Chapter 19: Liu Wei (Part 2)
Lin Tao walked at the front, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. His split lip had crusted over, but it still throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull, angry pain that kept his mood foul.
Wang Feng walked beside him, his knife in his hand now—not sheathed, but out, the blade catching the grey light. Old Lin lagged three steps behind, leaning on his cane, his breathing a wet rasp that neither of the younger men acknowledged.
They had been walking since dawn, and they hadn't eaten since yesterday. The bread the Zhangs had given them was gone—devoured in the first hour, barely enough to fill a child's stomach. Wang Feng's gut had been growling for the past two li, a low, angry sound that matched his mood.
"This is fucking pointless," Wang Feng muttered. He kicked a stone off the road, hard. It skittered into the ditch and vanished. "Walking to a dead town with nothing to eat and no plan."
Lin Tao didn't break stride. "We have a plan."
"Finding a building and breaking in isn't a fucking plan. It's desperation."
"Then come up with something better. I don't see you contributing."
"I contributed by keeping us alive this long." Wang Feng's grip tightened on his knife. "Which is more than your father's done, standing there with his mouth shut."
Old Lin didn't rise to the bait. He just kept walking, his cane tap-tap-tapping on the broken road.
Lin Tao glanced back at him. "Father. How far to the town?"
Old Lin's voice was a dry rasp. "Another ten li. Maybe twelve. If the roads hold."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we walk through the fields. Avoid the main roads. Keep to the tree lines."
Wang Feng spat on the ground. "Great. Walking through dead fields with no cover. That'll end well."
Lin Tao stopped. He turned, his eyes hard, his fists clenched. "You want to turn back? Is that it? You want to go crawling back to the Zhangs and beg for scraps? Because I'll tell you right now—I'd rather fucking starve."
"I didn't say turn back." Wang Feng's voice was low and dangerous. "I said have a goddamn plan. You want to reach the town—fine. What then? We don't know what's there. Goblins. Jiangshi. Other survivors who won't be happy to see us. We've got nothing to trade, nothing to offer. We're three hungry men with a knife and a bad attitude."
Lin Tao's hand moved to his own knife—smaller than Wang Feng's, but sharp. "You calling me useless?"
"I'm calling you fucking reckless. There's a difference."
"Boys." Old Lin's voice cut through the tension like a blade. Both younger men turned to look at him. The old man had stopped walking, leaning heavily on his cane, his face grey with exhaustion. But his eyes were sharp. "Save your energy. You'll need it."
Lin Tao's jaw tightened. "For what?"
"For whatever's waiting in that town. Goblins, jiangshi, other survivors—it doesn't matter. We fight or we die. There's no third option."
Wang Feng stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed—a short, ugly bark. "Listen to the old man. Finally got something to say after all these years."
Old Lin's expression didn't change. "I've always had things to say. You just never listened."
"Maybe I didn't want to hear the ramblings of a man who let his own son do all the work."
"Wang Feng." Lin Tao's voice was a warning.
"Fuck off. You think I'm scared of you?" Wang Feng tapped his knife against his thigh. "I've been listening to you two bitch and moan for days. 'The Zhangs did this. The Zhangs did that.' You know what I think? I think the Zhangs are the least of our problems. I think we should be more worried about the shit that's actually trying to kill us."
Lin Tao took a step forward. "Then leave. No one's keeping you here."
"Maybe I will."
"Fine."
"Fine!"
They stood there, chests heaving, eyes locked, the cold wind whipping between them. Old Lin watched them both with the tired patience of a man who had seen too many young fools fight over too many pointless things.
"We don't have time for this," he said finally. "We need to reach the town before dark. The roads are dangerous at night."
Wang Feng broke eye contact first. He turned away, spat on the ground again, and started walking. "Fine. But when this goes to shit—and it will go to shit—don't say I didn't warn you."
Lin Tao watched him go, his hand still on his knife. Then he followed.
Old Lin brought up the rear, his cane tap-tap-tapping on the broken asphalt, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon ahead.
---
After the Lins left, five people remained behind in the ruins of the town.
The town hall had been grand once—a three-story building with tall windows and a carved stone facade. Now the roof was caved in, the windows shattered, the walls blackened by smoke. Rain had gotten in through the broken ceiling, and everything smelled of mold and wet ash.
Chen Wei sat with his back against a fallen pillar, his wife Mei curled against his side. She was shivering, despite the coat he'd wrapped around her shoulders. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, but she wasn't sleeping. She hadn't slept properly in days. None of them had.
Zhang Jun paced back and forth across the rubble-strewn floor, his boots crunching on broken glass. He couldn't sit still. Every time he tried, his hands would start shaking, and the rage would crawl up his throat like bile. Lin Na sat on an overturned filing cabinet, her knees drawn up to her chest, watching him with tired, worried eyes.
Liu Feng was the only one who seemed calm. He sat in the corner, his back to the wall, a length of rebar across his knees. He didn't speak. He rarely did. But his eyes moved constantly, tracking the shadows, the sounds, the movement of rats in the walls.
"What if they don't come back?" Zhang Jun said for the third time. He stopped pacing and turned to face the others. "What if Liu Wei and his kid are already dead? What then?"
"They're not dead," Lin Na said quietly.
"You don't know that."
"I know Liu Wei. He's not a fighter, but he's stubborn. He wouldn't let his son die without a fight."
Zhang Jun's laugh was bitter. "A fight? Against what? The Zhangs had walls. They had weapons. You saw that big bastard with the scythe. Liu Wei's got nothing. He's a fucking carpenter."
"He had us," Chen Wei said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "He was supposed to have us. And we let Lin Tao walk away without him."
"Lin Tao said—"
"Fuck what Lin Tao said." Chen Wei's hand tightened on his wife's shoulder. "Lin Tao's a lying piece of shit who would sell his own mother for a crust of bread. We should never have listened to him."
Zhang Jun's jaw tightened. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lie awake at night thinking about what I should have done? I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance. Right there in the courtyard. Should have put my fist through his fucking skull."
"Jun." Lin Na's voice was soft but firm. "Don't."
"Why not? It's the truth. We let him walk away. We let him threaten us, threaten you, and we just fucking stood there."
"You hit him. That's something."
"It's not enough." Zhang Jun turned away, his hands shaking. "It's never fucking enough. I should have—"
"You should have done what you did," Chen Wei said. "You defended your woman. That's more than most men would do. Don't beat yourself up for not killing him."
Zhang Jun didn't answer. He just stood there, his back to the group, his shoulders rigid.
Mei stirred against her husband's side. Her voice was barely a whisper. "What if they don't come back? What if something happened to them?"
Chen Wei's arm tightened around her. "Then we go find out."
"And if it's bad? If the Zhangs did something to them?"
"Then we make it right."
"How?" Zhang Jun turned back to face them. "How the hell do we make it right? We're five people with no food, no weapons, and no plan. We can barely keep ourselves alive."
"We find Liu Wei," Chen Wei said. "That's step one. We find him and his son, and we get them out. Whatever it takes. After that..." He paused. "We figure it out."
"We figure it out," Zhang Jun repeated. "That's your plan. That's your fucking plan."
"You got a better one?"
Zhang Jun opened his mouth, then closed it. No. He didn't have a better plan. None of them did.
Lin Na slipped off the filing cabinet and walked over to him. She put her hand on his arm. "We'll find them. And then we'll leave. Go somewhere the Lins won't find us. Somewhere safe."
Zhang Jun looked down at her, and some of the tension drained from his face. "Is there anywhere safe left?"
"I don't know. But we'll find it."
The room fell silent. Outside, the wind moaned through the broken windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled—a long, lonely sound that echoed off the ruined buildings.
Liu Feng spoke for the first time in hours. His voice was quiet, rough from disuse. "The Zhangs gave us food."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"They didn't have to," he continued. "They could have turned us away. Could have let us starve. But they didn't. They gave us bread. Congee. A place to sleep, even if it was a barn. That's more than anyone else has done."
"So?" Zhang Jun demanded. "That doesn't mean they're saints."
"No. But it means they're not monsters." Liu Feng's eyes were steady. "If Liu Wei and his son are still alive, it's because the Zhangs let them live. And if they let them live, we owe them. Not hate. Not suspicion. A debt."
"A debt," Zhang Jun said. "You want to owe those bastards a debt?"
"I want to be the kind of man who pays what he owes."
The silence that followed was heavy. Zhang Jun stared at Liu Feng, his jaw working, but he didn't argue. He couldn't. The man was right, and they all knew it.
Finally, Chen Wei nodded. "We'll wait until morning. If Liu Wei comes out, we leave with him. We thank the Zhangs for their help, and we go."
"And if he doesn't come out?" Zhang Jun asked.
Chen Wei's face was grim. "Then we find out why. And we act accordingly."
"Fair enough," Zhang Jun said. "Fair enough."
Mei pressed her face against her husband's shoulder. "I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know," Chen Wei said. "Me too."
They sat together in the darkness, listening to the wind and the howling dogs, waiting for the morning.
***
While the Lins walked and the survivors waited, the Zhang farm stirred to life.
In the courtyard, Wei's uncle Jianguo had stripped down to a thin undershirt despite the cold. Sweat glistened on his arms, his shoulders, his back. He stood in the corner of the courtyard, a thick wooden log in his hands—a makeshift spear, longer than he was tall, its tip sharpened to a point.
He thrust. Pulled back. Thrust again.
His movements were precise, economical. No wasted motion. Each strike aimed at an invisible enemy's throat, chest, stomach. His feet moved in a tight pattern, shifting weight, maintaining balance. A straw dummy stood in front of him, wrapped in old clothes, its head a burlap sack stuffed with hay.
He drove the spear into the dummy's chest. The straw exploded outward.
Hao watched from the porch, his ribs still aching. He had a cup of tea in his hands, but he wasn't drinking it.
"You're going to hurt yourself," he called out.
His uncle didn't answer. He pulled the spear free and thrust again. The dummy's head flew off and rolled across the courtyard.
"You're sweating like a pig."
Still no answer.
"You know, most people rest after breakfast."
His uncle finally stopped. He lowered the spear and wiped his forehead with his forearm. His chest was heaving, but his breathing was controlled.
"If you're going to sit there," he said, "at least hand me the water jug."
Hao sighed. He set down his tea, picked up the water jug, and walked over. He handed it to his uncle.
"You're going to exhaust yourself," Hao said.
"I'm training." His uncle drank deeply, water spilling down his chin. "The goblins won't wait for us to be ready."
"The goblins haven't moved in days."
"They will."
His uncle set the water jug down and picked up the spear again. He tested its weight, spinning it in his hands.
"The boy," he said. "Liu Wei. What do you think of him?"
Hao shrugged. "He seems honest. Scared. But honest."
"Good." His uncle took a stance. "We need honest people."
He went back to training, the spear whistling through the air.
---
Wei's grandfather fed the pigs.
He moved slowly, his cane tapping the ground, a bucket of scraps in his other hand. Old Wang watched him approach from the shade tree, grunting softly.
"Hungry?" the old man asked.
The pig grunted again.
"I thought so."
He poured the scraps into the feeding trough. The other pigs jostled for position, but Old Wang waited. He was the largest, the strongest. He didn't need to push.
The old man reached through the bars and scratched Old Wang's forehead.
"You're a good boy," he said. "The best of them."
The pig closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
"You know," the old man said, "I've had a lot of pigs in my life. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. But you're special."
Old Wang grunted.
"You understand me, don't you?"
The pig opened his eyes and looked at him. There was intelligence there—real intelligence. Not human, but something close.
"I thought so."
The old man scratched behind Old Wang's ears. The pig wagged his tail—a short, stubby thing, but it wagged.
"Eat up," the old man said. "You need your strength."
He watched the pigs eat for a while, leaning on his cane. Then he turned and walked back to the house.
—
After breakfast, Liu Wei stepped out of the barn.
He had been inside for days—too weak, too scared, too focused on keeping his son alive to notice much of anything. The barn was dark, the windows small. He had crawled in and stayed there, huddled in the corner, waiting for death or rescue.
Now he stood in the sunlight and stared.
Wei watched his face as he took it all in—the way his mouth slowly fell open, the way his eyes widened, the way his hands dropped to his sides as if he had forgotten what to do with them. He took a few steps forward, then stopped, then took a few more.
"This is..." Liu Wei's voice was barely a whisper. "This is impossible."
"It's real," Wei said. He leaned against the fence, watching Liu Wei take in the farm. "Take your time."
Liu Wei turned in a slow circle, his head moving from side to side, trying to take in everything at once. The vegetable gardens. The rice paddies. The orchard. The animal pens. He rubbed his arms, though the morning wasn't cold.
"How?" he asked finally. "How is any of this still alive?"
Wei pushed off from the fence and walked toward the vegetable gardens. "Come on. I'll show you."
---
They walked to the vegetable gardens first. Liu Wei moved slowly, his eyes darting from side to side, taking in everything at once. The cabbages were huge, the size of melons. The radishes were thick as his arm. The tomatoes hung in clusters, red and gleaming.
Liu Wei stopped walking. He crouched down and touched a cabbage leaf, running his fingers along the thick veins.
"How?" he asked again. His voice was confused, almost frightened.
Wei shrugged. "The soil is good."
"That's not—" Liu Wei shook his head, still staring at the cabbage. "I've seen good soil. I've worked good soil. This isn't good soil. This is something else."
"It's been a strange few days."
"That's one word for it." Liu Wei shifted his son on his hip. ChenChen was still staring at the mountain, his small mouth slightly open. "What is this place? What is all of this?"
"It's our farm. The tree protects it. The wall keeps things out. The spring will water the fields. We're going to plant rice today." Wei looked at Liu Wei. "You're welcome to help. If you want. Before you leave."
Liu Wei was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I don't know how to farm. I was a carpenter before all this. I built furniture. Chairs, tables, cabinets. I don't know anything about rice."
"You can learn. Everyone learns. My grandfather will teach you."
Liu Wei looked at his son. ChenChen was still staring at the mountain, but now there was something else in his expression—something that might have been wonder, the pure, unguarded wonder of a child seeing something impossible and accepting it without question.
"Can we help, Baba?" ChenChen asked, his voice small and hoarse but eager. "Can we see the water? Please?"
Liu Wei held his son tighter. Then he nodded. "Yes. We can help."
They walked to the cave entrance, where the family was gathering tools. Wei's father looked up as they approached, and his eyes moved over Liu Wei—the hollow cheeks, the tired eyes, the boy cradled against his chest, the borrowed coat that was too big for him.
"Liu Wei," he said. "Wei tells me you're not like the others."
"I'm not," Liu Wei said. His voice was steady, but Wei could see his hands trembling. "I was afraid. I went along with Lin Tao because he threatened my son—told me there would be accidents, that no one would ask questions. I'm not proud of it. But I'm not your enemy. I never was."
Wei's father studied him for a long moment. His eyes moved from Liu Wei's face to ChenChen's—the boy's pale cheeks, his thin arms, the way he clung to his father's neck. Then he nodded.
"You have a son," he said. "I have sons. I understand what it means to be afraid for them. I understand what it means to do things you're not proud of, because you thought you had no choice." He paused. "I'm not going to hold it against you. Not when you were trying to protect your child."
He reached down and picked up a shovel—one of the smaller ones, with a worn handle and a blade that had been sharpened by years of use. He held it out to Liu Wei.
"We're digging a canal. From here to the paddies. It's hard work. You'll be sore tomorrow. But you'll have food in your stomach and a roof over your head, and when you leave, you'll leave with supplies. That's all I can offer."
Liu Wei took the shovel. His hand was shaking slightly, but his grip was firm. "I don't know how to thank you."
"Help us dig. That'll be thanks enough."
Wei's mother appeared beside them, a small shovel in her hand—the child-sized one that had belonged to Li when she was young, its wooden handle worn smooth by years of use. She crouched down and held it out to ChenChen.
"This was my daughter's," she said. "She planted her first garden with it. Do you want to help us dig?"
ChenChen looked at his father, who nodded. Then he took the shovel in both hands, holding it with the solemnity of a child who had been given an important task.
"I'll help," he said. "I'll dig good."
Wei's mother smiled—a small, tired smile, but genuine. "I'm sure you will."
And so the digging began.
End Of Chapter 19