Xie Yun reined in his horse and walked slowly. The black horse blew out clouds of mist, and its iron hooves crushed the snow with a dull sound. He was wearing a dark woolen officer's uniform, and the dark woolen military coat on the outside fluttered in the cold wind.
The long baggage train behind them advanced slowly. The soldiers carefully protected the bulging grain sacks on their horses' backs. The heavy sacks swayed slightly on the saddles, leaving deep ruts on the snowy field.
The closer we got to the southern suburbs, the more miserable the scenery became. The tattered tent swayed in the wind and snow, like a fallen leaf that could be blown away at any moment.
A dozen skinny refugees huddled in a tent, covered with straw mats. An old man was cooking wild vegetable soup with snow water, and a bitter smell wafted from the pot.
"Young Marshal, the central porridge factory is just ahead..." the company commander reported hesitantly.
Looking around, the porridge factory was deserted, with no smoke coming out of the chimney. The graves not far away were covered with snow, like small hills.
When Xie Yun's team arrived at the resettlement site, the refugees, who had been lifeless, suddenly became agitated.
Someone shouted in a hoarse voice: "Food is coming!"
This cry was like thunder in the darkness, instantly igniting the hope of the crowd. The refugees who had been huddled in corners or lying weakly now struggled to rush towards the food trucks.
An old man with gray hair was so excited that he burst into tears. Turbid tears flowed freely along his wrinkled cheeks. He trembled and muttered: "God, please open your eyes. Finally, there is food..."
The old man staggered forward, his bony legs trembling in the cold wind, and he nearly fell. Fortunately, he was caught by a quick-eyed and quick-handed young man next to him.
The woman held the child's hand tightly and pushed him forward. The child's red, frozen face was full of desire.
The little girl cried out: "Mom, I'm hungry..."
The young mother quickly picked up the child, wrapped her in thin clothes, and comforted her softly: "There will be food soon."
Cheers, cries, and thanksgivings intertwined together, and the refugees surrounded Xie Yun's team like a tide. The scene was in chaos for a while.
Seeing this, Xie Yun immediately raised his whip high, and the tip of the whip made a sharp whistle in the cold wind. "Don't worry, everyone will get a share of food! Line up!" His voice was particularly loud in the noisy crowd.
But the hungry refugees had already lost their minds. A thin young man squeezed to the front, his rough fingers tightly grasping the corner of the food bag. The crowd behind him surged like a tide, and the defense line formed by the soldiers was about to be broken.
"Protect the grain carts!" Xie Yun shouted sternly.
The soldiers immediately stood back to back in a circle, with their rifles across their chests, using the butts of their rifles to repel the refugees who rushed over. One young soldier had his cap ripped off and his face scratched with blood, but he still held on tightly to the food bag behind him.
"Bang!"
The sound of gunfire shook the snow off the pine branches. The Browning in Xie Yun's hand was still emitting wisps of smoke. The young man at the front of the crowd was so scared that he collapsed on the ground. The refugees froze in place instantly, looking at Xie Yun in horror.
"Stop it." Xie Yun's voice was as heavy as iron. "If you continue to rob, you will be punished by military law."
The crowd gradually quieted down, leaving only the intermittent gasps.
Xie Yun put away his pistol and said in a more gentle tone: "I understand everyone's feelings. Let the soldiers bring the food in first. As the governor, I guarantee that everyone can drink hot porridge today."
Hearing this, the refugees' tense nerves relaxed slightly and they began to slowly retreat, making way for the passage.
Under the command of Xie Yun, the soldiers quickly moved the grain bags into the porridge factory.
Soon, orange flames shot up from the earthen stove in the porridge factory, and the water in the big iron pot began to gurgle. As the rice grains were put into the pot, a long-lost rice fragrance with a hint of smoke gradually spread in the cold wind.
Hundreds of refugees lined up in a long, winding queue in the porridge shed, their gray faces full of wrinkles from the years, their dry lips moving unconsciously.
When the familiar aroma of rice entered their noses, pairs of cloudy eyes suddenly brightened up. Some people swallowed unconsciously, and the skinny fingers holding the broken bowl tightened a little. Occasionally, a few suppressed coughs were heard in the team, but more often, there were the rumbling sounds of hunger.
A little girl, about six or seven years old, came out of the crowd and timidly grabbed Xie Yun's military pants. She raised her dirty little face, and the frost on her eyelashes sparkled in the sun: "Uncle, the porridge smells so good." Although her little face was blue from the cold, her smile was like sunshine breaking through the clouds, warming the whole cold winter.
Xie Yun knelt on one knee, not caring that the hem of his military coat was soaked in mud. He stared at the girl's chapped cheeks, and his voice softened unconsciously: "Tell uncle, what is your name?"
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