From starving to emperor: The Holy Tang Dynasty in the late Qing Dynasty

Chapter 13 Life Hangs by a Thread

When the sun rises, it carries no sign of life; instead, it is like a branding iron that has been heated to a white-hot color, casting a scorched shadow on the spine of the earth before it even emerges.

When Li Qian opened his eyes, his mouth was as dry as if it were stuffed with a handful of thorny, withered grass. He tried to swallow, but his throat was stuck together due to extreme dehydration, and every movement felt like a sharp blade stabbing his soft tissue.

"woke up."

Sun Deshan's voice cut across the gully, hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against dry wood. He had kept watch for most of the night and was now half-squatting beside a mound of earth, the broken stick in his hand somehow sharpened into a point. His bloodshot eyes scanned the empty wasteland warily like a wild dog's, the bloodstains on his face dried, crumbling like pieces of old tree bark as he chewed on grass roots.

Having killed and seen blood, this man's "soldier's spirit" and ruthlessness completely shed their disguise.

Su Mo'er huddled in the coldest corner, taking small bites of the last crumbs of bread left over from last night. She ate very slowly, almost grinding them with her gums, trying to turn the dry flour into a paste with her saliva. She knew that this bread was the money Li Qian had given her to save her life, and it was also the only way for this small team to survive.

Li Qian stood up, leaning on his military knife, brushed the dust off his clothes, and looked around.

Awang and Old Zhao looked even worse than last night; their faces were a deathly gray, as if the sun had drained all their life force. In this scorching heat, even if a person lay still, their life was slowly being drained away through their pores.

"Let's go." Li Qian didn't waste any words.

He picked up the blood-stained scabbard and strode out of the dry ditch. Wang's wife, clutching the blue cloth bundle, mechanically followed behind. She had stopped crying; her eyes were empty, like two bottomless wells—Li Qian's knife last night had saved her child from being devoured, but it had also shattered her last shred of sanity.

The wasteland was vast, so vast that it inspired despair.

The ground beneath my feet was cracked and parched from the sun, a scorching smell emanating from the earth's core emanating from the cracks. All around was utter silence; no cicadas chirped, no birds sang, even the withered grass was parched and razor-sharp. Walking in this place, every step felt like a race against death.

After walking for about an hour and a half, the sun became extremely scorching.

Li Qian felt his retina begin to show double images, a warning from his brain that his body was about to exhaust itself. Old Zhao had already begun to crawl on the ground, the tree root he used as a cane dragging a crooked trail on the whitewashed ground, much like the last words of a dying man.

"Not here yet?" Sun Deshan wiped the sweat from the corner of his eyes, his voice carrying a hint of restless murderous intent.

Su Mo'er stopped and raised her slender arm to shield her forehead. Her body trembled slightly, and her eyes searched frantically for the horizon ahead.

"Soon... I remember, it's behind that dead willow grove. There used to be an abandoned post station there called 'Qingshibao'."

Li Qian looked in the direction she pointed, and in the blurry shadow of the horizon, there were several abrupt black shadows.

Those were willow trees. Willow trees that died of thirst due to drought.

"Sun Deshan, give them a hand. If we can't find water, none of us will get through this today."

Li Qian's words carried a resolute tone. Awang shivered, and a surge of strange energy welled up from somewhere, forcing him to keep up despite his trembling legs.

Around noon, the group finally arrived at the so-called willow grove.

The forest was long dead; the bark had peeled off, revealing whitish, dry wood. In the center of the forest, there was indeed a ring of stone buildings, mostly collapsed, emitting a scorching smell of lime under the blazing sun.

"The well...the well is over there!" Su Mo'er's voice was trembling with tears.

It was a circle made of bluestone, with half a rotten and broken well rope lying across it.

Sun Deshan was the first to rush forward, practically tumbling and crawling onto the edge of the well. Everyone held their breath at that moment; the oppressive silence was even more chilling than a standoff on a battlefield.

"There's...there's light!" Sun Deshan suddenly roared, his voice shrill and distorted with extreme excitement. "Boss Li! There's water down there! It's not completely dry yet!"

Li Qian stepped forward and looked down.

The well was extremely deep, and a chilling, eerie air rushed up from below. At the bottom of the well, several dozen feet below, there was indeed a faint, yellowish-green reflection.

That's water.

Although it was covered with withered leaves and mixed with mud and sand, in the eyes of these people, it was holy water that was a thousand times more precious than gold.

"Get the rope!" Li Qian decided immediately.

Old Zhao and Awang hurriedly picked up the tattered hemp rope, while Sun Deshan, with his skillful hands, quickly tied it to a broken pottery jar. The jar slowly sank down, the rope rubbing against the stone ring, making a creaking sound that seemed to tug at everyone's nerves.

"Thump."

A faint splash echoed through the deep well.

At that moment, Su Mo'er collapsed to the ground. Sun Deshan held his breath and carefully lifted it up. When the wet, muddy earthenware jar appeared at the wellhead, everyone's eyes lit up.

The water even had a lingering stench of decay, but no one seemed to mind.

"Li Qian, you go first." Sun Deshan swallowed hard, forcibly looked away from the water, and handed the jar to Li Qian.

These are the rules. The ironclad rules that Li Qian established last night with that blood-stained knife.

Li Qian took the jar and took a sip.

Bitter, spicy, with an earthy taste and a certain indescribable staleness. But the moment it entered his throat, the moistening pleasure made Li Qian feel his soul tremble.

He didn't drink much, only three sips, before handing it back to Sun Deshan.

"Two mouths for each person. If anyone dares to take it, I'll shove them headfirst into this well to save this pool of water from being wasted."

Li Qian's voice was as cold as ice. Sun Deshan immediately widened his eyes, like a fierce overseer, watching everyone carefully sip the life-saving mud soup.

This dry well finally brought this lone army, which was on the verge of dying of thirst, to a halt at the gates of hell.

Li Qian leaned against the dead willow trunk, watching the group of people surrounding the water jug, as if participating in some solemn ritual. Just then, Sun Deshan, who was drinking water, suddenly stopped, lay down on the ground, and pressed his ears tightly against the cracked soil.

"Boss Li, something's not right."

His scarred face tensed instantly, his eyes fixed on the edge of the northern wilderness.

"There's the sound of horses' hooves. Quite a few, rushing this way."

Li Qian's heart sank, and he abruptly drew the still-blood-stained military knife from his waist. In this vast wilderness, those on horseback were either government soldiers or bandits, and for the refugees, both were deadly threats.