Yangzhou, a prosperous hub in the south of the Yangtze River, is a place where you can earn a fortune or lose millions daily. It is a paradise for the rich and a hell for the poor.
In Yangzhou City, the East City was home to the rich and powerful, the West City to the wealthy merchants, the South City to the common people, and the North City to all walks of life. And three or four miles away from the North City, there was a slum. There lived beggars, refugees, and those who had nothing.
Our story begins in this slum on the edge of the northern city...
In this slum, there is a group of beggars who are particularly famous. They are mostly old, weak, sick and disabled, and their leader is a little boy who is only ten years old.
However, no one dared to mess with this group of beggars, because they were very protective of their own shortcomings and did not care about their lives.
There was once a refugee who, relying on his great stature, robbed half of a steamed bun from a beggar among them. He was then chased by a group of people for a long time and beaten so badly that even his own parents could not recognize him.
There was once a scoundrel who flirted with an older woman from the beggar gang. A group of beggars stripped him naked and hung him on a tree beside the official road for people to watch for three days and three nights.
There was once another group of beggars who were ignorant of the world and wanted to occupy their dilapidated yard. They were beaten to a pulp and cried out in pain.
…
These glorious achievements made this group of beggars the bullies of this slum, and no one dared to offend them. When people met them, they would take a detour.
At this time, the Beggars' Gang, which was often daunting, was filled with gloom because their young leader had fallen into the water and had developed a fever and was still unconscious.
To call it a beggar's house was simply a run-down courtyard. Calling it a courtyard was a bit of an exaggeration. Only a few bare walls remained, supporting a roof so tall that one could see the sky. There were no doors or windows, and the tiles were barely countable.
This dilapidated courtyard is also a holy place that many families in this slum yearn for.
At this time, in the yard, on a neat and clean pile of straw, a little boy of about ten years old was sleeping.
He was wearing a brown linen shirt with several patches on it, and his palm-sized face was sallow and pale.
A handkerchief, so worn out that it looked as if it would rip to pieces at the slightest touch, covered his forehead.
His eyes were tightly shut. His lips were dry, white, and peeling. His sallow face had taken on a strange red hue from the high fever.
A dark, withered hand, holding a wet blade of grass, touched the boy's lips, then touched the boy's forehead, put the dry handkerchief back into the water, pressed it gently, and then placed it on the boy's forehead again.
After doing all this, Aunt Liu continued to stay by the straw pile. Her face, so thin that her cheekbones were protruding, could not hide her worry. "What should I do? Another night has passed, and Xiao Er's fever still hasn't subsided."
Uncle Li looked at the waiter lying on the straw pile, his back hunched, and sighed deeply, "If there's really no other way, I can only..."
"No, no, that's their lifeblood." Aunt Liu sat up immediately after hearing that.
"Then, what about Xiao Wai?" Uncle Li asked dejectedly, his cloudy eyes revealing pain.
When Aunt Liu heard this, her excitement instantly subsided.
There were still some embers left from the fire that had been burning last night, with a tiny flame occasionally emitting, but it was already a spent force... just like the waiter on the straw pile, and just like themselves.
Aunt Liu and Uncle Li stared at the dying fire for a long time, both silent...
A faint sadness permeated the entire house, spreading through the windowless walls to the entire yard.
In the yard, groups of people gathered in twos and threes, some sitting, some standing.
All of them were unkempt and dressed in rags.
Some people were wearing two or three pieces of clothes pieced together, with patches all over them.
Some even wore pants of different lengths with missing legs and covered with patches.
Compared to them, the boy lying on the straw pile was dressed much better.
Among these people, there are men and women, old and young, and the expression on everyone's face is so serious.
Their leader, Li Xiaoer, was seriously ill, and even the most experienced Master Li was unable to recover...
What would they do if the gang leader was gone?
Everyone's face revealed a sense of confusion...
Just then.
"Grandpa Li, Aunt Liu, look, what did I find?" A burst of shouting came from far away.
That is, that is, Tiedan's voice.
He said before that he went out to look for herbs.
Uncle Li stood up suddenly, staggered, and almost fell down again.
Fortunately, Aunt Liu, who was quick-eyed and quick-handed, helped him up, otherwise he would have been badly injured.
"Uncle Li, please slow down."
Uncle Li rubbed his legs which were numb from sitting, and with the help of Aunt Liu, he walked tremblingly into the yard.
In the yard, Tiedan, who was only eleven or twelve years old, was surrounded by people in three layers. Everyone's previous gloom was gone, and hope was revealed in everyone's eyes.
Everyone spontaneously made way for Uncle Li, who walked in front of Tiedan.
Tiedan was shirtless, revealing his dark, skinny upper body. He carefully opened the bundle he had made of his shirt, revealing a few green leaves.
Is that plantain?
Uncle Li's cloudy eyes instantly lit up. He rushed to Tiedan and, with trembling hands, carefully picked up the delicate plant.
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