Chapter 29: The Kindness in Humanity

When they arrived at the low, mud-walled house, the elderly woman pointed to a room on one side and said, “You can stay in this room. It used to belong to my son, his wife, and their child. But my son was taken to fight in the north and… I heard he died in battle. His wife then remarried with my grandson, leaving this room empty.”

After saying that, the old woman leaned on her cane and hobbled toward the kitchen.

Xia Mo stood frozen in place, instinctively turning to look at Xiao Jingyuan.

His expression was cold and stoic, as if he were unaffected.

But the slight trembling of his shoulders betrayed him.

For thousands of years, human history had been written in the blood and tears of war.

Back in her own time, Xia Mo had only read about the horrors of war in written records. Experiencing its cruelty firsthand was an entirely different matter.

“Right now, the two elders still have each other to rely on, but in a few years, life will become even harder—especially for the one left behind.”

Xiao Jingyuan pressed his lips together and said flatly, “Let’s just worry about surviving until we can’t move anymore.”

Xia Mo had no words to refute that.

The northern expedition army had been defeated. How much longer could the defenders of Bianzhou hold out?

That imposter in the palace had originally wanted to use the barbarians to eliminate Xiao Jingyuan’s uncle. But once the barbarians got a taste of easy victory, they couldn’t stop. They swept southward, conquering city after city.

Not only had the imposter failed to get rid of Xiao Jingyuan’s uncle, but he had also lost so many cities in the process. Such a disastrous deal—would he come to regret it?

The two elderly folks had kang beds in their house, and the room assigned to Xia Mo and Xiao Jingyuan was separated from the elders’ bedroom by just a single wall. The kangs were connected, allowing warmth to spread between them.

At that moment, the fire in the kitchen was burning, and the heat seeped into the kang bed. Sitting on it felt warm and cozy.

Xia Mo didn’t want to take advantage of the elderly couple’s kindness, so she planned to leave them some grain in return.

She took out some rice and flour and turned to ask Xiao Jingyuan, “What do you want to eat? I can borrow their kitchen to cook for you.”

But she didn’t receive a response. Instead, she saw him sitting at the edge of the kang, lost in thought.

Xia Mo assumed he was mourning the lost lands now occupied by the barbarians, blaming himself for the suffering of the people. She tried to console him in a roundabout way. “This is all caused by those in power. It has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to feel guilty just because you’re not old enough to be a soldier.”

Xiao Jingyuan gave a bitter smile. “But didn’t you say that ‘every man has a responsibility for the rise and fall of the nation’?”

Uh…

“Well, yeah, but by ‘man,’ I meant adult men over sixteen!” She was quick on her feet.

“You’re lying. You’re just treating me like an illiterate fool.”

“Hehe, no way.”

“Then tell me, where does that saying come from?”

She couldn’t exactly tell him that the phrase originated in the Qing dynasty, could she? Of course not.

“I made it up,” she said, keeping a straight face.

Xiao Jingyuan was silent for a moment before stating flatly, “You definitely made it up. The real phrase is ‘If a commoner acts virtuously, the people will follow—let alone a ruler?’ ‘Commoner’ refers to ordinary people, not just men over sixteen.”

Xia Mo twitched at the corners of her mouth. Why was he nitpicking over words?

“Your ‘commoner’ means ordinary people. My ‘commoner’ means men over sixteen.”

“Hmph, smooth talker, twisting words to your advantage.”

Xia Mo felt exasperated.

Her stomach was already growling, and she had no energy to argue over semantics. “Think whatever you want. I’m going to help out. Even if I just add a handful of firewood to the stove, at least I’m doing something useful.”

Xiao Jingyuan didn’t seem impressed, casting her a mocking glance.

Then he sighed. “Why don’t you make a bowl of noodles?”

Xia Mo, who had just reached the door, paused. “Noodles?”

“Mm. Make noodles.”

Xia Mo was from the south, the kind of person who felt like she hadn’t eaten if she didn’t have rice. Along the way, she’d already had her fair share of mantou and flatbreads in place of proper meals. Since they weren’t living normal lives right now, she’d accepted the fact that regular three meals a day weren’t always possible.

But making noodles from scratch… she had never done that before.

“Do we have to eat noodles?” she asked hesitantly.

Xiao Jingyuan was silent for a moment before saying, “Forget it if it’s too much trouble… It’s just… today is my birthday.”

His birthday?

Now that he had put it that way, how could she refuse?

Having left the palace, this was surely his most desolate birthday yet.

A young emperor in exile, spending his birthday with nothing but a simple request for a bowl of noodles—it stirred a sense of pity in her.

Xia Mo smiled. “Then I’ll give it a try. If it turns out bad, don’t blame me.”

She went into her convenience store space and took out a rolling pin and an old-fashioned clay pot for mixing the dough.

When they left, they could leave the pot for the elderly couple.

“Grandma, what are you cooking?” Xia Mo asked as she entered the kitchen with her supplies.

The old woman was tending the fire, and the pot on the stove was bubbling away.

“I’m making wild vegetable dough bits,” she replied. “The flour I used is coarse and unrefined, so it takes a long time to cook until it’s soft enough to swallow.”

“Grandma, I have some fine white flour here. Could you give me a clay jar to store it in?”

The elderly woman, leaning on her cane, wobbled as she stood up. “White flour?”

“Yes, look.”

She had never seen flour so white before. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch it, but when she saw how rough and dark her calloused fingers were, she hesitated and pulled them back.

Such fine flour—she was afraid of dirtying it.

“Young man, is this really flour?” she asked Xiao Jingyuan.

“Yes, Grandma. Please sit down. I’ll knead some dough for noodles, and whatever’s left is yours.”

The old woman was overwhelmed. “For me?”

“Yes. Could you give me a jar for storage?” Xia Mo asked again.

The wooden shelf beside the kitchen was lined with various earthen jars. Xia Mo couldn’t take one herself without permission.

“There is… There is a jar,” the old woman quickly said, struggling to retrieve one.

Xia Mo hurried forward to help. “Grandma, let me do it. Is this the right one?”

“Yes, that’s the flour jar.”

When Xia Mo looked inside, she saw that it was completely empty, save for a few remnants of coarse, dark flour.

The pot on the stove was full. The old woman must have poured the last of her flour into the pot to cook this one meal.

Once this meal was gone, what would they eat next?

Xia Mo couldn’t imagine how much longer they could have survived if she and Xiao Jingyuan hadn’t arrived.

She took out a cloth from her space—it was actually from her convenience store.

She wiped the jar clean, then poured in an entire bag of flour, leaving just enough for four bowls of noodles.

Even though she had never made noodles before, she at least knew the general process.

Boil water, knead dough, knead it hard, then roll and cut it into thin strands.

Without further delay, she got to work.

The old woman, tending the fire, watched her curiously. “Young man, what are you making?”