Chu Qingzhi didn't find the herbs she was looking for, but she stumbled upon a refugee village.
The village, filled with bundles of dry straw and surrounded by barren land, seemed like a place worth checking out, perhaps as a stroke of luck.
Originally called Shuixiu Village, it was known for its scenic beauty and prosperity, with many villagers living in blue-brick and tile houses. Now, it could more aptly be called Ruin Village.
The earth was cracked open, the fields were abandoned, and the fissures in the land resembled wrinkles on an old man's face, speaking to the desolation and lifelessness of the area.
The blue-brick houses still stood, but with broken roofs, peeling walls, cracked doors, and messy courtyards—all echoing decay and desolation.
The villagers' hair was unkempt, their clothes tattered, and their skin rough and aged. Young as they were, they looked like old people.
