Within the secluded forest of Red Cloud Mountain's tail peak, there were several disorderly camps. Food was clearly scarce, but smoke wafted from cooking fires in different directions.
"Is it stewed yet?" A man asked the woman standing right in front of the pot.
"It's about done. I'll bring it over to you now," the middle-aged woman replied, eyeing the meat soup in the pot carefully and swallowing nervously.
The man watched as the frail woman ladled the soup out of the pot; her hand holding the bowl was all skin and bones.
"You eat first," said the woman, placing the bowl of soup before him.
Saying nothing, the man took a gulp directly from the bowl. He then put down the bowl, picked up a piece of meat, and shoved it into his mouth as the woman watched him.
In a short while, half of the meat soup was gone.
The wife swallowed hard. Then she, too, picked up her chopsticks.
All the meat soup was finished. The meat was gone too. All that was left was a pile of broken bones.
