Chapter Forty-Five: Turmoil Unfolds

This year left an indelible mark on Ji Wu.

Mr. Xu’s prophecy had come true—the great chaos had arrived.

First were those initial months spent escorting shipments. Although the Ji Escort Agency spearheaded the formation of an alliance, they could not abandon their livelihoods. The few forces that Ji’s agency managed to rally were inferior to them; the true core of their strength lay in Xiong Ba. And the only people who could command Xiong Ba were Ji Yun and Ji Wu.

Naturally, Ji Yun remained behind to oversee the alliance’s affairs, negotiating with various merchants, other escort agencies, and martial halls. Ji Wu, on the other hand, took charge of leading Xiong Ba to escort valuable cargo.

As the first signs of disaster appeared, they encountered more and more refugees on the road during their missions. After the autumn harvest, the situation became entirely unmanageable.

Autumn, which should have been a season of abundance and joy, turned into a nightmare for many in Xishan County. When the fields yielded nothing, the desperate resorted to selling their possessions, even their children, for a bit of grain. When even that failed, they could only become refugees, begging or resorting to deceit and theft just to survive.

Amid such dire circumstances, food prices soared, and the roads became choked with disaster victims. As Ji Wu traveled, he saw countless emaciated figures collapsed by the roadside. He felt powerless—there were simply too many refugees.

The entire Xishan County was reeling from catastrophe, and other regions of Qiguo were also suffering in varying degrees. Even though the court responded swiftly by declaring tax exemptions for the hardest-hit areas, what good did it do? When there was nothing to collect, not even the emperor could conjure food from thin air.

What every region needed most was food, yet that was the hardest thing to obtain. Disasters had struck everywhere; grain was scarce and transportation took time. Each locality had granaries, but faced with the multitude of starving people, the government’s relief was a mere drop in the ocean.

At the start of that autumn, Ji Wu led Xiong Ba and a group from the alliance to escort a shipment of medicinal herbs. The swarm of refugees along the way slowed their progress so much that it took twice as long as usual to complete the delivery. Though they arrived late, at least no major trouble occurred, and the task was finished in the end.

For an escort team, the ideal was to have business both going and returning—a single trip could earn two incomes. But such luck was rare. Outbound cargoes could be chosen with care, but on the way back, they often had to take whatever work they could find, sometimes even going out of their way. Still, having something was better than nothing; even if they transported nothing, the cost of feeding the people and horses was the same, so they might as well accept odd jobs.

Ji Wu’s team was no different. Yet, ironically, they no longer had to worry about picking up poor business on the way back.

The area they traveled to had been less affected by disaster than Qing County, so grain there was “cheaper”—only twice the normal price. Around Qing County, when they set out, prices had already soared to five times the usual rate or higher.

If they brought grain back from there to Qing County and sold it themselves, their profits would multiply, and they wouldn’t have to detour. Most of the escort team gladly spent their own money to buy grain, transporting it home to make a fortune.

But grain was different from medicinal herbs—it was bulky and heavy. To carry more, they had to stick to the main roads; mountain paths were simply too slow and difficult. Normally, everyone preferred the main roads anyway, as the chances of encountering bandits were lower.

But these days were not normal. The main roads were packed with refugees, and the cargo they carried—grain—was exactly what the starving masses needed most.

Still, no one worried, because Xiong Ba was with them.

Throughout the journey, Xiong Ba always marched at the very front. With that imposing frame, it was more than just a warning for strangers to stay away—those who saw it and could still move fled in terror. A bear of that size, if enraged, could do more than just bruise with a single swipe—it could utterly destroy.

Even those who weren’t scared off immediately knew better than to provoke them. With such a terrifying bear among their ranks, trouble on the road was greatly reduced.

With Xiong Ba clearing the way, nothing could stop them.

Ji Wu would ride his steed, Zidian, alongside Xiong Ba. Even with crowds of refugees on the main road, most would wisely step aside.

Until—

A sudden sound—a thud—came from the uneven road. A sack of grain tumbled from a wagon. Unluckily, the bag struck the edge of the cart as it fell. White rice spilled out in a glistening heap.

“Damn this rotten road,” someone in the group cursed, picking up the bag with its spilled contents and tossing it back onto the wagon.

“There’s grain! Grain here!” cried voices from the roadside.

Even those refugees too weak to walk stirred at the commotion, turning their gaunt faces and struggling to their feet, craning their necks for a look.

In an instant, blades and swords flashed in the hands of the escort team. One sneered, “So what if there’s grain? This grain has its owners!”

Apart from Ji Wu, the rest drew their weapons, glaring fiercely at the starving crowd.

Even Xiong Ba sensed the tension, unleashing a thunderous roar.

The covetous looks in the refugees’ eyes faded immediately. These people were not to be trifled with. And among them was a black bear, as massive as a small mountain. Even someone with the courage of a tiger would not last a round against such a beast.

Anyone truly capable of seizing their grain would have no need to covet it.

As the tense scene seemed about to resolve without incident, an old man carrying a child of about three or four approached Ji Wu—the only one who hadn’t brandished a weapon—and fell to his knees.

“Sir, please, have mercy. My grandson hasn’t eaten for nearly three days. I don’t ask for your grain—just let me pick up what fell to the ground.”

With that, the old man kowtowed fervently, his forehead quickly swelling and reddening from the force of his blows against the earth.