Chapter Twenty-Six: Refugees (Part Two)

Faced with the scene before her eyes, Liu Qin was utterly overwhelmed by shock. She had never imagined that, in the face of a true natural disaster, her previous notions would seem so laughable. In her past life, she had only ever seen disaster-stricken scenes on television—earthquakes, floods, hurricanes. The camera would capture isolated points, never the full magnitude—just as a film could never truly depict the chaos of tens of thousands of soldiers. What one saw on television could never compare to the impact of witnessing it firsthand.

Now, truly confronted by thousands upon thousands of refugees, the sight of each ragged figure, every exhausted, dirty face, and those similarly vacant, lifeless eyes—all of it spoke to their numb despair. They had lost their homes, their possessions, even their loved ones. What remained to them, apart from their bodies battered by endless hardship? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. For them, there was little sense in railing bitterly against the partiality of heaven or the injustice of fate; that was less real than the thin bowl of gruel before them, clear enough to reflect their own shadows. If it could momentarily comfort an empty belly, if it could keep them from starving, that was fortune enough.

Liu Qin lifted her head. On Jiang Li’s face beside her, she saw the same shock and distress. She also felt Jiang Li grip her hand tightly, drawing her slightly behind him in a protective gesture.

Changsheng and Changxing flanked the three of them, one ahead and one behind. Changsheng, always well-informed, spoke in low tones as they walked, summarizing what he knew. At present, there were three main refugee shelters in Wucheng. In the south city, all the once-bustling marketplaces had been closed and turned into temporary refuges. In the north city’s slums, new shelters had been constructed. Yet those within the city were but a small fraction—just the earliest arrivals. The true masses were outside the south gate: tens of thousands, perhaps more than a hundred thousand. The authorities had stationed a great number of soldiers at the gate to maintain order, building makeshift huts for the refugees and setting up dozens of gruel kitchens and medicine stands.

How long such arrangements could last, no one knew. Liu Qin understood her father could only do his utmost to comfort the disaster victims and keep the death toll down. True improvement would require the strength of the entire nation, the intervention of the court, and real material aid.

Now, they stood on a street in the southern part of the city, surrounded by refugees sprawled on the ground. Some looked up at them with dull eyes, but most did not even bother. Nothing but food and drink could stir the slightest interest.

Jiang Li leaned down and whispered in Liu Qin’s ear, “Sister, let’s go back.” The chaos and confusion before them was beyond anything they had imagined. Not far away, a disturbance erupted in front of one of the gruel kitchens—a dozen people brawling for half a bowl of thin porridge. The onlookers watched in numb silence, no one attempting to intervene, until a squad of soldiers rushed over to break up the fight.

Though the commotion hadn’t reached them, Jiang Li sensed danger. They were only five—two children, two youths, and a maid—hardly equipped to escape if things went awry. Yet Liu Qin made no move to leave. She was staring, transfixed, at something ahead. Following her gaze, Jiang Li saw a boy of six or seven standing beneath the eaves to their left.

The boy stood huddled in his tattered clothes, barely enough to cover his body. He wore no shoes, his feet wrapped in two filthy rags torn from some old garment, the original color lost to grime. His face was smeared with dirt, black and gray patches mottling his features, except for two stark white streaks under his nose—twin trails of snot that dangled long to his mouth and were sucked back with a sharp inhale. He too was looking in their direction, his dark eyes clouded as if veiled in ash. From that haze, there was no sorrow or grief—only utter bewilderment.

At any other time, Liu Qin would have felt disgust at such a dirty child; she could never stand runny-nosed kids. But now, all she felt was heartbreak. A fierce ache surged from her chest to her eyes, and her vision blurred with sudden tears.

“Granny, wake up, wake up, Granny!” A girl’s anxious, tearful voice came from beside the boy. He started, then spun around to look behind him, before bursting into sobs himself. “Sister, Granny, wuuu…”

The people nearby seemed utterly indifferent, not even glancing over. Liu Qin pulled Jiang Li and hurried over; Changsheng and the others quickly followed.

In the corner by the wall lay an old woman. Her white hair was in wild disarray, her wrinkled face tightly shut, cheekbones jutting high, lips ashen, hands limp at her sides like chicken claws. Beside her, a girl was collapsed over her chest, weeping and calling out, her tangled hair spilling down to hide most of her face. Only her thin, trembling shoulders could be seen.

Liu Qin and Jiang Li stood behind them. Having faced life and death herself, Liu Qin thought she would be calm, if not serene, in the presence of death. But now, she found herself unable to suppress the sorrow; tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks.

Jiang Li pressed his lips together, saying nothing. He turned and wrapped Liu Qin tightly in his arms, gently wiping away her tears.

The others looked equally stricken. Cuiyu choked back sobs. Of them all, Changxing was the most steady and reliable, and he reacted the quickest. He stepped forward, knelt by the old woman, and checked her breathing. “She’s alive! She’s still breathing!” he called out, relieved.

The girl shuddered violently at his words, then jerked her head up to look at the old woman. Changxing was too busy to pay her any mind, signaling Changsheng to help. Changsheng quickly stepped up to lift the old woman, letting her lean against Changxing’s back. As Changxing hoisted her up, he cautioned Changsheng, “Watch over the young master.” Only after seeing Changsheng nod did he turn to ask the girl, “Where’s the nearest medical tent?”

The girl snapped back to herself and pointed to the right. Changxing hurried off in that direction with the old woman on his back, the girl following, calling out for her little brother as she ran, “Come on, little one!”

The boy wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing away tears and snot, and quickly ran after his sister, calling out in reply. Liu Qin peeked out from Jiang Li’s embrace, giving him an embarrassed smile. Hand in hand, with Changsheng and Cuiyu guarding them, they followed along.

The medical tent was not far, just around the corner, though a long line had already formed outside. Changxing ignored the queue, heading straight to the front and setting the old woman down before turning and apologizing to those waiting. “I’m sorry, the old woman is in critical condition—could the doctor see her first?”

The people in line looked at him in silence, but an exhausted-looking soldier at the side called out toward the tent, “Doctor Li, please come check this old woman first!”

A middle-aged man appeared at the call, said not a word, and gestured for Changxing to bring the old woman inside to a simple cot. He lifted the old woman’s eyelids, checked her pulse, and without writing a prescription, instructed the apprentice to ladle a bowl of medicine from a large jar by the tent and feed it to her. Then he turned to Changxing and the girl, saying, “She has caught a chill, is weak, and fainted from hunger. Come fetch three bowls of medicine daily for the next five days. If there’s no improvement, I’ll have no way to help her further.”