Chapter 230 - 51: The Bottom of the Heart (3)

Chapter 230: Chapter 51: The Bottom of the Heart (3)

Xie Yanfang let out a soft "oh." He looked up as if to ask something, but then just smiled, nodded, and waved his hand.

The posthouse soldier immediately withdrew.

"Young Master," the official said, his expression tinged with delight. "There’s a letter for you. With Young Master Yanlai there, the Empress is sure to return very soon this time."

Xie Yanfang laughed out loud and shook his head. "No, she won’t. If she only read the letter, she might still hesitate. But once she sees Xie Yanlai, there will be no more hesitation. She won’t be coming back."

The official was stunned. "But why?"

"Because someone is playing the hero," Xie Yanfang said with a smile.

’What could he mean?’ The official didn’t understand and was about to ask again.

Xie Yanfang stopped him. "Have the letters for the Border County all been sent out on time?"

’He’s asking for confirmation again?’ The official affirmed that they had and guaranteed there had been no mistakes.

"That letter most certainly arrived before Xie Yanlai did," he stressed.

Xie Yanfang just smiled and said nothing, lightly stroking his cheek with his hand.

"’Heroes are most alluring,’ he murmured. ’One can’t help but be captivated by a hero.’"

...

....

The wind in Yunzhong County howled all night, only ceasing as dawn approached. But Liang Qiang couldn’t get back to sleep. The earthen kang he lay on was thoroughly chilled, and the cold seeped up from beneath him, boring into his body. The quilt covering him felt like a stiff, frozen slab.

Liang Qiang had never known that cold could be *this* cold.

He came from a life of wealth and privilege, but his classical education had taught him from a young age that arrogance and indulgence would corrupt one’s character. He had even endured the rigors of studying in unheated rooms and training through the harshest days of winter and summer. But only now did he truly understand. When you possessed wealth and power, any "hardship" you faced was a joke. Once you lost it all, everything became suffering. There was no reprieve, only a descent into greater misery.

’And it isn’t even the depths of winter yet.’

Liang Qiang sat up in bed, his lips blue with cold. He wrapped a tattered fur cloak around himself, and only after a moment did he slowly start to feel his body again.

’I’m not going to make it through this winter,’ he thought.

The CLANG CLANG CLANG of something being struck echoed from outside, exceptionally piercing in the cold winter morning. Even though Liang Qiang was already awake, the sudden noise made his heart pound in his chest. He could only imagine the shock for those still asleep.

This was the Village Chief’s cruel little game. In his eyes, the exiles sent here for forced labor weren’t even human.

"Get up! Time to work! Get up, you pigs!" a roar followed.

The tattered fur cloak had warmed Liang Qiang enough that he could move again. He got out of bed, opened the door, and stepped outside. A blast of cold air made him shudder. All around the cluster of low-slung huts, people were trickling out.

If they didn’t emerge soon, the Village Chief and his men would stop banging their gongs and start splashing water into the huts instead.

They didn’t care if it made the huts uninhabitable. After all, they didn’t live there.

Once he was sure everyone was outside, the Village Chief, bundled in a heavy cloak, stopped his cursing. With a grim face, he shouted, "Look alive, all of you! The Western Liang people are on the attack. If you don’t work hard, I’ll send you to the front lines!"

With that, he had his men assign the day’s tasks. Today, everyone in their unit was to reinforce the city’s defenses, working from dawn until dusk.

Once the tasks were assigned, two servant women carried over a wooden bucket. It was breakfast: one bowl of watery gruel per person. It didn’t matter if the gruel was filling—the fact that it was steaming was enough.

Everyone surged forward, only to be cursed at again by the Village Chief until they formed a line.

Liang Qiang went straight to the back of the line. When he had first arrived, he used to jostle with the others, and even got into a few fights. It wasn’t that he couldn’t win. The problem was that it was endless, and he’d be punished even if he won. One day, holding his bowl of gruel, he caught the reflection of his own bruised and swollen face and felt utterly ridiculous.

’Is this what the rest of my life is for? A single bowl of gruel every morning?’

’If so, what difference does it make if I get it a little sooner or a little later?’

Liang Qiang stood at the back of the line, shuffling forward slowly, his eyes on the wooden bucket up ahead. ’Then again, there is a difference,’ he thought. The steam from the gruel was steadily dissipating in the cold morning wind.

’By the time it’s my turn, it’ll be cold.’

"Ah Qiang," a cheerful voice said quietly from behind him. "Your mother is serving today, so the gruel definitely won’t be half-spilled."

Liang Qiang turned to see the smiling face of one of his kinsmen.

His kinsman’s hair was a mess, and he had long since lost the refined air of a young master from the Liang Family. Back home, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to fine wine and delicacies; now, the prospect of an extra half-ladle of gruel was enough to make him smile.

Liang Qiang looked at his face and said, "Fourth Brother, we can’t keep doing this forced labor."

His Liang Family kinsman froze for a second. "Then what are we supposed to do?"

Liang Qiang fell silent. He didn’t know either. But he felt that if they had to keep doing this labor, he would rather be dead.