Chapter 4

No matter how much I agonize, I still have to face reality.

I had crawled out from among the floating corpses on the shore, and the feeling of being drenched was extremely unpleasant. Although I had come back to life, who knows if I would fall ill if this continued.

I observed the position of the sun and the growth of the leaves; it seemed to be the transition between summer and autumn. However, in the shaded areas of the forest, it was already quite cool.

Relying on some residual memories and instincts, I managed to start a fire in the forest by the shore, awkwardly moving my limbs and barely drying my body and clothes.

Involuntarily, I recalled a moment in a humid tropical rainforest where I had barbecued a large lizard. How many secrets did this body and its memories hold?

I tied bundles of grass to my legs and waist, used strips of cloth to tie up my hair, and used leaves to protect my elbows and ankles to prevent further abrasions. I attached a small folding knife to the front of a stick, creating a makeshift weapon.

I dug out charcoal from the ashes, wrapped it, and stuffed it into my sleeve. This material, when ground into powder, could be used to start a fire, make marks, temporarily treat wounds, or even for camouflage and self-defense.

I then stuffed the extra items into a tree hollow, sealed it with mud, and marked it. Combining the direction of the tree canopy and the position of the sun in the sky, I began to move northward along the river upstream.

After carving the forty-seventh mark on a tree, I, who had spent a restless night with sore legs, finally emerged from the not-so-large forest and arrived at an unnamed dirt road. The survival experience in the mountain forest at night was not as beautiful as those modern-day hipsters with sleeping bags and tents describe when they venture deep into the mountains.

The uneven ground, omnipresent mosquitoes and ants, damp earth, and dew made for a restless and uncomfortable night, causing back pain and poor sleep. Fortunately, I had not yet shown any signs of illness like headaches or nasal congestion.

The edges of my robe, from the cuffs to the hem, had been torn and frayed into rags, but I was still somewhat pleased and hopeful to return to a civilized world.

As someone accustomed to a life of constant online social interaction and information, just one night of isolation and loneliness was enough to make me feel almost insane.

I was eager to see someone, even if it was just to exchange a few words. With this complex and bumpy mindset, I quickly finished the deserted dirt road and saw vague human figures.

Then,

Although I was mentally prepared, I was still stunned by the scene before me. The narrow dirt road was almost filled with a dense crowd of people, all emaciated, gaunt, and with sunken eyes, making me think I had stumbled into a post-apocalyptic scene like "The Walking Dead."

Or perhaps, they were no different from the walking dead. The numbing and suffocating despair in their eyes was something that the rosy, well-fed extras in domestic films could never portray.

They were all covered in dirt and dust, their skin shriveled and tight on their withered limbs, swaying in the wind, almost ready to be blown over at any moment.

Many were too weak to speak, and only when they collapsed from exhaustion and were trampled by those behind them did they emit faint groans.

I wasn't much better, with my disheveled and dirty appearance, looking like a wild man. Blending into the slowly moving crowd of ragged, disheveled people on the road, I wasn't particularly noticeable.

In my vague memories, in this era of constant warfare and human disasters, these refugees were a common sight on the roads and in towns. Back then, I was in a comfortable carriage, driven by a coachman, coldly observing everything without truly experiencing it.

They passed through fields and forests like locusts, leaving behind stripped trees and uprooted soil. Within their range, even rats and snakes hiding underground could not escape, let alone the weaker members of their own kind.

Some people vomited and collapsed on the road, never to rise again. The things they ate in their hunger only gave their stomachs a false sense of satisfaction and were often harmful. As their bodies reacted violently, the green grass, leaves, and clumps of soil mixed with the color of their insides were vomited out, and they convulsed, becoming cold and stiff.

The most common expressions were numbness and apathy. Some groups of stronger men would drag older, weaker women or those with some beauty to the side of the road, and they would never be seen again.

The bumpy dirt road turned into a rutted main road, and the rutted main road became a smoother official road. The crowds of refugees and wanderers, like countless streams merging into a river, grew larger and more crowded.

Fortunately, at least on the main road, there was no shortage of prey. So far, no one had seen me as a potential target. However, on the first night, I dared not close my eyes, leaning against a tree and keeping my spear within easy reach.

Because this was an era when wild animals still frequently roamed the roads, even on the crowded main road.

From time to time, I could see several animals, whether wolves or dogs, standing unafraid by the side of a corpse that had been torn apart, their bellies swollen, licking the remnants from their mouths, and looking at the next potential target with bloodshot eyes.

One large one, eyeing the stick in my hand, followed me for a while with ill intent before turning back, disappointed, to find a new target. This was a chaotic era where even animals could openly prey on humans.

I also witnessed some isolated individuals, exhausted after a night, becoming stripped corpses, thrown together with those who had died from weakness and hunger, never to wake up again. The darkness of night could cover too many sins and cruelties.

In the morning, I continued walking at the most energy-saving pace, comparing my surroundings to guess my location.

If I had drifted downstream, this should be south of Luoyang. I just wanted to find the next town, figure out my location and era, and plan my next move. Ideally, I would find a means of transportation to get back to Luoyang, even if it was a faint hope. I had some unresolved matters that I couldn't let go of.

The only thing I could eat was a dozen charred bird eggs, which I kept in my sleeve. I would only swallow one when I felt I couldn't hold on any longer, and then I would feel the acid churning in my stomach.

Following the flow of people, by noon, I finally reached the first village. Unfortunately, there was no order or residents as I had hoped. The coins I had planned to use to get information and food were useless.

The lingering smell of burnt and scorched things in the air revealed what had happened to this village.

All that remained were the ruins and debris of buildings destroyed by fire, and the black, crowded refugees who had taken over the area. Even the remains of the burned buildings had been stripped for firewood or to build makeshift shelters, indicating that they had been there for a long time.

They sat or lay among the ruins, and only when someone got close could you see the slight rise and fall of their chests, indicating they were still alive.

The only signs of life and sound came from a few women standing by the roadside, exposing their withered breasts and using hoarse voices to offer their bodies and beauty to passersby, asking for just a bit of food.

"Please, have mercy..."

"Poor us, have mercy..."

"Just a coin, and you can take me..."

"Eats little, can do anything... just give me some food..."

A gaunt woman pushed a half-grown child, whose gender was indistinguishable, and shouted hoarsely.

The malnourished child's skin was wrinkled like an old person's, with only large, sunken eyes filled with helpless and tragic despair and numbness.

The closer I got to them, the more the strange accents and desperate pleas assaulted my ears and challenged my modern moral values. After all, seeing pictures on a computer screen and witnessing it up close are two different things.

My steps quickened, and I fled from the scene, having seen enough on this journey.

Turning into the remaining streets of the village, I suddenly tripped over something. I heard a low moan and saw a woman lying curled on the ground with her daughter, their vacant eyes making my mouth twitch.

"Take me... just give me some food," the woman said, springing up and grabbing my trouser leg, her voice hoarse.

After I shook her off, she dragged her daughter a few steps and knelt before me.

"Or take her... anything for her... just give us some food," she said, smiling obsequiously and forcibly pulling off the rags on her child, exposing the emaciated body, and pushing her into my arms.

I stepped back several paces until I hit a wall, feeling frustrated and agitated. I pulled out a handful of roasted bird eggs and a few copper coins and shoved them into her hands, half in disgust and half in shame, and quickly turned to leave, leaving their cries behind.

I wandered through the ruins of the village, disappointed to find no residents or normal merchants. The only thing I got were some ambiguous and suspicious glances from the shadows of the ruins, which made me feel cold and hastened my departure.

From a corner of the street, I heard continuous cries and moans coming from a small circle of men.

These men were emaciated but clearly better nourished, and they fought with all their might. I instinctively avoided them but suddenly stopped.

I vaguely recognized the mother and daughter who had just tried to sell themselves to me, now being trampled underfoot. I could even hear the weak, pitiful sounds of their fragile bodies being kicked and beaten, and the thin vomit covering the ground and walls.

"Disobedient slaves..."

"Private money hoarding..."

"Stealing food..."

"Daring to break the rules..."

I felt a surge of anger and grabbed a large piece of broken tile, hurling it at the men.

With a dull thud, it hit one man in the back of the head. He screamed and fell to the ground, rolling in pain, with blood seeping through his fingers.

After all, this wasn't a thin, easily broken modern tile but a thick, kiln-fired clay tile, not much different from a solid brick.

The others, enraged like bulls, roared and charged at me. I retreated to the corner, calmly picking up my staff.

When the first man appeared around the corner, spitting and sputtering, my body, as if trained a thousand times, instinctively thrust the staff, impaling the tip into the face of the man in front. He screamed, and a piece of bloody flesh was torn off. I pulled back the staff and, taking advantage of his bent posture, stabbed another man in the shoulder, who fell to the side with a cry.

This sudden change startled the others, and they hesitated. A few stones grazed my body and hit the ground, making me break out in a cold sweat.

I released one hand, grabbed a large bag of ashes from the window, and threw it at them, blinding several of them and causing them to cough and cry.

The first man to emerge from the dust, seeing a staff coming at him, jumped up but was hit in the leg, which snapped with a crack, making him howl in pain.

Another one down, I stepped forward, using my left shoulder to ram into the stomach of another man, who was blinded by the ashes. He was thrown against the wall, and the sour smell of vomit splattered on my hair.

Seeing his white eyes and the red blood spilling from his head, I knew he was out. The last man, who had led the attack on the mother and daughter, looked at me in fear.

"..."

He opened his mouth, full of black ash and saliva, and waved his arms, trying to say something in panic.

But I, filled with rage, grabbed a stone and smashed it into his head, hearing the clear sound of his cheek and jaw breaking. Blood and broken teeth splattered, and he collapsed like a broken scarecrow, clearly dead.

In my roar, I saw the last man fleeing down the street.

Wait, there's one more.

I slowly walked around the corner, picked up a brick, and threw it at a man who was still crawling. I missed, picked up another one, hit his shoulder, and threw again until his cries faded into a large pool of blood.

After the intense physical and emotional release, I felt drained and extremely hungry and nauseous. Supporting my sore and numb legs, I picked up my staff and slowly walked to the motionless mother and daughter, sighing softly.

The woman's eyelids fluttered, and she looked at me pleadingly. I nodded and said, "She's fine."

Whether she understood or not, the woman seemed to relax and stopped moving. It was her last moment of clarity, and she didn't realize that her daughter, whom she had protected, was already blue and lifeless.

A deep sadness and agitation filled me, turning my previous anger and disgust into a sense of emptiness and melancholy.

I dragged them to a spot and covered them with debris, the last thing I could do for these strangers.

Although I had just killed several people, I felt no guilt, disgust, or revulsion. The instincts in this body seemed to have adapted to this way of survival, where one either takes the life of others or has their own life taken. All that remained was a deep sense of weariness and emptiness.

But things were not that easy to end.

Suddenly, shouts echoed through the ruins of the village, like a disturbed beehive.

"There he is..."

"Get him..."

"Kill the dog..."

"Avenger for Erzi..."

"Where's the one who killed my brother..."

Finally, a particularly loud voice.

More shouts and roars approached, not just a few but an entire gang that had been hiding in the ruins. They emerged from all corners, chasing after me, and I had to use the chaos to run and escape.

Ahead, the large crowd on the road stirred. A few mounted men and a group of armed guards pushed several large carts, driving the crowd away.

Baskets of things were lifted from the carts and thrown into the crowd, gray-black lumps that hit the ground with a hard thud. The emaciated people, who had been lifeless, suddenly came to life, snarling and fighting each other, viciously pouncing on the lumps.

The lumps, covered in dust and mud, were snatched and stuffed into mouths, or violently pulled from others' mouths, bloody and torn.

The most aggressive were singled out with the butts of spears, mostly young and strong men. I charged in without hesitation.

"Count me in..."

Using the crowd as cover, I escaped from the other end, leaving them behind. I could still faintly hear the shouts and curses in the wind.

"Want more food? Follow us..."

I ran through the open fields, the trampled fields, the hills, and the thickets. I was surprised by my endurance and the physical capabilities of this body, which far exceeded my expectations. Until...

"Enough, that's enough..."

I heard the sound of hooves behind me, and a large figure suddenly passed me.

"Huh..."

I was stunned, looking at the rider in front of me, and, still moving forward, I collided with the stinky horse's belly and was thrown back, landing on my butt, gasping for breath, and feeling my legs so sore I didn't want to get up.

I then noticed a small group of people following me, some of whom were eating the black lumps while running, glaring at others, and looking at me with complex expressions.

What's going on?

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