Abandoned the Immortal Cultivator, returned to his hometown to farm and sing

Chapter 1375, Section 1362: In order to survive
Beirut.

The elderly couple held hands.

The old man was holding a canvas bag tightly in his arms.

The old woman held the little girl tightly.

The family of three walked slowly through the crowd.

Their backpacks contained their last remaining possessions.

A few pieces of clothing, a bowl, and several photo albums filled with nostalgia.

And the most precious thing, hidden at the very bottom of the backpack, was held tightly in the old man's arms.

Three and a half palm-sized dry noodle cakes.

The elderly couple sold their house and bought five flatbreads in return.

I ate one and a half before leaving.

This was the most filling meal the three of them had eaten in the past two days.

But I didn't dare eat too much because the journey was still very long.

The little girl left home again for some reason.

But she didn't cry or make a fuss; it was as if she had grown up overnight.

She was still wearing that big, soft shirt.

There was also a pair of shoes, one red and one green, which didn't make a matching pair.

They walked silently alongside their grandparents.

I don't know where I'm going, or how long it will take.

She had no idea what awaited her ahead.

It should be a good place.

Because there were many people traveling with us.

But he wasn't as...irritable as she had seen him when he was homeless.

There were no deafening slogans shouted, nor were there any brightly colored flags waved.

They just walked silently, quietly and peacefully.

Occasionally, the corners of her mouth would twitch unconsciously.

It seems like...he's laughing.

It's been such a long time since I've seen a smile on an adult's face.

Aside from those bad people who come to your house and take away your furniture.

He was so careless while moving things that he smashed Grandma's favorite dressing mirror and gave her a sinister smile.

Grandma hit him with a stick and threw him out.

That was the first time she had ever seen her grandmother shout so loudly.

But the little girl wasn't scared at all.

But today, there are no such people.

This morning when Grandpa went out, he called out to a lot of people, who all came out of the houses.

They gathered in the street, carrying sticks, steel pipes, and even knives.

There were so many meats gathered there this morning. Grandma said they were all from the neighbors and kind people.

After they regrouped, the younger men went outside, carrying weapons.

Grandparents, her, and other children and grandparents were surrounded in the middle.

Everyone walked outside together.

As I passed the street corner, I even saw some bad guys coming to my house to take away my furniture.

Several bad guys stood in a row on the street, preventing them from passing.

As a result, he was beaten with stones and sticks until his head was covered in bumps, and he ran away like a wild dog.

The little girl secretly saw it, and Grandpa also threw a brick, hitting the bad guy who was arguing with Grandma on the head, causing a big bump to appear.

That's hilarious.

That brick is still in Grandpa's backpack.

Then people kept joining their team, and their team was incorporated into a larger team.

Like a trickle, it continuously flows into the river, surging southward all the way.

I walked and walked, until night fell...

There was no house, and no bed.

But the little girl wasn't afraid.

Because my grandparents were there, and many kind people who set off together were also there.

They camped out in a park, cutting down trees, dismantling benches, and lighting a campfire.

Grandpa went to fetch water.

There is a water diversion tunnel here, which supplies water from the reservoir to the city.

The water pump has stopped because it ran out of fuel, but there is still water in the pipes, although it doesn't taste very good.

One of the neighbors brought an iron pot.

Everyone gathered together. Grandma took out two flatbreads, someone took out salt and pepper, and someone else took out carrots and cabbage.

There was even one person who took out a carefully wrapped small square from inside his coat, from a pocket close to his body.

As you peel back the layers, you discover a piece of cheese inside.

Cheese! The little girl had forgotten when she last ate cheese, and stared at it, unconsciously swallowing.

The sound was extremely loud.

But no one laughed at her, because everyone was swallowing hard.

Cheese, an ordinary food in the past, is now so tempting.

The water in the pot was bubbling and boiling.

Break the dried biscuits into pieces and throw them in.

I roughly chopped up the carrots and cabbage and threw them in.

That small piece of cheese.

After hesitating for a long time, I threw it in anyway.

Finally, add salt and pepper.

I cooked a big pot of creamy vegetable porridge.

Everyone ate it together.

My stomach felt warm after eating.

This is the first time in several days that the little girl has eaten so much.

Nestled in her grandmother's arms, her little head began to nod off.

The campfire crackled and popped.

The adults' voices drifted further and further away.

The last thing we heard was Grandpa's hopeful voice, speaking softly: "...Just one more day, we'll be there tomorrow. I heard there's food over there..."

Yes, food.

Isn't what we eat all about hope...?

The little girl drifted off to sleep, a smile still lingering on her lips.

It should be a sweet dream...
-
Early the next morning.

The crowd resumed their journey, continuing south.

They inevitably embarked on a journey of fleeing famine.

Fleeing from famine has always been a difficult path in the East. People would never choose to flee from famine if they had any other way to survive.

Because of the fact that only one in ten people actually reach their destination.

Famine, plague, bandits, human traffickers, defeated soldiers, landlords' militias, and any other person traveling along the way could take a person's life at any moment when they are not paying attention, or when paying attention is futile.

Fortunately, this is Libya.

Libya is a small country.

Fortunately, the place they were going to was within the area controlled by the milk tea shops in the south.

Even better, the bubble tea shop's controlled area is located in the southern suburbs of Beirut.

What an amazing place.

One country, two governments, two armies, hostile to each other.

But in the suburbs of the capital, they lived in peace for more than thirty years.

This is fantastic; it provides immense convenience for our journey to escape famine.

It's only 40 kilometers from the elderly couple's home to the southern suburbs controlled by the milk tea shop.

It's only a two-day journey.

Those who are strong and healthy can even arrive in a day.

Thank goodness, if it had been any further, the two elderly people with a six-year-old girl would definitely not have been able to make it.

So at dusk on the second day.

The elderly couple and the little girl easily crossed the line.

That place with the yellow flag flying, the flag depicting an AK47.

Everything was peaceful and uneventful, without any obstruction.

There used to be an army guarding this place.

But according to the people who received them, a group of people rushed over from the other side, and as soon as the guns went off, all the soldiers guarding the area ran away.

By the way, the person who received them was a middle-aged man named Ai Min.

Just like his name suggests, he is an honest man.

They were also from Beirut, and when they registered, they learned that their accommodation was only two blocks away from the elderly couple's house.

I was so hungry three days ago that I ran over here, and that's when I saw Dada.

Then, because I arrived early, I was recruited as a volunteer.

The group followed him for several hundred meters.

A large campsite appeared before us, consisting only of camouflage tents and dusty blankets.

It was very simple, but huge, stretching as far as the eye could see. The person who greeted us said there were a million people here.

It felt like the entire population of Beirut had come here.

With so many people gathered together, it was naturally noisy, chaotic, and not very clean.

But the air was filled with a rich aroma of food.

The little girl sniffed, grinned, revealing a gap in her mouth where a tooth was missing, and smiled happily. She tugged at her grandmother's hand, "Grandma, there's food."

The old woman, holding the old man's hand with one hand and the little girl's hand with the other, grinned and said, "Yes, yes, there is food."

“There’s plenty of food!” Ai Min laughed the loudest, but after laughing, she couldn’t help but mutter to herself, “Although it’s really hard to eat.”

However, none of his companions heard his last sentence, and even if they did, they didn't care. As long as there was food, who cared about whether it tasted good or bad at that moment?

They all asked him questions such as whether the food here was real, whether it was available in unlimited quantities, how much it would cost, whether he could get a loan, whether there were any jobs, and so on.

The question gave Ai Min a headache.

He quickly waved his hand to interrupt everyone, and said loudly and quickly, "There's plenty of food, it's all available. I know you're all broke, and the banks are closed, so we won't charge you. Settle down first, survive first, and we'll talk about the rest later."

Yes, the priority is to survive.

As for the rest, well, let's just take it one step at a time.

Aimin led them into the camp.

It indicated where the medical room, water station, and toilet were located.

And most importantly, where do we get food?

Then they were given tents, as well as a blanket, a bowl, and a spoon each.

The little girl was so small that she also received a small can of milk powder.

Even with just these things, it's not easy for a milk tea shop to operate.

However, these people who fled the famine were already quite content, at least there was food here.

After a quick settling-in, a few elderly people were left to watch over the belongings and the children.

Others flocked to the food distribution area.

The food distribution area was also a tent, with people in military uniforms standing guard to maintain order.

They looked fierce, and each of them was carrying a rifle.

They are the very "brutal" group of "terrorists" that are reported in the news every day.

But at that moment, no one was afraid at all.

Everyone was drawn to the large cauldrons inside the tent.

It was simmering inside, a grayish-white, slightly yellowish... paste.

It's like diluted plaster or the murky water from a rag that hasn't been washed in a long time.

There were long queues in front of each large pot.

Each bowl handed to the pot was filled with a spoonful of the paste; one spoonful made one bowl.

Because there was nothing else, the procession moved very quickly.

Only a dozen minutes.

The old man carried the two bowls of porridge back to the tent.

He ate one bowl, while the old woman and the little girl shared the other.

The old man scooped up a spoonful of the paste and eagerly put it into his mouth.

He hasn't eaten anything all day.

But as soon as the spoonful of paste entered his mouth, his face scrunched up in a grimace.

I never imagined there could be such awful food.

It looks quite thick, but when you eat it, it has both the worst qualities of being sticky and grainy.

That's really "ingenious".

When scooped up with a spoon, it doesn't slide smoothly, but rather falls reluctantly in clumps.

The first thing you feel when you put it in your mouth is a powdery resistance, like countless undissolved starch granules roughly rubbing against your tongue and palate.

Then, these particles begin to melt under the action of saliva, turning into a sticky, paste-like substance that sticks in the mouth and cannot be swallowed.

As for the taste, it seems to be mashed potatoes, but it has almost no potato flavor.

No, "almost no potato flavor" is an accommodating description.

It not only lacks the aroma of potatoes, but also has an earthy smell, like the kind of stench that you can smell even through a thick wall—the kind of filthy, garbage-filled pit that's been covered with a layer of soil, but the stench still can't be masked.

There were no seasonings at all.

Only a tiny bit of salt was added.

It's better not to add any salt at all. Without any food flavor to support it, that little bit of salt is just isolated saltiness.

It evoked no pleasant associations with warmth, satisfaction, or food.

Swallowing it is like swallowing poorly mixed building putty.

It's not even bad-tasting.

It has no sourness, no bitterness, and no strange smell.

Only harsh, extreme emptiness and barrenness.

It doesn't challenge your taste buds; it destroys them.

There was no prior notice when I ate it.

Even though I've been hungry for a long time, even though I haven't eaten all day.

It was also difficult to swallow.

Every bite is a test of endurance.

It is eaten only to complete the mechanical delivery of nutrients.

It seems that its very existence is a purely functional calorie filler.

The purpose of eating it is to fill your stomach.

If it weren't for the fact that eating it could actually extinguish the hunger fire in my stomach, and that I could actually feel my overdrawn body slowly recovering and regaining my strength.

The old man was so angry he wanted to throw the bowl away with it.

But, in order to survive.

The old man slowly swallowed the entire bowl of porridge, bite by bite.

After eating, the lingering powdery and sticky feeling remained deep in my mouth for a long time, and every time I thought about it, it was painful.

But, I am alive.

The little girl was also suffering while eating.

But she was very well-behaved and obedient, and quietly finished her bowl of porridge.

Later, Grandma went to get a bowl of hot water and mixed some milk powder with it.

The little girl gulped it down and finally felt a bit better.

The elderly couple drank a lot of water, trying to wash away the sticky feeling in their mouths, but they couldn't get rid of it no matter what they did.

Later, the elderly couple found work at the camp and finally saw what they were eating.

It really was a potato, a huge one, so big you couldn't wrap your arms around it.

Their job is to peel potatoes, cut them into chunks, steam them, mash them, and then boil them into a paste.

A few days later, the camp had more supplies, so they added some flour, corn, radishes, and cabbage to the pot and cooked it together.

The taste improved slightly, but it was still very unpalatable.

They also learned that this potato had a strange name: "Autumn Goose No. 9".

It was transported from faraway Yemen.

It was delivered to the port of Tyre in the south, a total of 60,000 tons.

Enough to feed two million people for a month.

And if that's not enough, there's plenty more in Yemen.

Yemen.

The old man knew that place; it was very poor and dilapidated, and there was constant fighting there. The news always reported that there was a famine there.

How could there be food in that place?
So much more?

Later he found out more.

This type of potato was cultivated in the far more distant East.

In the East, this potato is not for human consumption.

Even when fed to pigs, they wouldn't eat.

It is cultivated for the purpose of making alcohol, specifically the alcohol used for disinfection in hospitals.

The wine I drink can't be used for cooking; it tastes terrible.

But in Yemen, and in present-day Libya.

It's a lifesaver.

Although it contains only starch, no vitamins, no amino acids, and no trace elements.

If you rely on it as your staple food for a long time, you will suffer from malnutrition and nutritional imbalance, which can lead to many problems such as anemia, constipation, bloating, night blindness, and bleeding gums.

Although every bite of it is torture, it's just eating for the sake of eating.

The best way is to close your eyes and pour it into your mouth, as quickly and as thoroughly as possible, until you're full and done.

Although it has many shortcomings, and although it doesn't taste good.

But, I am alive.

Those who have experienced hunger know all too well how important the words "to be alive" are.

Anything that can save a person's life is considered a supreme delicacy.

Being alive is enough...

So the Yemenis gave it another name, "the fruit of life," meaning it can save lives.

It has already saved at least ten million people in Yemen.

Right now, here in the southern suburbs of Beirut, two million, or even more, people are being saved...

Although it tastes terrible.

But, to be alive...

(End of this chapter)