Chapter 2: Foxtail Grass

After the war ended, the Dazhun Dynasty was officially established, and the Emperor appointed his legitimate eldest son as the Crown Prince.

But the owner of that tomb turned out to be none other than Qin Wang, who had disappeared years prior. Not only had he survived, he returned in a blaze of glory, stormed the imperial palace, killed the Crown Prince, and forced the old Emperor to abdicate and become the Retired Emperor.

When she was cleaning the jade pendant in the tomb owner’s hand, a sudden flash of blinding light engulfed her—and just like that, she had transmigrated in a dazzling burst of fate.

According to the historical records, all of Jiuzhou was now under the control of the Dazhun army. It wouldn’t be long before the war came to a true end, and the people would finally have a chance to rest and recover.

Xie Jiu’er’s Father had been conscripted into the army years ago and never returned. The family’s last bit of grain had also ended up in her Big Uncle’s hands.

Even if they tried to flee with the others, they had nothing to eat. In the dead of winter, dressed in nothing but thin, ragged clothes, they wouldn’t make it far before either starving or freezing to death.

Rather than venturing out without a single grain of food, it was better to stay put. At least at home, they wouldn’t freeze to death. Xie Jiu’er had talked and reasoned with Zhou shi for an entire night before her Mother finally agreed to let the three of them remain in the village.

The chill from outside seeped greedily through the cracks in the windows. Xie Jiu’er couldn’t help but shiver. The three of them—Mother and children—huddled together on the earthen kang, trembling from the cold.

Zhou shi and Xie Wuyang sat expressionless, blank-faced. Xie Jiu’er glanced around the room. Other than a broken wooden cabinet and the kang they sat on, there was nothing else left in the house.

In the faint morning light, dust drifted through the air like mist, making the place seem as though it had been abandoned for ages—lifeless, cold, and void of any warmth.

“Mother, once the sun rises and it gets a little warmer, we’ll split up. I’ll go check the other houses in the village. There’s probably no food left, but anything useful is still better than nothing. You and Wuyang should go clean out the cellar in our backyard. If anyone enters the village, we’ll hide there.”

Zhou shi nodded silently. Xie Jiu’er continued, “When you light the kang later, don’t heat up our own. Burn a fire in the one at Sixth Uncle’s house next door. Tonight, we’ll sleep there. If anything happens, we’ll retreat to the prepped cellar.”

“Why are we sleeping at Uncle’s? Our kang is still warm,” asked Xie Wuyang, his face pale and yellow with hunger, puzzled by his Sister’s instructions.

“If our kang is warm and someone sneaks into the village with bad intentions, they’ll know someone’s home. Even if we hide in the cellar, it’ll be easy to find us. But Sixth Uncle’s place is different—it’s right next to ours, but the entrance faces a different direction. That way, we’re less likely to be discovered.”

Xie Jiu’er glanced at her sickly younger Brother. He was already nine years old, but still small and thin. Since the day he was born, he had never known what it felt like to eat a full meal.

Looking at Zhou shi, one might think she still appeared round and well-fed—but Xie Jiu’er knew better. That wasn’t real weight. Her Mother had given every edible morsel she could to her two children.

Long-term hunger had left her swollen with edema, not fat. But after years of war and chaos, simply surviving was already an extraordinary blessing. Hoping to ever feel full again was impossible.

From the day she was born to now, well into middle age, Zhou shi had never eaten a proper meal in her life.

Even so, she still gave everything she had to protect her children. What surprised Xie Jiu’er most was that Zhou shi had always divided food fairly between them. She had never once treated her daughter as lesser.

As the three of them spoke, a shaft of sunlight slipped in through the window lattice. Xie Jiu’er tilted her face upward and smiled faintly. “The sun is out. I’ll go take a walk around the village.”

With that, she slipped on a pair of tattered cloth shoes barely holding together and stepped outside. The village was devoid of its usual noises—no children crying, not even a single bark from a dog.

Xie Jiu’er crossed her arms inside her sleeves for warmth. As she walked, the only sound she could hear was the soft tread of her own footsteps.

A village without people was too quiet. So quiet it stirred a gnawing unease in the heart, as though they had been forgotten by the entire world—left behind to decay with this abandoned place.

After circling the village, she found nothing but a half-frozen chunk of carrot dropped beside the village chief’s cellar. Not a scrap of cloth, not a grain of food—just a scene of devastation.

When she reached the Taohua family’s gate, Xie Jiu’er paused, hesitated for a long moment, then took a deep breath and forced herself to step inside despite the knot tightening in her chest.

In the backyard, large patches of blood had frozen solid on the ground, gleaming harshly under the sunlight.

Xie Jiu’er knew—that blood belonged to the simple-minded Taohua girl.

Taohua’s house was eerily empty. Even the straw mat on the kang had been taken away. Only a solitary clay vat stood silently in the kitchen.

Xie Jiu’er stepped closer and peeked inside—at the bottom, there were still faint traces of minced meat.

She gagged dryly and staggered out of the courtyard, her face pale.

No matter how heartless other families were, at least they’d try to trade something. They might sell others—but they couldn’t bring themselves to harm their own blood. But Taohua’s father… had personally dealt with his own daughter.

There wasn’t a single bite of food left in her own home, either. But Xie Jiu’er had no time to mourn or grieve.

She began hauling in batches of things she had previously scavenged from the abandoned homes: firewood, small clay pots, tools—anything remotely useful. She moved them all back into their own courtyard.

Now that the village was empty, if they cooked openly and smoke rose from their chimney, it would only take a trail of smoke to lead bandits or looters straight to them. Ordinary firewood was no longer an option.

In times like these, hiding in a cellar meant risking death from cold just as much as from discovery.

So she came up with a plan—not just to gather food, but to make charcoal. That way, they could cook and keep warm inside the cellar, without smoke giving them away.

Once she had moved everything into the yard, Xie Jiu’er didn’t even pause to catch her breath. She called out briefly to her Mother and Brother, who were busy cleaning out the underground cellar, and then slung her basket on her back and headed for the mountains once more.

If luck was on her side, she might just find something edible.

In winter, the mountains were bleak—bare trees and withered plants stretched endlessly, a landscape stripped of life. Truthfully, deeper in the forest, there were still wild animals to be found. But Xie Jiu’er had no skills in that regard. Hunting was a high-level craft, and not something she could afford to gamble her life on—not unless it was the very last resort.

After climbing into the mountains, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, carefully scanning her path. Along the way, she managed to gather a decent amount of ground moss greens.

They looked shriveled and dry in winter, but once soaked in water, they plumped up thick and tender—quite nourishing. More importantly, this time of year, they were still clean. Once spring thunder rolled in and the weather warmed up, the plants would be crawling with bugs.

Still, she couldn’t survive on moss greens alone. To maintain her strength, she needed at least a bit of grain. But in this war-ravaged world, ordinary people hadn’t been able to farm properly in years. Grain had become a rare treasure.

On both sides of the mountain trail, foxtail grass sprawled across the slopes—dry and yellow, fallen in messy clumps halfway up the hill.

 Xie Jiu’er lowered her head and casually picked a handful. Her eyes lit up—foxtail grass in this era was surprisingly robust, with full, plump seeds just slightly smaller than millet.

She remembered her Grandmother once saying that during the famine years, people were so starved they gnawed on tree bark, even boiled leather belts just to stay alive. Back then, foxtail grass was considered a treasure.

Recalling those days, her Grandmother said porridge made from foxtail grass seeds was delicious—soft and smooth, and not the least bit harsh on the throat.

Xie Jiu’er rubbed a few of the seeds between her fingers and examined them closely for the first time. These things were quite similar to millet in nature, and they even had medicinal value—they could detoxify the body, treat dysentery, and expel parasites.