Chapter 113: 113, Psychologically balanced (Seventh update)

A thousand-strong column marched forward, most with hollow bellies pressed against their backs, especially in this early winter, where those without food felt the cold more keenly.

The wild vegetables had withered with the season, even the resilient shepherd’s purse beginning to fade.

The refugees scoured the roadsides for anything edible—plants, bark, roots—

At first, the wall-dwellers clung to their pride, but hunger stripped away all dignity.

Yet Ren Xiaosu and his companions felt no such burden; they had always subsisted on such fare.

Raw wild greens were bitter, leaving a lingering sourness in the mouth, and some retched immediately, unable to endure the taste.

Others fared worse, spewing white foam and collapsing after consuming something unspeakable.

No one paused for the fallen; they passed by with vacant indifference, trudging on like a horde of walking corpses.

Only Ren Xiaosu halted, studying the stricken man as he spoke to Yan Liuyuan: "This is the symptom of white-headed elderberry—or what we call wild celery or poisonous ginseng. Its leaves resemble celery’s, and a single bite brings nausea, vomiting, cold limbs, paralysis. In severe cases, death."

Jiang Wu, trailing silently, committed his words to memory, warning the students never to pluck plants with celery-like leaves—only to be met with blank stares. What did celery leaves look like?

These students, born within the walls, had never needed to know; their parents provided all necessities.

After the refugees passed, the roads lay ravaged as if locusts had swept through.

It was then Ren Xiaosu spotted a lone off-road vehicle ahead—wasn’t this Luolan’s? Why was it abandoned here?

They approached to find its frame snapped clean, beyond repair.

The wilderness’s rutted paths had finally bested even the sturdiest vehicle.

Luolan likely never foresaw such misfortune, forced to abandon the car entirely.

The refugees ransacked the vehicle frantically, but it was spotless—even the seat covers had been stripped.

Worse, portable parts were gone too. Ren Xiaosu guessed they’d been taken as spares, but this car was now scrap.

He mused that Luolan must be racing to Wall 109. By now, they should have arrived.

That day, many refugees debated whether they could enter the walls at all. Some argued Wall 109 had no right to bar them—they were its rightful inhabitants!

Though the walls had fractured into rival factions, each controlled by powerful clans, officially they remained a united front.

Others feared they’d be turned away; their former home, Wall 113, fell under the Qing Clan, while Wall 109 was ruled by the Li Clan. If the Li Clan refused them, they had no recourse.

Ren Xiaosu reasoned that figures like Luolan never worried about entry—they’d smooth the way. But for others, hope hung by a thread.

They pressed on, only to find another military transport truck abandoned by the roadside.

Another breakdown? Approaching, they discovered it had blown a tire.

Surely there were spare tires? Ren Xiaosu wondered.

When the truck had passed earlier, he’d glimpsed its bed packed with soldiers—grossly overloaded.

If more vehicles failed, Luolan might never reach Wall 109.

Yet the refugees rejoiced at the wrecks. When Luolan’s convoy had sped past, they’d seethed at their privilege—why walk while others rode?

Now, justice felt restored.

That night, they camped beside the truck, though “camp” was a misnomer—a horde huddled on the wilderness floor.

The ground was icy, its chill seeping into bones.

Many longed to kindle a fire, but none had flint or tinder.

After settling Yan Liuyuan’s group, Ren Xiaosu ventured to gather firewood.

The weather grew colder; the wood had to burn all night, lest they fall ill.

Though Wang Fugui had medicine, who wished to sicken themselves?

Dry kindling was plentiful this season.

Returning with an armful, Ren Xiaosu found Jiang Wu crouched nearby, drilling wood for fire.

The teacher had organized students to collect wood, now attempting to spark flames by hand.

Ren Xiaosu shook his head inwardly—this woman’s soft hands had never labored.

Even a seasoned hand would blister trying to drill wood bare.

Jiang Wu knelt stubbornly, undeterred, until a male student offered: "Let me try?"

She waved him off: "You’re students—no need for such drudgery. Rest."

She glanced toward Ren Xiaosu, hoping to learn his method.

Instead, she watched him produce a matchbox.

How was he so prepared? Jiang Wu clenched her jaw.

They were all refugees, yet Ren Xiaosu’s lot seemed far easier.

When Ren Xiaosu’s first bonfire blazed, it bathed the camp in warmth, softening even the moon’s pale light.

Not all fires were his; some smokers had matches too.

But women seeking their sparks were met with lecherous demands—fresh from fleeing, who would trade themselves for fire?

Jiang Wu hesitated long before approaching Ren Xiaosu.

Xiao Yu Jie and others paused mid-conversation, eyeing her.

"Could I…?" she ventured, weighing her words. "Could I borrow some fire? I can trade our firewood."

"Of course," Xiao Yu Jie smiled. "No need—we have enough."

"Thank you," Jiang Wu’s voice trembled with relief. "Really, thank you!"

She returned with kindling, igniting it at Ren Xiaosu’s flames.

The students gathered round, eyes bright as hungry chicks awaiting sustenance.