Chapter 76: The Refugee Map

After sending off Third Master Zhuang, Zhang Yingchen returned to his study. He sat in the empty study for a long time, listening to the sound of the Daoist students chanting scriptures in the main hall in front. He called for Mingqing.

“Go to the main hall in front and tell the junior brothers to stop their homework for today. They should all come inside first. I have something to tell them.”

“Yes, Master,” Mingqing bowed and went out.

In a short while, his dozens of disciples came in. These were all carefully selected from the refugees. They had a certain level of education and high comprehension. They stayed by his side to be taught and were all the core seeds of the future new Taoism.

After the disciples had all paid their respects, he swept his gaze over them. There were big and small, the older ones were fifteen or sixteen, and the younger ones were only eight or nine. They were all handsome and had clear bones. He hadn’t been able to pick such good seedlings in Lingao for several years. Seeing that they all looked at him with reverence as if he were a god, Zhang Yingchen coughed lightly and began to speak.

A large group of refugees was advancing on the land of Yizhou.

It was the first month of the lunar year. In the past, the farmers who had just finished the New Year would still be resting at home, preparing their farm tools for the upcoming spring planting. But now, they were trekking on the icy and snowy wasteland.

The land that had been flooded in the spring and summer no longer existed as fields. The flood had destroyed the ridges and washed away the crops, leaving only yellow sand all over the mountains and plains. At this moment, the heavy snow had covered the sand, leaving only a desolate and dead wasteland.

The trees had long been stripped of their bark and had all withered. There was not a single bit of green. The snow-covered road was trampled with mud. Groups of people, driven out of their hometowns by the famine, were trekking on this cold and muddy road, carrying backpacks, shoulder poles, pushing carts, and leaning on sticks… They were all sallow and emaciated, with tattered clothes. Their expressionless faces and listless eyes seemed to have a thousand sorrows and endless grief, but they had nowhere to complain. Corpses were scattered on the roadside. Regardless of whether the fallen person was still breathing, if no one took care of them, their clothes would be immediately stripped off by the passers-by, leaving only a skinny and naked corpse for the wild dogs to tear at.

The dogs that had been lucky enough to escape the mouths of the hungry people had become ferocious in the year of famine because they had eaten too much human flesh. They followed the refugee crowds in packs, fighting for the corpses on the road. The old, the young, and the weak, once they were alone, would be pounced on and torn apart and eaten by the dog packs.

There was no smoke from the chimneys in the villages along the way. The half-collapsed houses had black holes without doors and windows. In the distance, in the chaotic graveyards under the broken steles and withered trees, there were a few more piles of fresh yellow earth. Blue smoke rose, and paper money fluttered… A series of desolate and desperate cries drifted from afar with the wind.

Bai Puting, leaning on a crutch, struggled to trudge through the mud. His family had always been a middle-class farmer, with more than twenty mu of land and a few large livestock. Their life was quite good. So he had an official “official name” and had studied in a private school for a few years when he was a child. He was not an “illiterate.” In good years, he would lend out the surplus grain at high interest rates, and he was considered a person of some standing in the village.

However, in recent years, the court’s additional taxes had become more and more severe, and there had been a continuous stream of floods, droughts, and locust plagues. Bai Puting struggled hard to barely keep his small piece of land and make a living, hoping to survive—his hope was shattered in this great flood.

The flood destroyed the crops, drowned the livestock, and also destroyed the land that his family had worked so hard to preserve, even at the cost of severing family ties—the old master of the Bai family had committed suicide after he fell ill in order to prevent his family from selling the land to treat him—it was also destroyed.

The whole family was finally forced to embark on the road of escape. Hearing that the situation in Yizhou was still good and there was a way to live, he took his family and went south. The refugees along the way gathered, and gradually they became a surging stream of people.

His wife, with her head and face covered, sat on a wheelbarrow pushed by her eldest son. One hand held her daughter who was sitting on the other side, and the other hand held the coarse hemp rope of the luggage roll, which was tied with some tattered clothes and quilts on the wheelbarrow. Looking at the tragic scene on the road, she kept shedding tears. She had lived for more than forty years and had never been more than twenty li away from home. Now she had left her home and gone far away. She really didn’t know what was waiting for her family at the end of this road.

Compared to most of the people in this refugee crowd, the Bai family was much better off. They had cotton clothes and a little dry food. There were also a few young and strong men in the family who could protect themselves. So they had only lost two people on the way here: Bai Puting’s youngest son and his old mother. The grandson and grandmother were at least not exposed in the wilderness, but were buried in a piece of wasteland.

She thought of her youngest son who had died from the bumps on the road, and then thought of her parents’ relatives whose situation was unknown. Her heart was like being cut by a knife, but she did not dare to cry out loud. She just shed tears silently and recited the “scriptures” taught to her by the “Taoist priest” in the crowd. It was said that as long as she recited them repeatedly, her deceased relatives could escape from reincarnation and enter the paradise, the disaster would end soon, and her family could return to their hometown…

All along the way, everyone was saying that there was a demon Taoist in Yizhou. As long as they killed the demon Taoist, they could eliminate the flood and let the deceased be reborn. The key was that this demon Taoist had hoarded a large amount of grain, enough for everyone to eat their fill.

At first, this was just a rumor among the refugees. Gradually, many people in monk’s robes but without shaved heads mixed in on the road. They constantly advocated going to Yizhou to “eliminate the demons and defend the Dao.” They muttered scriptures that everyone could not understand along the way, and also held up various long banners with scriptures written on them.

Conch shells, drums, and horns were played all the way, making a mournful sound, mixed with endless scriptures, which created an inexplicable fanaticism among the refugees who were already in despair. More and more refugees participated in this crazy chanting, although they only knew how to recite one sentence over and over again.

Xiao Chuba recited the scriptures loudly and forced himself to walk forward. He was a young man in his twenties, but he looked as old as a man in his forties or fifties. Hunger had taken away his youth and made him a member of this stumbling refugee army.

He had no feelings about leaving his hometown. More than twenty years had passed since he was born. He didn’t even know his exact age. His hometown had never given him any benefits. He had never had a meal of clean grain, and he had never worn a piece of clothing that did not expose his skin. There was endless hard work and endless bullying. His parents had died silently before he reached adulthood, leaving him all alone.

“I’m going to die…” Xiao Chuba only felt a burning sensation in his stomach. The little bit of ground bark and bran dregs he had eaten the day before yesterday was long gone. He only felt dizzy and his legs were as heavy as lead. Several times he couldn’t help but want to sit down on the roadside, but he knew he couldn’t. Many people, like him, wanted to sit on the roadside to catch their breath, but as soon as they leaned over, they could never get up again.

The sound of the scriptures became smaller and farther away in his ears. The “Taoist priests” said that as long as you recite them repeatedly, you can enter the paradise after you die, and you can also see your parents. It’s just that I can’t remember their faces clearly anymore. Can I still recognize them then? It should be possible, right? My parents always remember what he looks like. —Thinking of this, tears overflowed from his deeply sunken eye sockets, washing out black furrows on the dirt on his face.

Maybe it’s better to die? However, a spasm in his stomach made him sober up again. He rubbed his eyes hard and began to recite loudly. No matter what, he had to eat his fill before he died. Kill the demon Taoist and have a full meal!

A burst of false fire stimulated his vitality again. He recited the “scriptures” that he didn’t understand and continued to walk forward.

At this time, a commotion suddenly broke out. Someone was shouting, “The Holy Maiden is giving out blessings! The Holy Maiden is giving out blessings!”

Three times a day, the Namo Liang Jiao believers mixed in the refugee crowd would distribute some coarse grain steamed buns in the name of the Holy Maiden giving out blessings. The quantity was not large, just to gather the refugees.

A burst of music from drums, flutes, and xiao, accompanied by the thunderous sound of scriptures, came from afar. Sixteen big men in colorful clothes, half-naked, carried a shoulder palanquin. On it stood a woman in red and green. In Xiao Chuba’s eyes, she was like a fairy. Above her was a red silk canopy, and she was surrounded by many young girls in colorful clothes, holding flower baskets.

Many believers surrounded her, reciting scriptures loudly. Wherever they passed, the refugees swarmed up like a tide, reciting incantations loudly, raising their withered arms high, praying that the “blessings” scattered could fall into their hands.

Coarse grain steamed buns were constantly scattered from the palanquin. Every time a batch fell, the crowd would have a violent fluctuation. Pushing, shoving, screaming, shouting, crying… Those who were weak were pushed to the ground and trampled to death.

Xiao Chuba didn’t know where he got the strength. He rushed towards the palanquin crazily, shouting incantations, pushing through the crowd in front, and squeezed towards the palanquin, shouting and raising his hands, hoping to get a steamed bun. It was thanks to a steamed bun he had received a few days ago that he had barely survived until now.

However, he was not lucky today. By the time he squeezed to the front, the palanquin had already passed. Xiao Chuba was burning with hunger. He saw a woman beside him hurriedly hiding a steamed bun in her bosom. He took a step forward, grabbed the woman’s arm, and tried to snatch it.

How could the woman let go? She tore at it desperately, but she was no match for Xiao Chuba’s strength. Seeing that the steamed bun was about to be snatched away, she suddenly opened her mouth and bit down hard on Xiao Chuba’s finger.

This bite immediately made Xiao Chuba’s heart ache. However, he could not get rid of it at all. Xiao Chuba kicked the woman’s chest hard. The woman screamed, fell to the ground, and was immediately trampled underfoot, letting out a few miserable cries before she stopped moving. Xiao Chuba’s finger was in great pain. When he looked at his finger again, a section was already missing. The fresh blood had dyed the steamed bun red.