Chapter 4: The Refugees

There was no tomb mound, no gravestone, and no mournful music or the bitter weeping of relatives. Only a robust boy, resembling a clay monkey, threw the last handful of earth onto the grave and covered it with some withered grass.

At last, the boy clasped his fists in salute. “Uncles, take care on your way. Who knows, one day, I may come down to join you, so we can keep each other company. What do you think?”

Having spoken, he looked up at the sky, pondered for a long while, feeling there was nothing left to say or do. He exhaled deeply, turned, and strode away. With a leap, he mounted his warhorse.

Spurring the horse’s belly, the steed let out a long neigh as the rider and horse galloped swiftly southward.

...

In the pitch-dark forest, the flickering light of a campfire shimmered faintly.

Li Po sat comfortably beside the fire, intently watching the rabbit meat sizzling and crackling over the flames, swallowing his saliva now and then.

After crossing the Great Wall covertly, he had not left the woods but traveled southward through the mountains.

Even now, he did not know exactly where he had arrived or to which territory he belonged.

To be honest, life in the forest had been relatively bearable.

For him, this place offered ample food and no constant scheming for power or endless bloodshed—a rare haven of peace.

If it weren’t for the encroaching winter and his lack of suitable tools, settling here to live as a wild man, indifferent to the passage of years, would have been a fine choice.

But in reality, he needed to leave the forest soon.

Otherwise, when heavy snows sealed the mountains, even he would find no good fortune in the wild.

At night, the forest echoed with the harsh cries of owls, accompanied closely by the howls of wolves.

Wolves, the undisputed kings of the northern wilderness, were why Li Po rarely lit campfires—he did not wish to attract the attention of these most relentless hunters of the forest.

Today, however, his stomach could bear it no longer, and he finally kindled a fire to prepare some hot food.

Yet, it seemed today’s meal would remain uneaten.

Strange noises arose from the surrounding woods, prompting Li Po to rise slowly, drawing a short blade from his waist.

Amidst the rustling sounds, shadowy figures emerged like phantoms.

They cautiously approached the edge of the firelight but hesitated to come closer.

The shadows twisted strangely in the firelight, evoking a sense of dread.

But Li Po breathed a sigh of relief.

They were human—some carrying sticks or other strange makeshift weapons.

These were the displaced people, the refugees endemic to the northern forests.

Li Po had encountered many such groups along the way. Since the footsteps of war at the end of the Sui dynasty had become clearer in his mind as these refugees appeared.

Not long after crossing the Great Wall, he had learned their origins: most came from Mayi and the vicinity of Yanmen, common folk of the Great Sui who had fled into the mountains to escape conscription.

It was hard to say whether they were Hu or Han. Centuries of warfare had blurred the identities of northern inhabitants, making their ancestral ethnicity difficult to determine.

Their mixed features and lifestyle details revealed a blend so thorough it was nearly impossible to distinguish one from the other.

But one must not be deceived by their pitiable plight. Once these refugees entered the mountains to evade forced labor, they became outlaws.

Their deeds in the wild were far from innocent.

Resembling the tribes of the grasslands, the adult men were often rough and fierce, willing to do anything to secure food.

Cannibalism was common among them.

If they dared to eat people, there was little they wouldn’t do.

Thus, for solitary, weaker travelers in the forest, wild beasts were less terrifying than these refugees.

Lacking skills to survive in the wilderness, they were often hungry—mad and reckless.

Ultimately, they sank to a state without any moral boundaries, regardless of age or gender.

This was the prelude to the chaos of the late Sui dynasty, and Li Po had already sensed ominous signs in these starving creatures.

When possible, Li Po avoided them. Only when his stomach’s demands drew his attention, as today, did he risk staying near.

His vocabulary lacked words like pity or sympathy.

“Little brother, can we warm ourselves by your fire?” one shadow croaked dryly. The voice was no more pleasant than the owls’ cries, but their tightly gripped sticks and eyes gleaming with malevolence revealed that this request was but a faint remnant of their remaining sanity.

What they would do once they realized Li Po was alone was known only to heaven.

More shadows emerged nearby, mostly women and children clad in rags so thin and gaunt that a gust of wind might blow them away.

Yet their hungry and greedy gazes sent chills down the spine.

Without a word, Li Po sprang forward like a leopard.

With a single stroke, he felled the man who had spoken, slitting his throat in one motion.

Two others shouted in panic and charged, sticks whistling through the air.

Li Po sidestepped and stabbed one through the chest. The man emitted a muffled groan as Li Po lifted him with one hand and hurled him aside, knocking the other to the ground.

He took a few swift steps, stamped on the struggling man’s chest, and a crisp crack of broken bones echoed clearly in the forest.

In the darkness, Li Po drove his blade into the man’s neck, ending his suffering.

Three killed in an instant.

Holding his knife, smelling the faint scent of blood, Li Po furrowed his brow.

Women’s and children’s cries quickly filled the air, creating a chaotic uproar.

Yet the terror of death was overwhelming; the remaining adult men dared not approach.

But having suffered long under cold and hunger, they were reluctant to leave.

Li Po delivered a final blow.

He grabbed three bodies and threw them before the others, shouting, “Leave.”

The refugees dispersed swiftly, melting back into the dark forest.

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