Chapter 1

"In the summer of the first year of Chongzhen, the region around the capital suffered from drought, with the land scorched for a thousand miles." —— *Ming History: Five Elements*

...

Life was hard for the common people this year.

Since the end of the Wanli era, in less than twenty years, floods, droughts, and locust plagues had occurred frequently, leaving the common people in dire straits.

Even the capital, known for its prosperity, could not escape this fate.

In the first year of Tianqi, the new emperor ascended the throne, and locusts swarmed the capital region.

In the first year of Chongzhen, the new emperor ascended the throne, and the capital region was scorched for a thousand miles.

In the cracked and barren fields, a group of starving people wandered aimlessly, their lifeless appearance resembling walking corpses.

The crops had long withered, the wild grass could not survive, and the tree bark had been stripped clean. To eat a clod of earth, one had to struggle to find water to swallow it.

Zhao Shilang, with his entire family, moved forward in the refugee column, staggering along in a daze.

Last year, his elderly mother died of illness.

This year, his eldest son died of hunger and illness.

A few days ago, the family, blessed by heaven, found a large patch of foxtail grass by the river.

They cooked the grass seeds into porridge, rationing it carefully, and it lasted for two days.

The whole family doted on their second son, Zhao Han, who ate the most of the grass seed porridge. This turned out to be a disaster, as Zhao Han had not defecated for several days. The grass seeds had hardened in his stomach, and he was on the verge of death.

In the evening, the family camped in the wilderness.

Zhao Shilang and his eldest daughter, Zhao Zhenlan, went to collect dry grass and branches to start a fire. His wife, Zhao Chen, and their second daughter, Zhao Zhenfang, continued to help their son, Zhao Han, defecate.

"Han, use more strength!" Zhao Chen held a branch and carefully prodded her son's anus.

Zhao Han, squatting on the ground with his pants off, grabbed the dry grass and strained with all his might, crying, "Mother, I can't push it out."

"It's almost there, almost there." Zhao Chen, tears in her eyes, saw that her son's anus was bleeding.

After a while, Zhao Han let out a cry of pain and fainted on the spot.

Zhao Chen exclaimed joyfully, "It's out, it's out!"

The family had no food left and could only boil some half-dead grass roots and drink the hot water to stave off hunger.

Even the grass roots were hard to find, and the family members were all swollen from malnutrition.

Their situation was still considered better, as they were only swollen. Some of the starving people, having been hungry for too long, had not only lost all their fat but also their muscle, looking like dried corpses.

As night fell, the stars shone brightly.

Zhao Shilang, dressed in tattered hemp clothes, looked up at the sky and muttered, "The great Ming, the mountains and rivers have lost their color, demons are rampant, and the country is in peril. What can we, the scholars, do? What can we do?"

Zhao Shilang was indeed a scholar, and his family had been scholars for generations, as the Zhao family's household registration was under the scholar category (a branch of the civilian category, similar to the merchant category).

More than ten years ago, the Zhao family was still well-off.

But he spent a lot on the imperial examinations, and the family's fortune had long since declined. In recent years, natural disasters had struck one after another. Last year, his mother fell seriously ill, and he had to borrow high-interest loans to treat her. In the end, she died, and the debt could not be repaid, so he had to sell the land to pay off the debt.

At first, he could still borrow money from relatives and friends, but over time, who could bear it? In the eyes of his relatives and friends, Zhao Shilang was like a plague, and they all avoided him.

The next day, the refugee column arrived in Tianjin, looking across the canal at the city walls.

By the river, officials had set up a soup kitchen to help the people, and Zhao Shilang's family was in line waiting for soup.

However, after serving only a few hundred people, a minor official shouted, "The soup is finished for today. Come back tomorrow."

The area around the soup kitchen immediately erupted in cries, and some starving people tried to argue, but were beaten to near death by the officials.

In the North China region, tens of thousands of starving people had gathered in Beijing and Tongzhou.

Even if the court wanted to provide relief, it would not reach Tianjin. The daily soup distribution was just for show, and the limited disaster relief funds had already been embezzled.

Suddenly, a group of people on fine horses arrived, and the leader shouted, "My master is looking for adopted daughters, aged twelve to sixteen, with good looks, worth half a dou of rice!"

Starving people with daughters rushed forward to inquire and then had their daughters wash their faces in the shallow canal.

Zhao Zhenlan, who was fourteen, said to her parents, "Father, Mother, sell me. If we save the rice, it will last for many days."

Zhao Shilang and Zhao Chen remained silent, their heads bowed.

Zhao Zhenlan forced a smile, "We're going to die anyway. If I'm sold to a wealthy family, even as a maid, I can survive."

Zhao Chen sighed, "Lan, these are not wealthy families, but human traffickers."

Zhao Shilang gritted his teeth, "Our family has always been upright. Even if we all starve to death..."

"Father, the eldest brother is already gone, and the second brother cannot die. The Zhao family needs him to carry on the lineage," Zhao Zhenlan pleaded, "Father, Mother, please give me a chance to live. I don't want to starve to death."

Zhao Shilang turned to look at Zhao Han, who was unconscious and running a high fever. If he didn't eat soon, he would surely die.

After a long silence, Zhao Shilang turned to look at the horizon, closed his eyes, and tears streamed down his face. He waved his hand, "Go."

Zhao Chen, tears in her eyes, held her daughter's hand and said, "Lan, let me help you wash up."

Their six-year-old daughter, Zhao Zhenfang, watched silently, seemingly understanding everything, yet seemingly understanding nothing.

The North Canal was so dry that boats could no longer sail. The mother and daughter carefully entered the river, and the water washed Zhao Zhenlan's face, making her look fresh and lovely, though her cheeks were slightly sunken from hunger.

Suddenly, the trafficker shouted, "No more, no more, the adopted daughters are already enough."

Zhao Chen let out a deep breath, relieved that she didn't have to sell her daughter, but then immediately fell into sorrow and distress, thinking about the family's lack of food.

Zhao Zhenlan stepped forward and said to the trafficker, "I can read and write."

The trafficker turned around and observed Zhao Zhenlan for a moment, nodding, "She's a beauty in the making."

Zhao Zhenlan added, "My father is a scholar, and my ancestors held official positions."

"From a scholarly family." The trafficker became pleased.

Zhao Zhenlan said, "I'm worth three dou of rice."

"Heh, three dou? In these times, even the daughters of officials are worth at most one dou." The trafficker threw two small bags of rice, each about five to six pounds.

Zhao Zhenlan did not haggle further. She untied the bags, revealing the old, yellowish rice, and forced a smile, saying to her mother, "Mother, I'm leaving. Take care of yourself and Father."

"Lan, take care of yourself." Zhao Chen wiped her tears.

The traffickers took the girl away, and Zhao Chen dragged the two bags of rice to her husband.

Six-year-old Zhao Zhenfang, realizing what had happened, cried out, "Sister, sister, I want my sister!"

Zhao Chen, with a sad expression, comforted her, "Fang, don't cry. Your sister is going to live a good life. She's going to live a good life."

"I want my sister, I want my sister!" Zhao Zhenfang continued to cry.

Zhao Shilang looked at the two bags of rice on the ground and at his crying daughter, feeling a deep sorrow. He squatted down and wept.

Suddenly, Zhao Chen pulled out a rusty kitchen knife and, like a protective mother hen, fiercely shouted, "What do you want? Get lost, get lost!"

A group of starving people, eyeing the two bags of rice, were closing in.

Other starving people who had sold their daughters for rice, if not protected by their families or clans, were also surrounded by nearby starving people. When people are truly hungry, they will eat anything, let alone just kill for rice.

Zhao Shilang, unable to grieve, picked up his walking stick and tried to protect the family's lifeline.

"Clatter, clatter, clatter..."

The sound of hooves approached, and the riders were all armed.

More than twenty thousand starving people stood dumbfounded as the horsemen quickly arrived. One of them frowned and asked, "Wasn't it said that soup would be distributed today?"

No one answered.

He dismounted and grabbed a starving person, asking, "Where is the soup distribution?"

The starving person, terrified, replied, "It's already finished."

"Damn it, it's not even noon yet. How could it be finished? Trying to fool me!" He was furious.

Another rider said, "Brother, we can't come here for nothing. Let's see if there's anything left on these poor people."

These were bandits who, upon hearing that soup would be distributed outside Tianjin, immediately rode to rob the food.

They didn't dare to enter Tianjin, but they had the nerve to rob outside the city, as the troops stationed in Tianjin were weak.

"What's that smell?"

"Someone is cooking soup over there!"

Several bandits rushed over and took the rice the starving people had obtained by selling their daughters. The starving people tried to resist but were cut down by the bandits' swords.

Another bandit shouted, "Who else has food? Hand it over!"

"Run!"

Seeing the bloodshed, the nearby starving people panicked and fled.

Those farther away, not knowing what was happening, followed the crowd. In no time, fear spread, and more than twenty thousand starving people fled in a frenzy.

The bandits targeted those carrying bags, regardless of what was inside, and robbed them first.

Zhao Shilang, carrying his unconscious and feverish son, took one bag of rice himself and gave the other to his wife, protecting his daughter as they fled in panic.

"Ah!"

Behind them, Zhao Chen's scream of pain echoed, and Zhao Shilang quickly turned to look.

He saw Zhao Chen fall to the ground, stabbed, and the rice was taken by the bandits. His eyes turned red, and he put down his son, shouting, "Evil bandits, I'll fight to the death!"

Zhao Chen, in pain, shouted, "Master, don't worry about me, run, run!"

Two legs could not outrun four, and Zhao Shilang knew he could not escape. He picked up his stick and charged back, "Evil bandits, give me your lives!"

The bandit sneered and kicked Zhao Shilang to the ground.

Zhao Shilang struggled to get up, and the bandit slashed him with a sword, then struck him a few more times in anger. Zhao Shilang fell in a pool of blood, no longer moving.

"Father, Father!"

Zhao Zhenfang rushed over, shaking her father's body.

"Shut up." The bandit raised his sword to strike.

Another bandit stopped him, "Old Seven, that's enough. Do you want to kill a little girl? We need to focus on robbing."

The bandit put away his sword, took the two bags of rice, tied them to his horse, and continued to rob and kill.

In a moment, more than twenty thousand starving people had fled, leaving behind hundreds of bodies.

Some were killed by the bandits, more died from being trampled, and some, too weak to run, lay on the ground waiting to die.

North of Tianjin, there was a temporary wooden bridge.

The soldiers guarding the bridge watched everything but did not come to help.

Not only that, they raised their swords and killed any starving person who tried to cross the bridge. Whether the starving people or the bandits, they were all a threat to Tianjin!

Zhao Zhenfang's voice was hoarse from crying, but her parents still did not respond. She knew that her parents were sleeping, just like her eldest brother, who had fallen asleep a month ago and never woke up.

The little girl was hungry and stood there in a daze.

After a long time, Zhao Zhenfang walked toward the nearby bodies. There was still a fire, and a broken pot with some porridge, and some rice scattered on the ground.

She carefully scooped the rice, stained with blood, into the pot. Mimicking her mother, she collected water from several pots, knelt down, and waited for the porridge to cook.

Not knowing if it was cooked, Zhao Zhenfang could not wait any longer. She wiped away her tears, sobbed, and used her hands to take the pot out of the fire.

"Ah!"

The little girl's hands were burned with blisters, but she did not drop the pot. Instead, she carefully placed it on the ground.

Then, she stood there, turned to look at her parents, and remained there until the porridge cooled.

Suddenly, Zhao Zhenfang picked up the pot, went to her parents, and shook her father's body, saying, "Father, don't sleep. Get up and drink the porridge. After drinking the porridge, you won't be hungry."

Her father did not respond.

She then went to shake her mother's body, "Mother, drink the porridge. After drinking the porridge, you won't be hungry. Mother, get up and drink the porridge... sniff, sniff, wail, wail..."

A wave of immense fear washed over her, and the little girl began to cry uncontrollably.

Gradually, she cried until she was exhausted and had no strength left.

"Water, water, I'm so thirsty..."

The little girl turned her head and saw that Zhao Han was speaking with difficulty. She wiped away her tears and ran over, "Second brother, second brother, get up and drink the porridge!"