The moment Cheng Xu's order left his mouth, Zheng Daniu's face collapsed as if someone had just told him the world was ending—and dinner had been canceled.
"What kind of cruel command is this?!" he wailed. "Giving away all our rations and starving for a whole day?! This is torture! I object! I protest! I refuse to suffer!"
Zao Ying grabbed his arm and yanked him closer.
"Daniu," she said flatly, "you don't have any rations left."
Zheng Daniu blinked.
"You ate yours. You ate mine. You ate the reserve I hid for emergencies."
She leaned closer and lowered her voice.
"Even if we didn't give food to the civilians, you'd still be starving."
The truth struck him like a thunderbolt.
Zheng Daniu's legs gave out.
He dropped straight to the ground with a dull thump, staring at the gray sky, expression empty, soul clearly having departed ahead of schedule.
"…So I'm starving anyway," he muttered.
Cheng Xu didn't even spare him a glance.
Orders, once given, were orders.
The soldiers acted immediately. They pulled out their last remaining bits of dry grain, hard biscuits, and ration packs—whatever scraps remained—and piled them together without complaint.
Not one man hesitated.
Ma Xianglin watched the scene in silence.
When it comes to cherishing the people…
I'm still lacking.
He clenched his jaw and turned to Zhang Fengyi.
"Should we… give ours too?"
Zhang Fengyi hesitated. "Will there truly be supplies by the Yellow River?"
Ma Xianglin lowered his voice. "Judging by how confident they are, yes. Though I can't understand how they managed transport this far upriver."
Zhang Fengyi thought for a moment, then said softly, "If Mother were here… she wouldn't let these people starve."
Ma Xianglin nodded without hesitation. "She wouldn't."
"Then give it all," Zhang Fengyi said decisively. "Better we go hungry than watch them die."
The Sichuan White Pole Soldiers followed suit, handing over their final reserves to the civilian representatives.
Grain changed hands.
Hope followed.
Only after everything was distributed did Cheng Xu step forward.
"Everyone," he said, voice calm but firm, "Daning County is no longer safe. No food, no walls. Bandits could return at any moment."
He paused.
"Come with us. We'll find you somewhere safe."
There was no hesitation.
The civilians agreed as one.
Just like that, soldiers and common folk merged into a single procession—nearly ten thousand souls—moving westward, abandoning the hollow shell of Daning County behind them.
The rain kept falling.
Whether fear still lingered in their hearts… no one said.
Forty li was nothing to a trained soldier.
For the starved, the old, the young—it was agony.
They trudged along the Xinshui River, passing villages burned to skeletons and fields stripped bare, as if even the earth had been robbed.
The cold soaked through clothing. Hunger gnawed. Feet dragged.
By dusk, even the soldiers were feeling it.
"Almost there!" Cheng Xu shouted hoarsely. "Just two more li! The Yellow River is ahead!"
"Food… really?" the civilians whispered, not daring to hope.
Ma Xianglin swallowed. He didn't know either.
But now there was only one choice.
"Push on!" he shouted. "Two more li!"
"Someone collapsed!"
"Put him on a horse!" Zao Ying ordered.
A cavalryman dismounted without complaint, handing over his mount.
Then another collapse.
Another soldier walked.
By the time they reached the riverbank—
People simply fell.
They reached the confluence of the Xinshui and the Yellow River and collapsed where they stood, too exhausted to even cry.
Ma Xianglin staggered forward and stared at the roaring river.
"…Here?" he asked quietly. "There will be grain?"
Gao Chuwu grinned.
"The boats will arrive."
Ma Xianglin frowned.
Gao Chuwu pointed south. "Look."
Three ships.
Moving upstream.
No sails. No oars.
They cut through the Yellow River's violent current as if it were politely making way for them.
Flat-deck cargo ships, piled high under oilcloth—mountainous loads.
Even without seeing the contents, everyone knew.
Grain.
"Three ships…" Ma Xianglin breathed. "All grain?"
"Two," Gao Chuwu laughed. "The third carries gunpowder, bullets, tents, horse feed—everything war demands."
Ma Xianglin stared.
"You were with us the whole time. No messenger. No signal. How did you know exactly where we'd arrive?"
Gao Chuwu just laughed.
Behind the scenes, the puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun remained silent.
Not yet, he had instructed. Let him wonder.
The ships docked.
A young man—seventeen or eighteen—leapt down. No armor. A flintlock on his back. Clean features. Scholarly air.
Someone you'd expect to see holding a book, not supplies for war.
Cheng Xu laughed. "Wang Tang? Already on active duty?"
Wang Tang smiled. "Village is short-handed. The Dao Xuan Tianzun said part of these supplies go to the Sichuan troops—and must be recorded properly."
He raised his notebook.
"Army ledgers aren't something illiterates can manage."
He gestured.
"Unload."
Baskets came down one by one.
"Counted," Wang Tang said calmly. "Two hundred baskets of flour. Fifty baskets of preserved meat."
He wrote, tore the page free, and handed it to Cheng Xu.
"Instructor He, please sign. Otherwise the village treasury will haunt me."
Cheng Xu laughed—and signed.
Behind them, by the Yellow River, hunger finally loosened its grip.
For tonight, at least—
No one would starve.