

Time trickled by, and as the sun sank westward, dusk gradually descended.

"Huh, what's that?"

Skinny Dog suddenly raised his head and looked toward the upstream river. Amid the rolling waves, a patch of shadow rose and fell faintly.

Hearing that, Fang Zhixing looked up as well, his eyes narrowing slightly.

A dog's eyesight was much weaker than a human's. Skinny Dog saw only a patch of shadow, but Fang Zhixing clearly saw a large ship sailing downstream.

It had looked far away at first, but the large ship arrived quickly.

The waves grew larger and slapped against the riverbank.

Fang Zhixing hurriedly scrambled ashore.

"Hey, young man on the shore!"

Someone on the deck waved and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Let me ask for directions—is Crouching Ox Village up ahead?"

Fang Zhixing swiftly sized up the boatman. He was powerfully built, dark-skinned, and wore a thick beard. "Yes," he replied.

"How much farther?"

"Not far. Two li downstream."

"Good, many thanks!"

The boatman clasped his hands in salute.

Fang Zhixing watched the large ship sail past him. On the other side of the deck stood two tall figures, each around six feet to six foot three. Their chests and backs were bare, their muscles well developed and their skin bronze. Their gazes were sharp, their cheekbones prominent, and thick veins bulged around their temples.

Sabers hung at their waists!

A flag hung from the mast, bearing a single character—or perhaps a symbol—written in strokes like silver hooks and iron brushes.

Unfortunately, Big Ox was illiterate, and Fang Zhixing had never seen this kind of writing either. He could not make it out.

At that moment, Skinny Dog transmitted, "What's such a large ship going to Crouching Ox Village for?"

Fang Zhixing fell silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Come on, let's go back and take a look."

Skinny Dog was curious too, so naturally he had no objection.

Fang Zhixing first found a concealed spot and hid the broken bamboo basket, then took a shortcut back to the village.

As soon as the man and dog returned to the village, they saw that the large ship had already docked and three people were coming down from the deck.

The man walking in the middle was a middle-aged fellow with a thin mustache. He had a large belly and an oily face. Though he looked somewhat sleazy, his clothes were extremely luxurious, studded with gold and adorned with jade. One look told Fang Zhixing that he was a wealthy man who never worried about food or drink.

He played with two iron balls in his hand, making them creak and grind.

The other two followed behind him. They were precisely the two burly men Fang Zhixing had seen earlier.

Beneath the dim yellow sky, the three men headed straight for the eastern end of the village.

"Oh, Mr. Qian, you've come!"

Beneath the crooked-necked tree at the village's eastern end, the white-bearded old man smoking a dry pipe rose to his feet. Who else could it be but the old village chief? He bowed and scraped.

"Village Chief Zhao, right?"

The oily uncle looked down his nose at everyone, clasped his hands behind his back, and said, "Well? Have you prepared everything?"

"It's all prepared. Everything's been settled!"

The old village chief wore a broad smile. Turning around, he called toward the village, "Everyone, come out. Mr. Qian is here."

Seeing this, Fang Zhixing's eyes flickered. He did not quite understand what was happening.

Clearly, the old village chief had never told Big Ox that this Mr. Qian was coming.

Before long, Fang Zhixing saw Uncle Song lead his two granddaughters out of their home. Neither girl was ten yet, and both kept their heads lowered as they sobbed.

Next, Auntie Wang came out with her daughter in tow. The mother and daughter wore stiff expressions, their gazes exceptionally cold.

There was also Uncle Li, Second Uncle Bai...

Crouching Ox Village had a little over a hundred households in total, yet more than forty households suddenly emerged, every elder bringing along the girls from their family.

At that moment, Fang Zhixing faintly guessed what was about to happen.

"Line up. Come over one at a time." Mr. Qian rolled up his sleeves and smiled as he looked at the little girls one by one.

He first walked up to Uncle Song's two granddaughters, felt their heads, then their arms and fingers. He asked their ages, had them open their mouths, and checked their teeth.

"Mm, these two children don't have any major problems, and they're quite pretty too. I can see it hasn't been easy for you to raise them, old man, so I'll offer a little more. Thirty jin of rice for each one—how about it?" Mr. Qian said with a smile.

There was not much expression on Uncle Song's face. He merely held up five fingers and gritted his teeth. "This amount. Not one coin less."

Mr. Qian's face immediately darkened. He snorted coldly. "This year has been plagued by disaster after disaster. The autumn harvest is definitely ruined. Without grain, how will your whole family survive the winter?"

He swept his gaze over the villagers and declared with righteous conviction, "Do you know what things are like outside right now? There's war outside, soldiers and chaos everywhere, plague spreading through the land, and bandits running rampant. One day, your Crouching Ox Village might be wiped out in one sweep by vicious bandits and mountain brigands."

After a pause, Mr. Qian's tone softened again. Smiling, he said, "I came here to buy your daughters and granddaughters and send them to wealthy households as maids, so they can have a bite to eat. I'm accumulating virtue and doing good deeds. I'm helping you, understand?"

The scene was silent as a grave. Everyone was starving, with no strength to argue and no education to speak of any grand principles.

After Mr. Qian finished his tirade, he looked at Uncle Song again and smiled. "How about this? I'll add a little more. Thirty-five jin of rice per person."

Uncle Song nodded painfully and let out a long sigh.