The cold wind blew up the fine snow, which whimpered among the ruins of the old city of Tianjin. Zheng Wanqing wrapped herself tightly in a cotton robe trimmed with gray squirrel fur and walked towards the porridge stall on the frozen mud.
It was still daybreak, and a long line had already formed outside the refugee camp. The dense crowd, like a winding black snake, was slowly and laboriously moving in the cold snow. Some were wrapped in straw mats, some were covered in sacks, and many were standing in the snow with their toes frozen black and purple. Everyone was numbed by hunger and cold, and their eyes were filled with endless emptiness and confusion.
"Madam, you are here!" Lao Zhao, the steward of the porridge stall, came over to greet us while rubbing his red, frozen hands. His beard was covered with ice. "It is very cold today, and the number of refugees has doubled compared to yesterday."
Zheng Wanqing nodded slightly without saying anything. She rolled up her sleeves neatly, revealing her slender wrists. She took the wooden spoon, opened the steaming porridge pot, and the aroma of rice hit her face. However, the aroma was slightly thin.
"Line up, one bowl per person, no pushing!" Lao Zhao shouted at the top of his voice.
The team moved slowly forward, and Zheng Wanqing concentrated on distributing the porridge one bowl at a time.
The skinny old man at the front of the team took the bowl of porridge. He held the coarse porcelain bowl with his fingers like dry branches. The boiling hot porridge splashed onto his frozen and cracked palms, but he was completely unaware and just lowered his head to lick the edge of the bowl.
Zheng Wanqing looked at this scene, her throat seemed to be choked by something, and it was so sour and unbearable. She cast her eyes into the pot, only to see the sparse rice grains, and the porridge soup was so clear that you could almost see your reflection clearly. She pursed her lips lightly, turned to look at Lao Zhao, and asked, "Is there any more rice?"
Old Zhao gave a helpless smile, his face full of vicissitudes and helplessness: "Madam, this is the last bag..."
"Madam, we don't have enough firewood." Aunt Zhou came out from behind the shed, her hands still stained with stove ash, "All the wood we collected yesterday has been burned."
Zheng Wanqing looked at the house at the end of the alley with the couplet "loyalty and honesty passed down from generation to generation" on the door: "Go ask the Zhang family..." She was interrupted by a cough. Aunt Zhou hurriedly patted her back, but felt the protruding shoulder blade under the cotton gown.
Zheng Wanqing paused and continued, "Go ask the Zhang family if they can buy some firewood. I'll pay you for it."
"Hey!" Aunt Zhou responded, turned around and left in a hurry.
Zheng Wanqing picked up the long spoon and continued to distribute the porridge. Her hands were so cold that she had no feeling anymore.
The sound of rickshaw bells broke through the snow.
She was wearing a blue cotton gown, a plain cloak, and a simple wooden hairpin in her hair. She was holding a blue cloth bundle in her arms, her fingertips slightly red from the cold, but she was still holding it steadily.
"I made some ginger and sugar water for you." She whispered to Zheng Wanqing, her voice as soft and pleasant as snow falling on bamboo leaves.
After that, she gently untied the bundle, revealing a thermos. Opening the lid, she could see brown-red ginger candies inside, with wisps of hot air and sweet fragrance wafting out. She moved calmly and gracefully, pouring a bowl and handing it to Lao Zhao who was standing beside her.
Old Zhao took it and showed an honest smile on his face: "Thank you, Miss Bai."
Bai Xiao poured another bowl and handed it to Zheng Wanqing: "It's freezing cold, you need to warm yourself up so you have the strength to work." She looked at Zheng Wanqing's red hands from the cold, and said with concern: "You take a rest first, let me do it." As she said that, she gently took the long spoon from Zheng Wanqing's hand.
Zheng Wanqing's eyes were slightly hot. She knew that Bai Xiao's father was a poor private school teacher, and these candies must have been saved for a long time.
When the hustle and bustle in the porridge shed eased a little, Zheng Wanqing gently approached Bai Xiao and asked in a low voice, "Brother went to the southern suburbs yesterday?"
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