Refugees

At dawn, the sky had yet to brighten.

The sky was overcast, lead-gray clouds hanging low and pressing Dingshan County beneath a stifling jar. The wind was weak, yet it carried a damp chill, like water-soaked cotton cloth pasted against the face.

The lanterns hanging from the city walls had not yet gone out. Their dim yellow halos swayed in the murky morning light, illuminating dew dripping from the eaves.

The north gate was Dingshan County's water gate.

A moat was drawn in from the west gate, winding halfway around the foot of the walls before gathering into a broad expanse of water beyond the north gate. The water was not deep, but it was wide—more than ten zhang across.

A stone bridge outside the gate spanned the water, its surface carved with two deep ruts by cart wheels.

Several small boats were moored beneath the bridge, their bows tied to stone posts as they gently bumped with the ripples. On the far bank lay a shallow beach, where half-withered reeds swayed their white plumes in the wind.

People stood at the bridgehead.

Li Zhaoning stood at the very front, dressed with extreme simplicity today. She wore a moon-white long robe with narrow sleeves, without a trace of embroidery. A blue cloth sash circled her waist, and her hair was pinned up with a wooden hairpin. There was not the slightest ornament on her person.

Yet as she stood there, she resembled a famed sword sheathed in its scabbard. The plainer her clothes were, the more they brought out her beauty—brows dark without paint, lips crimson without rouge, skin white as porcelain. Yet her gaze held an awe-inspiring force, softness tempered with steel. Her simplicity had reached such an extreme that no one dared look at her too long.

She had brought only two maidservants, both dressed in blue cloth garments and carrying bundles on their backs as they stood quietly behind her.

Yuan Zhiwu stood on the other side of the bridgehead with several guards. Zhao Da, Qian Hu, and Lu Yun were all there as well.

As Chen Chong approached, Lu Yun's gaze happened to sweep toward him, and their eyes met for an instant.

Lu Yun immediately bent slightly at the waist and lowered his head, his manner so respectful it was almost restrained.

Chen Chong gave him a nod without saying more and took his place beside Yuan Zhiwu.

Li Zhaoning parted her crimson lips. "Set off."

The convoy began to move. There were six carriages: three loaded with sacks of grain, two carrying medicinal herbs and alchemy furnace equipment, and the last covered in oilcloth, filled with pots, bowls, ladles, and supplies for setting up temporary stoves.

Including the servants and guards, there were over twenty people in the party as they marched grandly out through the north gate.

After crossing the stone bridge, shanties began appearing on both sides of the road.

At first, they could only be seen from afar, built in fairly orderly fashion, with wooden poles for frames and thatched roofs, row upon row looking almost respectable.

But the farther they went, the denser the shanties became, and the less they resembled anything proper. Some were just a few branches propping up a scrap of torn cloth. Others did not even have torn cloth—several stones were arranged in a circle, and people curled up in the middle.

The ground was littered with puddles of filth, rotten vegetable leaves, and shattered pottery. Children's cries rose one after another, mingling with adults' muffled coughs and blending into a single sound beneath the gloomy morning sky.

As the convoy passed, the refugees raised their heads.

Most had numb expressions. Their eyes were hollow, like two dry wells. They watched the convoy go by, then lowered their heads again.

A small number still carried a hint of hope in their eyes. Supporting themselves as they rose, they shuffled a few steps toward the convoy, yet did not dare come too close.

Others did not even have the strength to look over. They lay crookedly beside their shanties without moving, and it was impossible to tell whether they were asleep or unconscious.

Chen Chong saw an old woman holding an infant in her arms. The baby's lips were purple, and it did not move.

The old woman dabbed a stiff, dry piece of cloth with her own saliva and smeared it into the infant's mouth.

Beside her, a child of five or six squatted on the ground, gnawing at a piece of tree bark, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the grain sacks atop the carriages.

A surge of emotion churned inside Chen Chong. It struck him even harder than seeing the Rat Demon devour its companion at the gathering point. That time had been bloody, sudden violence.

But everything before him was slow and silent, suffocation creeping in like rising water.

Instinctively, he looked toward Li Zhaoning.

Li Zhaoning's expression did not change. She sat upright beside the shafts of the first carriage, looking straight ahead with her lips pressed together and her chin slightly tucked.

The convoy found an open patch of ground at the edge of the refugee area.

The clearing was small, backed against a low earthen slope where several withered willows grew. After getting down from the carriage, Li Zhaoning swept her gaze around once and immediately began issuing orders.

"Uncle Yuan, take the guards and stretch a rope around the clearing. Keep the refugees outside the rope, and let them in ten at a time." Her speech was unhurried yet clear. "Zhao Da, Qian Hu, take the servants to set up the stoves and pots, then boil water. Lu Yun, unload the grain sacks and divide the portions by headcount."

She turned to Chen Chong. "Alchemist Chen, refine pills beneath that willow on the slope. The furnace and equipment are in the fourth carriage. Refine as many as you can today. There is no need to rush, but every batch must succeed."

Chen Chong nodded and carried the equipment up the slope. He chose a level spot, set up the alchemy furnace, and took out the medicinal herbs. Illness-Repelling Essence Pills were simple, but the quantity required was great.

He carried three sacks of medicinal herbs down from the carriage—atractylodes, patchouli, mugwort leaves, angelica dahurica, and sweet flag. He took a portion of each, ground them, sifted them, and mixed them with honey.

Below the slope, the rope enclosure had already been set up. The servants placed a porridge pot over the stove, flames licking at its bottom as the scent of rice slowly spread.

Yuan Zhiwu led the guards outside the rope, maintaining order. The refugees lined up and were admitted ten at a time. They received porridge first, then medicinal pills.

Li Zhaoning stood beside the porridge pot.

She ladled the porridge herself. Bowl after bowl, each filled evenly. When she handed them to the refugees, she would say, "Careful, it's hot." When an elder's hands shook, she helped bring the bowl to their lips.

When children could not reach, she bent down to hand them their bowls. Steam from the pot rose around her, and fine beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, trickling down her cheeks. She wiped them with her sleeve and continued ladling.

Chen Chong refined pills atop the slope, occasionally raising his head for a glance.

Small bubbles rolled through the medicinal liquid in the furnace, and the heat was just right. He controlled the fire, but his gaze kept drifting down the slope.

The cuffs of Li Zhaoning's moon-white robe were already stained with porridge. Her hair bun had loosened somewhat, and a stray lock clung to her temple. Still, she kept ladling porridge.

An old farmer received his porridge and medicine, then tottered up to Li Zhaoning. His mouth opened and closed before he finally managed to speak. "Li... Miss Li... for saving my life, this old man... this old man will kowtow to you." As he spoke, he tried to kneel.

Li Zhaoning caught him at once, her voice quiet but clear. "There is no need, sir. Go back and take the medicine on time. Once your health improves, that will be better than anything."

The old farmer wiped away tears and left. A young woman behind him held a child in her arms. After receiving the pills, she asked softly, "Miss, can this medicine... really prevent illness? My husband has been coughing for several days..."

Li Zhaoning glanced at the child in her arms and took out a small porcelain bottle from her sleeve. "These are Essence-Nourishing Pills. Keep them for the child. The Illness-Repelling Essence Pills prevent sickness; have your husband take them on time when you return. If he is still coughing, go to Jichuntang Hall and ask for Steward Yuan. Give him my name."

The woman froze for a moment. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her lips trembled for a long while. In the end, she merely bowed deeply.

Chen Chong withdrew his gaze and looked down at the furnace. The medicinal liquid had already thickened into a paste. After being sealed for another incense stick's time, it could be made into pills. He adjusted the fire and heard voices rise from below again—

"Miss, you came in person..."

"You have such a kind heart. With you in Dingshan County, we are truly blessed..."

"Miss, my boy wants to thank you..."

Li Zhaoning's voice remained steady. "It is only my duty. Go back and rest well."

Chen Chong lifted the furnace lid, and medicinal fragrance spilled forth. He poured the pills into a porcelain tray: six of them, round and full. He counted them. In one morning, he had refined four batches and produced more than twenty pills. Enough for one group of people.

Carrying the porcelain tray, he walked down the slope and came to Li Zhaoning's side. "Miss, the first batch of pills is ready."

Li Zhaoning accepted the tray, lowered her eyes to inspect the pills, and nodded slightly.

The sweat on her forehead had not yet dried. A stray lock clung to her cheek, while the cuffs and hem of her moon-white robe were marked with mud spots and porridge stains. Yet her eyes remained bright.

"Thank you for your efforts, Alchemist Chen." She handed the pills to a maidservant to package, then turned back to the porridge pot herself. "Continue."

The porridge in the pot was nearly gone. The servants added water and poured in another sack of rice. Flames licked the bottom of the pot once more, and the fragrance of porridge spread again.

Chen Chong returned to the slope and lit the fire anew.

A crack opened in the overcast clouds, and a beam of pale golden light spilled through, slanting across the low earthen slope and those withered willows.