The dawn broke like a whisper, its weak and cold light barely enough to pierce the thick fog that blanketed the barren fields. Once, these lands were lush and prosperous under the care of the peasants who cultivated them. Now, they were nothing but cracked earth, a wasteland reflecting the misery that had consumed Xu Anping's village. The drought had dragged on for months, turning life into a relentless battle for survival.
Xu Anping awoke before the sun fully rose, the chill of the morning air biting at his skin. At seventeen, he was already marked by the harshness of life—calloused hands, a lean frame hardened by labor, and eyes that had seen too much suffering. He moved in silence, careful not to wake his younger siblings, huddled together on their shared bed, their thin bodies barely covered by a worn blanket.
In the small kitchen, his mother was already at work, her face pale and gaunt. She stirred a pot of watery soup made from tree roots they had gathered from the mountains, a poor attempt at breakfast. The smell of boiled roots filled the air, a harsh reminder of how far they had fallen.
"Anping, eat something before you go," she said softly, handing him a small bowl.
He hesitated, a knot of guilt forming in his stomach as he took the bowl. Each spoonful he consumed meant less for his siblings. His mother watched him with sorrowful eyes, setting aside her own hunger for the sake of her children. Xu Anping forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace, and took a sip of the bland soup. It was barely enough to sustain him through the grueling day ahead, but there was no other option.
Not long ago, they had lived comfortably, their fields producing enough to feed the family and sell at the market. But those days were gone, swept away by the endless wars that ravaged the Empire. The barbarian revolts had brought the land to ruin, and the demands for taxes and tributes drained the life from the villages. The tax collectors came often, their demands growing more brutal with each visit. What little remained in the village was taken, leaving families like Xu Anping's on the brink of starvation.
"Today, we go farther," his father announced as they prepared to leave. His voice was firm, but there was a weariness to it that hadn't been there before. "Maybe we'll find something—anything—to help us get through the winter."
Xu Anping nodded, understanding the desperation behind his father's words. The mountains were dangerous, especially now, but they had no other choice. The land near the village had already been stripped bare in their search for food.
"I want to go," said Xu Er'an, his younger brother. At ten years old, Er'an was small and frail, but his spirit was fierce. He didn't want to be a burden to his family, even though his body was failing him.
Xu Anping frowned in concern. Er'an was struggling more than any of them, but Xu Anping couldn't deny him the chance to help. He nodded, though his heart ached with worry.
The day was long and arduous. They trekked through the mountains, scouring the rocky terrain for roots, wild herbs—anything that might stave off hunger. The sun beat down mercilessly, and sweat soaked through their worn clothes. Xu Anping kept a close watch on Er'an, whose face had grown pale and whose steps faltered. By the time the sun set on the horizon, their search had yielded only a small handful of edibles, hardly enough for a single meal.
When they returned to the village, the small glimmer of hope they had nurtured throughout the day quickly faded. Xu Er'an collapsed into bed, his body burning with fever. The illness came swiftly, draining what little strength he had left. The family fell into a state of quiet panic, doing what they could to bring down the fever, but there was little they could do. They had no money for a doctor, no herbs to treat his sickness.
"We have to do something," their father said, his voice thick with desperation. "I'll go back to the mountains, see if I can find some medicinal herbs."
Xu Anping's mother looked at her husband with fear but did not protest. They both knew it was their only option, no matter the dangers that lurked in the wilderness.
The next morning, Xu Anping's father left before dawn. Xu Anping watched him disappear into the fog, silently praying for his safe return. Days passed, each one longer than the last. Xu Er'an's condition worsened with every hour. His fever climbed higher, and he began to mutter incoherently, his voice weak as he called out for their father. Xu Anping stayed by his side, holding his brother's hand, feeling the life slowly drain from his small body.
On the fourth morning, Xu Er'an's fever broke—but not in the way they had hoped. His breathing slowed, each shallow breath more labored than the last. Xu Anping held his breath as his brother took one final, rattling gasp. Then, silence. Xu Er'an's hand slipped from his grasp, limp and lifeless.
A sob escaped from their mother, the only sound in the suffocating quiet. Xu Anping stared at his brother's still form, his chest tight with a grief so profound it left him numb. He couldn't process the weight of their loss.
Their father had not yet returned. Uncertainty about his fate loomed over them, increasing their despair. Had he found something and was struggling to return? Had he fallen prey to a wild animal or worse, had he decided not to return? Standing at the door of their humble home, Xu Anping looked out at the distant mountains, wondering if they would ever see him again.
Winter was approaching and with it the harsh reality that they were alone. Xu Anping stood at the door of his house, looking out at the distant mountains where his father had disappeared. The cold wind whipped at his skin, but he barely noticed it. When would they be able to feel a full stomach again?