In the fifth year of Daqian's Anle reign, a terrible drought struck Qingzhou, plunging the land into despair. People were driven to the brink of madness by hunger, and some even resorted to cannibalism. The bones of the dead littered the wilderness, and for thousands of miles, no rooster crowed, no birds sang.
The world had withered into a deathly silence, its once vibrant colors replaced by dull yellows and grays. Even the insects, snakes, and rodents had disappeared, leaving only barren emptiness behind.
In this wasteland, the only signs of life were the emaciated figures of refugees stumbling forward with vacant, numb expressions. They were all fleeing the famine, dragging themselves through the desolation, each one barely holding onto the last vestiges of life.
As they walked, some of them would fall to the ground, never to rise again.
Chen Mo, like the others, was little more than a shadow of his former self. His body was frail, his face gaunt, and his eyes lifeless. He was so weak that he seemed as though a strong gust of wind could blow him over. His clothes were ragged and layered, taken from others who had long since perished.
He couldn't remember how many days had passed since he arrived in this world. His only clear thought was the gnawing hunger in his stomach, the unbearable need to eat. But there was nothing left in the world. Even the bark had been stripped from the dead trees, leaving no food to be found.
With each step, he moved forward by sheer instinct, unable to think, too exhausted to care. He didn't know if he would survive if he kept walking, but he knew he would die if he stopped.
After an unknown time, he saw a small, dilapidated thatched hut in the distance.
Chen Mo stopped for a moment and glanced behind him.
A figure trailed behind him, just as emaciated and covered in layers of ragged clothes. The other person was shorter, even thinner than Chen Mo, but they shared the same numbed expression, the same hollow look in their eyes.
Chen Mo didn't know the person's name, age, or gender. In fact, they had spoken only a handful of words to each other. But over these many days of struggling to survive, the two had formed an unspoken alliance.
Surviving alone in a world like this was too dangerous. You were at risk of being attacked, robbed of your food, or worse. Having another person to watch your back, even in the most minimal way, was better than being alone.
Refugees traveling alone were often easy prey. If one person fell or became too weak to stand, it was much harder to survive. But when two people were together, there was a chance of survival, if not through strength, then through mutual vigilance.
Chen Mo had had many companions before. Some had attacked him for food and met a swift death. Others, too weak to go on, never woke up after falling asleep.
The companion following him was no different—his face was blank, his steps slow, as if they too lacked the strength to think. Hunger had consumed them both.
Seeing the person still following him, Chen Mo felt a faint sense of reassurance. At least for now, they were still together.
Step by step, his pace slow and labored, Chen Mo continued to approach the thatched hut.
As he neared, he saw a grayish-black figure appear before him—a man who looked slightly stronger than he was. The man didn't avoid him but instead approached him directly.
Chen Mo's instincts flared. After all these days of fleeing, he had learned that when encountering others in such a harsh world, both sides typically kept their distance. The hunger was so fierce that no one could afford to trust others.
The fact that the man was coming toward him meant only one thing: danger.
"What do you want?" Chen Mo's voice was hoarse, his words laced with suspicion as he gathered whatever strength he had left.
The man halted, sizing Chen Mo up, then glancing at the person behind him. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two, calculating.
When he looked at the two of them, his gaze lingered for a moment longer on the smaller companion. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable—he saw them as food.
"Brother, you've been starving for so long. I see you've got some food back there. Why don't we share?" The man forced a grin, saliva collecting in his mouth as he looked at the shorter refugee.
The meaning was clear. The man was trying to get them to lower their guard, and then... he would turn on them.
Chen Mo's expression remained cold. He didn't hesitate, his voice steady. "Alright."
The man seemed to relax at the agreement, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He turned away, clearly excited, but that was when Chen Mo acted.
In a blur of motion, he lunged forward, grabbing the man by the neck, his fingers tightening around his throat.
The man's eyes widened in surprise as he struggled to break free, but Chen Mo was too determined to let go. They grappled, and the force of the struggle knocked both of them to the ground.
Chen Mo didn't release his grip, even as the man used every ounce of strength to try to escape. But Chen Mo wasn't alone. His companion, weak and trembling, managed to stagger forward. With what little energy he had left, he grabbed an iron shard—an old piece of scrap—and thrust it into the man's eye.
"Ah!" The man let out a strangled scream, his body convulsing in pain, but his strength had already diminished. He could only whimper weakly as his life slipped away.
Together, they forced the iron deep, and after what felt like an eternity, the man stopped moving.
The companion, panting and exhausted, pushed the corpse aside, and with difficulty, helped Chen Mo to his feet.
A task that would have been easy for anyone else had become a struggle for them both. Their strength had been drained to the point of collapse.
Once they were upright, they staggered toward the thatched hut, side by side. The hunger still gnawed at them, but for now, there was a brief moment of respite.
Inside the hut, Chen Mo's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw a pot of porridge bubbling over the fire.
He stumbled forward, his hands shaking as he grabbed the ladle. The soup inside was black and murky, filled with strange roots, wild vegetables, and—what made his heart race—two rat heads bobbing in the mixture.
It wasn't much, but it was food. And after days of gnawing hunger, it felt like a feast.
He didn't care about the quality. He only cared about survival.
He scooped up a spoonful and brought it to his mouth.
Sweet. It was unexpectedly sweet, more delicious than anything he could remember. Chen Mo couldn't even describe how good it tasted. He had forgotten what true nourishment felt like.
Without hesitation, he filled a bowl and handed it to his companion. Despite the hunger and exhaustion, he still wanted to make sure they would survive together.
Together, they ate. The bowl, the pot, even the ladle were scraped clean as they devoured the food. The world around them, bleak and unforgiving, seemed for a moment to fade into the background.
After the meal, Chen Mo felt the faint stirrings of energy returning to his body.
But the question still hung in the air: Should they stay the night in this hut, or continue their journey?
The hut offered some shelter, a chance to rest, but what if they couldn't find another place before nightfall? Staying in one place could mean death—if they didn't leave now, they might not wake up tomorrow.
Chen Mo didn't waste time thinking. Grabbing a nearby stick to help support himself, he stood and made for the door.
Without a word, his companion followed him.
Together, they set off into the wilderness again, taking the first step into an uncertain future.
But as they walked away, the figure in the hut slowly sat up. The man they had thought dead was alive once more, his body healed, his hunger insatiable.
He eyed the empty bowls, and a strange, hollow gleam appeared in his eyes. The hunger that had driven him to attack them now filled him with a greater, darker thirst.
END