klisemfg Chapter 531 Let's Go to Qin
Chapter 531 Let's Go to Qin
In a small tavern south of Yingdu City, the charcoal stove was nearly extinguished, with only a faint glow remaining in the ashen embers. A cold wind seeped in through the cracks in the doors and windows, swirling in the empty hall. In a corner, three or five farmers sat close together, talking in hushed tones, as if afraid of disturbing something.
The cheap rice wine in front of them had long since gone cold, but no one touched it. Several pairs of rough, cracked hands rubbed together, turning purple from the cold.
“My cousin…” The burly man leaned forward again, a faint but persistent flame flickering in his eyes, “Last month, he couldn’t survive any longer, so he took his whole family and went north. The other day, he sent someone to bring a message back from the border—” His voice lowered, almost a whisper, “He said that he was allocated thirty acres of fertile land over there, truly dry land, unlike here, where it all depends on whether God is kind to us.”
He paused, glanced around at the surprised and uncertain faces of the crowd, and then continued, "Not only that, there's also a 'Great Qin Bank' over there, which lends him high-yield new grain seeds without charging interest, saying that he can pay it back after the autumn harvest!"
"Thirty acres? And no interest?" Someone gasped, their voice trembling slightly with disbelief. "Is Qin really that good?"
“Absolutely true!” The man nodded vigorously, the flame in his eyes burning even brighter. “My cousin wrote that the farmers over there are using a new kind of tool called a ‘curved plow,’ which plows the land quickly and effortlessly, turning over several acres a day!”
Behind the counter, the tavern owner, his back hunched, wiped the already gleaming wine bowls again and again. Every word of their suppressed conversation reached his ears. His shop hadn't opened for three days—not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. The people didn't even have enough food to eat, let alone money to buy wine. The wine jars behind the shop were empty, and the rice bins were nearly empty. If things continued like this, not only the shop, but perhaps even he himself…
He looked out the window; the streets of Yingdu were covered in thick snow, deathly silent. Listening to the snippets of conversation about the Qin state behind him, a thought he had never had before quietly sprouted in his heart—why not try his luck in the north? Perhaps… he could really find a way to survive.
Grandpa Wang trudged along the cold streets of Yingdu, his steps uneven. The once bustling market was now reduced to a few scattered vendors, their necks hunched in the cold wind, their wares barely displayed.
"The Qin state distributed land and also provided grain seeds..."
"Someone helped build the house and settle down..."
The intermittent chatter entered his ears like a cold wind.
At first, Grandpa Wang didn't believe it. From childhood, he had heard that the Qin state was a land of tigers and wolves in the western frontier, and that the Qin people were fierce and brutal. As he grew up, he heard even more that the Qin general named Bai Qi had flooded the city of Yan with a single act of releasing water, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians... In the blood of the Chu people, a sense of vigilance and fear of Qin had flowed for generations.
But now...
His dim old eyes gazed at the tightly closed doors on both sides of the street, occasionally hearing the faint cries of children crying from hunger. He clutched his patched clothes, which were empty inside, containing only a bunch of bony bones.
"What if..." a faint voice echoed in his heart. It was better than staying here and watching his grandchildren starve and freeze to death in this endless winter.
He trudged through the snow to get home, the dilapidated thatched hut nearly collapsing under its weight. Inside, two emaciated children huddled on a pile of hay in the corner. Hearing him return, they barely managed to lift their heads, too weak to even call out "Grandpa."
Grandpa Wang stood at the door, looking at the two small, sallow faces caused by malnutrition. The lingering attachment to his homeland and the fear of the Qin state in his heart were finally crushed by the cruel reality before him.
Two streams of scalding tears fell from his cloudy eyes, landing on the cold ground and instantly freezing into shards.
“Let’s go,” he said in a hoarse voice to the two children, and to himself, “Let’s…go to Qin.”
The next day, Grandpa Wang led his grandchildren and mingled with the fleeing crowd, trudging northwards.
The snow was still falling, ankle-deep. Seven-year-old Xiaocao and five-year-old Shitou were wrapped in the last tattered blanket in their home, their lips turning purple from the cold. Grandpa Wang tightened the straw rope around the two children's waists, afraid that if he wasn't careful, they would fall forever in the snow like the little bodies he had seen on the road.
"Grandpa, is there really food to eat in Qin?" Little Grass looked up, her voice barely audible.
Before Grandpa Wang could answer, an old man leaning on a tree branch as a cane chimed in, "Who knows? It's better than staying in Yingdu and waiting to die." He sighed.
Grandpa Wang walked on in silence. He recalled the "thirty mu of land" the man in the tavern had mentioned, the "curved-shaft plow," and the "grain seeds grown without interest." These words were like distant lights, flickering faintly in the long night. But the further north he went, the heavier his unease became—would the Qin people truly treat them, the people of Chu, kindly?
Ten days later, the border will be in sight.
The sight before them stunned all the fleeing Chu people.
Contrary to expectations, there were no ferocious Qin soldiers, only a few Qin officials dressed in strange clothes guarding the pass, with several large, steaming earthenware pots beside them. A young official was loudly calling out in a Chu dialect with a Qin accent: "Fellow Chu people passing through, each person may take a bowl of hot porridge to warm up before continuing your journey!"
The crowd stirred, but no one dared to step forward. The long-held fear of the Qin state stood like an invisible wall, keeping these starving and freezing people at bay.
Looking at the almost frozen stone in his arms, Grandpa Wang gritted his teeth and was the first to walk over.
The young official ladled out a full bowl of thick porridge and handed it over. Seeing the child in his arms, he added another spoonful: "Old man, give the child some while it's hot."
The porridge was made of millet and beans; it wasn't particularly good, but it was piping hot and carried the long-lost aroma of grains. Grandpa Wang's hands trembled so badly he almost dropped the bowl. He fed Shitou a few mouthfuls, and finally, a trace of color returned to the child's pale face.
"Sir," Grandpa Wang mustered his courage to ask, "are we... really going to get a share of the land?"
The young official smiled and pointed to a row of newly built thatched huts not far away: "See those? Those are for newcomers to stay temporarily. The land is on that plain over there, thirty mu per person, no cheating the young or old. There are clerks in the county office to register and record it, and they'll issue wooden boxes as proof. As for the grain seeds..." He pointed to a few earthen houses on the other side with signs that read "Da Qin Qian Zhuang" (Great Qin Money Shop), "Go there to complete the formalities, and repay according to the amount after the autumn harvest, no interest charged."
Following the direction the other person pointed, Grandpa Wang could indeed see some new traces of field ridges on the distant snowfield.