RPAGF Chapter 3 Fighting for a Way Out
Chapter 3 Fighting for a Way Out
Li Qian did not stop.
He carried the still-dripping official knife, protecting the half-sack of blood-stained millet, like a wounded lone wolf in the wilderness, still clinging tightly to its prey, staggering southwards.
The sensation of killing and seizing the knife at the foot of the official road slope still lingered in his hand like a clump of glue he couldn't shake off. The faint resistance of the blade as it tore through his uniform and sliced through his flesh, and the warm blood gushing from the corporal's neck, seemed to still remain in the air. He dared not stop, nor even turn around to look.
He wasn't running fast, not because he didn't want to, but because his body, emptied by hunger for three whole days, was on the verge of collapse. With each step, the muscles in his groin spasmed violently, and his kneecaps felt like rusted hinges, each movement accompanied by a needle-like pain.
"Huff... huff..."
Li Qian was panting heavily. The wind swept past his ears, carrying the dry, hot dust unique to the North Zhili Plain, scraping against his face, which was covered in horse blood, like tiny sandpaper knives.
He knew that if he kept running like this, he wouldn't last much longer. Although the sound of horses' hooves behind him had temporarily stopped, there was nowhere to hide on this empty, barren ground.
Li Qian dared not take the official road. He crouched low, trudging forward along the cracked earth and collapsed field ridges, his steps uneven. The grain sack in his arms pressed tightly against his chest; its hard, grain-scented texture was his only source of comfort. That weight was his life, yet also the heaviest death warrant in the world.
The terrain suddenly dropped down, revealing a low-lying area covered by scorched yellow reeds.
At first, Li Qian thought he had found a hiding place, but when he staggered closer, cold sweat broke out all over his body.
It wasn't a hiding place; it was for refugees.
A dense mass of people, crammed into that low-lying area, looked like a pile of rags carelessly discarded on the wasteland. Some were sitting, some were lying sideways in the dust, and some simply lay there motionless, their fate unknown.
The air was filled with a nauseating smell: the dry, earthy smell, the sour stench of someone who hadn't bathed in a long time, and a faint, yet pungent, smell of rotting flesh.
Li Qian's steps slowed down.
The sight before him filled a modern soul with an unprecedented dread. These people were no different from him: filthy, withered, and desperate. But what pierced his eye most were their queues.
Those were braids hanging down from the charred backs of their heads, thin, broken, and knotted. Some were mangled and bloodied from being scratched by lice, while others were simply stuck together into a stiff, black cord. When the wind blew, those countless braids swayed wildly, clinging to their filthy backs like venomous snakes that were dead but not stiff.
Li Qian subconsciously raised his hand and touched the back of his neck.
My fingertips touched something rough, greasy, and with a strange smell. It was his braid.
In that instant, a crazy thought exploded in his mind—cut it off!
As a modern man, this pig-tail-like symbol was more humiliating to him than death itself.
But his hand stopped at the edge of the sharp official knife. He knew very well that in the land of the Qing Dynasty in the tenth year of the Xianfeng Emperor's reign, this queue was not just hair, but proof of being a law-abiding citizen. Without it, you were a "long-haired rebel," a "traitor." In this world where even tree bark and grass roots had been stripped bare, the thousands of starving eyes around him would instantly tear him, this "hairless wretch," apart for a few liters of rice as a reward for reporting him.
Li Qian slowly released his grip. The braid slid down his neck, cold and heavy.
He suddenly felt ridiculous. He had felt like a hero when he killed the officials and seized the grain, but now he had to live like a rat, wearing the shackles of a slave, struggling to survive among the corpses.
There is no way out of this world; the only option is to live like a ghost.
Just as Li Qian stepped onto the edge of this refugee camp, a sharp roar suddenly came from the distant high slope:
"Soldiers—!"
This sound was like a massive boulder being thrown into a calm, stagnant pool.
The once silent and numb crowd of refugees erupted in an instant. This was not an orderly retreat, but a desperate, chaotic frenzy, like headless flies.
Li Qian turned around abruptly, his pupils suddenly contracting.
Those two riders again!
That old rogue in the uniform had somehow brought a few more helpers with him. Together with the soldier who had fired the blank shot earlier, six or seven fast horses followed his footsteps, like several black lightning bolts, and crashed directly into the crowd.
"There it is! That bastard who stole the grain is over there!"
The thunderous sound of hooves echoed, and the murderous intent on the faces of the officers and soldiers reached its peak under the setting sun.
"Get out of the way! Anyone who blocks the way will die!"
With the swing of sabers, it was a true bloody massacre. These Qing soldiers didn't care whose spines were trampled under their hooves, nor whose necks their blades sliced across. Screams and the sound of bones shattering instantly filled the entire depression.
Li Qian squeezed forward two steps with great effort, only to be violently bumped into by a panicked, burly man. He stumbled, and the straw rope at the opening of the grain sack in his arms snapped due to the sudden movement, spilling out a few golden millet grains that were extremely conspicuous against the white lime ground.
In that very second, the surrounding air changed.
Those refugees who had been dodging horses' hooves and crying out for their lives all turned their heads at once.
One pair, two pairs, hundreds of pairs of eyes were fixed on Li Qian's chest.
Those were pairs of eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, gleaming with a greenish light like that of wild dogs. Gone was the fear of the soldiers, gone was the reverence for the gods; only a pure, extreme desire remained.
That was hunger. The kind of hunger that could burn your soul to ashes.
The hairs on Li Qian's back stood on end. He suddenly realized—what was more terrifying than the soldiers' knives were these thousands of his kind who were treating him as their "last meal."
"……grain."
Someone, I don't know who, squeezed out a word from their parched throat.
This sound completely ignited the dead flames.
"Rob it—!!!"
The next moment, the remaining refugees around him, still breathing, moved with the speed of uncontrolled wild beasts, and pounced on Li Qian. Their hands were outstretched, their target singular—the grain sack.
Li Qian's heart pounded wildly in that instant.
He had no time to show pity.
"Clang!"
The official's sword traced a disjointed arc in the setting sun. The first strike, almost instinctively, landed on the shoulder of a young, starving laborer who lunged at him. Hot blood spurted out, splashing onto Li Qian's already parched cheek.
The man collapsed. But those around him, seeing the blood, didn't back down; instead, they moved even closer. Some knelt down and used their hands to scoop out the blood flowing into the cracks in the mud, then desperately tried to put it in their mouths.
These are no longer human. They are a group of corpses that are not yet dead, but have already begun to devour each other.
The refugees grabbed his arms and bit his shoulders. Li Qian desperately hacked and slashed through the crowd, realizing that if he fell, they would tear him to pieces.
Just then, the horse arrived.
"Get out of my way, you lowly people!" The cavalryman's sword slashed directly at the refugees blocking his path.
Li Qian stood in the middle. In front of him were starving ghosts, and behind him were deadly messengers.
Dead end.
He suddenly gave a cold laugh, his modern rationality utterly shattered by this desperate madness. Since there was no way out, then let's use the lives of these soldiers to pave a path to survival!
"Those who want to live and eat horse meat, drag those soldiers down!"
Li Qian unleashed a hysterical roar at the group of out-of-control refugees.
"Their horses are laden with grain! Kill these beasts, and we can all live!"
The refugees were initially taken aback, but their primal instinct for food completely overwhelmed their fear of the soldiers. In a situation where death was inevitable, humans were more terrifying than wild beasts.
They stopped tearing at Li Qian and instead surged towards the warhorses like a tide.
"Don't come any closer! Get away!"
The cavalrymen, clad in their uniforms, were horrified to find themselves trapped in a sea of people. Countless withered hands gripped the stirrups, the horses' tails, and some even bit the necks of their warhorses.
This is ant bite.
Taking advantage of the extreme chaos, Li Qian suddenly shoved two starving people aside. He didn't help anyone, nor did he show any pity.
He stepped over a still-convulsing corpse, protecting the grain in his arms, and dashed like an arrow towards the refugee settlement on the other side of the depression.
He didn't turn around, but behind him came the mournful neighing of horses and the terrified, desperate screams of soldiers.