The further west they traveled, the colder it became. The morning and evening chill pierced to the bone, causing everyone to shiver uncontrollably.
Seeing another relay station appear in the distance, the exiles destined for the northwest couldn't help but shed tears of relief. Clad in thin clothing and trekking on foot, their journey had been unbearably arduous.
"Father, we've reached the relay station," Qin Bohong said, carrying his emaciated father on his back. He breathed a small sigh of relief and glanced back at his equally frail son, his eyes filling with tears.
Qin Yuanshan patted his shoulder weakly, his voice hoarse, "Put me down, don't exhaust yourself."
"It's fine, Father. I'm not tired."
On this journey, his son, unaccustomed to hardship, had been the first to fall ill. Fortunately, a benefactor had arranged for a doctor, provided medicine, and even secretly gave them ten taels of silver. Although his son had recovered somewhat, his elderly father had then caught a cold. Reaching the relay station, they desperately needed some medicinal broth; otherwise, they might not make it to their destination.
Already, three people in their group had succumbed.
Qin Bohong shivered, looking towards his son with concern, "Yan'er, how are you?"
Qin Mingyan sniffed his red, cold nose and, despite his weariness, said, "Father, I'm fine."
Seeing his son's forced smile, Qin Bohong's heart ached. How could he be fine? This young boy, raised in luxury, had never suffered like this before. In such a short time, the child's eyes had gained a weight far beyond his years.
"Elder brother, we've arrived at the station. Let Father down. You can't afford to fall ill too; that would be disastrous," Qin Boqing, the third uncle, stepped forward to help with their father.
Qin Bohong reluctantly set their father down, and the two of them supported the old man, waiting for the guards to assign their quarters. As exiles, they considered themselves lucky to find any shelter at all, even if it was just a woodshed.
After waiting for over half an hour, it was finally their turn. As expected, they were led to a woodshed.
"Officer, my father is gravely ill and may not survive the journey. Could you possibly find us a doctor or at least some medicinal broth to stave off the cold?" Qin Bohong approached the guard with a smile, slipping him a tael of silver.
The guard's eyes gleamed as he pocketed the silver. "You people always have requests. First, it was the boy, now the old man. Wait here."
"Thank you, sir."
Lying on the pile of dry wood, Qin Yuanshan curled up, hearing himself referred to as "the old man" and letting out a bitter smile. Once a prestigious official, now he was merely a sickly burden to his family. Glancing at his weary descendants, he closed his eyes, clenching his fist, and coughed lightly.
Soon, a pot of strong medicinal broth arrived, along with several pieces of old but thick clothing. The group was stunned.
"Officer, what is this?"
The guard replied, "It seems you have some luck. A benefactor has provided these for you."
Qin Bohong quickly bowed. "Might we know who this benefactor is, so we can offer our thanks?"
"The benefactor has retired for the night. Don't ask further. Though these gifts are for you, whether you can keep them depends on your own abilities," the guard said meaningfully.
While the younger ones were puzzled, Qin Yuanshan and the others understood the implication, their faces changing. Their group wasn't just exiles; there were also those being sent for hard labor or military service. Desperation could drive those men to any lengths.
The path of exile was far more perilous than they had imagined.