In the fiery red era of the heavens, refrigerators are refreshed daily.

In November 1948, winter came unusually early and was exceptionally harsh in Beiping.

The leaden-gray clouds hung low over the eaves of the Forbidden City, like a thick felt cloth soaked in ice water, completely enveloping the ancient capital and preventing any warmth from getting in.

The cold wind, like countless invisible tiny ice knives, emerged from the alley entrances, under the eaves, and through the cracks in the walls, swirling close to the ground and scraping against people's faces and hands, instantly taking away the meager warmth and leaving behind a needle-like pain.

The streets are becoming increasingly desolate.

Although it was dilapidated in the past, there were still some people struggling to make a living, and some street vendors hawking their wares, giving it a lively atmosphere.

Now, even that little bit of warmth and life is almost gone.

Many shops had thick doors, some even nailed shut with large wooden strips. The red paper signs for "For Rent" or "Closed" pasted on the lintels trembled in the cold wind, their edges curled up and the words blurred.

Those shops that were still open were deserted, with shop assistants huddled behind the counter, hands in their sleeves, staring blankly at the desolate street outside, their faces numb and hopeless.

A sense of impending doom and impending collapse, like the pervasive chill, seeped into every corner of the city, making it hard to breathe.

Whether they were high-ranking officials living in grand mansions or ordinary people living in cramped, dilapidated houses, everyone at that moment clearly realized one thing:

War is truly on its way.

It is no longer a distant war report in the newspaper, nor a topic of conversation with a touch of curiosity, but a ferocious beast that is approaching the ancient capital of Beiping step by step, and the heavy footsteps seem to be faintly audible.

For the elite, panic spurred them to flee.

The southward migration wave reached its peak.

The train station is noisy day and night, and the sound of train whistles tears at people's tense nerves.

The platform was packed with a dense crowd of people, including well-dressed officials and wealthy merchants with their families, their large and small trunks piled high. The women, wrapped in thick furs, looked flustered and uneasy.

Soldiers maintaining order roughly shoved ordinary passengers trying to squeeze onto the carriages, amidst shouts, cries, and the wailing of frightened children.

Ticket scalpers weaved through the crowd, whispering out staggering prices, yet people still scrambled to stuff gold bars and silver dollars into their hands, just to exchange for a ticket to the south, to "safety."

For most ordinary people, escaping is a luxurious delusion.

They had no way to get the expensive train tickets, no relatives to rely on in the south, and no savings to support their family starting over in a strange land.

Their panic was real, a fear of survival, of whether they would be able to breathe again in the next second.

They feared the indiscriminate nature of guns and worried that if Beiping were to become a battlefield, how would their dilapidated, drafty house withstand bullets and shells?

They are more afraid of being besieged.

A siege means food shortages, and hunger will reap lives in the most brutal way.

This deep-seated fear spread like a plague through the streets and alleys.

Those who have the means to leave, even if it's just to go to the countryside to stay with relatives and friends for a temporary respite, are all trying to find a way to set off.

Suddenly, the roads leading out of the city were filled with many elderly people and children, carrying simple bags and looking anxious.

They looked back at the receding, gray outline of the city walls, their eyes filled with complex emotions. They didn't know what awaited them ahead, only that they had to leave this land that was about to burn.

Yang Guangming walked on the way to his grandfather's large courtyard house.

The cold wind whipped up dust and withered leaves from the ground, stinging his face.

He was wearing a thick cotton robe and a gray scarf knitted by his mother, but the chill could still seep in through the gaps in the fabric.

The scene on both sides of the street was even more desolate than a few days ago.

A stall that used to sell groceries was now empty, with only a tattered oilcloth rustling in the wind.

An old beggar with white hair huddled in a sheltered corner, lying on some rotten straw. In front of him was a chipped, empty bowl. His cloudy eyes stared at the occasional passerby, as if he no longer had the strength to beg.

Sunlight shifted his gaze, his heart heavy.

He was carrying a slightly worn canvas bag.

The bag doesn't look too bulging, but it's quite heavy.

To avoid attracting attention, he no longer carries that conspicuous bamboo basket, but instead uses this more common and easier-to-conceal carrying bag.

It contained five jin of cornmeal, and the bag was carefully tied shut.

There were also twenty salted duck eggs, each with a green shell, to supplement Grandpa's nutrition.

This was his calculation; it was enough to last his grandparents for about a few days.

It expresses one's feelings without being too conspicuous or attracting unnecessary trouble.

At such times, any extraordinary "wealth" can become a death knell.

The courtyard seemed quieter than usual; even the sound of children crying could not be heard.

The courtyard gate was ajar, and Yang Guangming pushed it open and went inside.

The courtyard was empty, with only a few withered leaves being chased by the wind, swirling on the blue brick ground.

The doors and windows of every household were tightly closed, as if this would keep out the cold and panic from the outside world.

He walked straight to the main house and gently knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" came Grandma's distinctive, high-pitched voice, tinged with a hint of wariness and expectation. The sound came through the door, sounding muffled.

"Grandma, it's me, Guangming."

The door creaked open a crack, revealing Grandma's wrinkled face, which was bluish from the cold.

Her graying hair was tied into a small bun at the back of her head and secured with a wooden hairpin, with a few stray strands of hair falling loosely at her temples.

She was wearing a dark blue coarse cotton-padded jacket with patches at the elbows, which had faded from washing.

When she saw the sunlight, and especially the bulging canvas bag he was carrying, her somewhat cloudy eyes instantly lit up, and the wariness on her face was instantly replaced by an almost eager joy.

The joy was so direct, almost undisguised.

"Oh! It's Guangming! Come in, come in! It's cold outside, you must be freezing!"

She hurriedly opened the door wide, stepping aside to let the sunlight in, her movements so nimble that she didn't seem like an old woman with bound feet at all.

The room was dimly lit. A reed mat was laid on the kang (a heated brick bed), the edges of which were torn and patched with strips of cloth.

Two old cotton quilts were folded on the kang (a heated brick bed). The quilt covers were made of coarse blue cloth, washed until they were faded, and patched in many places.

Grandpa Yang Hanzhang was curled up on the kang (a heated brick bed), covered with an old cotton quilt covered with countless patches, his face ashen.

Hearing the noise, he struggled to sit up, his white beard trembling. When he saw his grandson, a tired but genuine smile appeared on his face.

"The light is here. It must have been cold on the way. Come on, get on the kang (heated brick bed) and warm up." His voice was a little hoarse, with the phlegm that is typical of the elderly, and his breathing was uneven when he spoke.

Yang Guangming placed the canvas bag on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), but did not immediately get on the kang. Instead, he rubbed his hands, which were a little stiff from the cold.

"Grandpa, Grandma, why aren't you lighting the stove? It's too cold in here, don't catch a cold."

He looked at the small, cold tin stove in the room, where there was only a little extinguished ashes in the firebox, and not even a trace of warmth remained.

"Why bother lighting a stove? It's a waste of coal."

As Grandma spoke, she eagerly reached for the canvas bag, touched it, and her face lit up with a smile, every wrinkle smoothing out. "This bag is heavy, Guangming, you've gone to so much trouble again. In this chaotic world, getting any food is no easy feat!"

She spoke politely, but her hands didn't stop; she had already unbuttoned the canvas bag and taken out the bag of cornmeal.

The bag was made of coarse white cloth and was bulging. She weighed it in her hand, smacked her lips in satisfaction, and glanced at the old man on the kang (a heated brick bed) out of the corner of her eye.

Then she took out the small cloth bag containing salted duck eggs, and when she opened it, the round, green-shelled duck eggs made her eyes light up even more.

She picked one up and examined it. The shell was smooth and it felt heavy in her hand; it was a high-quality duck egg.

"Oh my! There are salted duck eggs too! That's a rare treat! Look how wonderful that is! Guangming, you're so thoughtful! Grandma knows that among all my grandsons, you're the most filial and capable!"

She held the two items tightly in her arms, and her praise for Yang Ming flowed like a river bursting its banks.

Yang Guangming understood perfectly well that his grandmother's enthusiasm was almost certainly for the food.

This wasn't the first time he'd witnessed the old lady's behavior.

Ever since he transmigrated to this era and became the eldest grandson of the Yang family, the old lady has always acted the same way whenever he brings something over—before the item is in her hands, she is as affectionate as if he were the apple of her eye; after the item is in her hands, her enthusiasm visibly diminishes.

With a gentle smile on his face, he sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed). "Grandpa, it's been cold lately, so please take good care of yourselves. The coal still needs to be burned; don't be stingy, or you'll get sick and cause more trouble."

He looked at his grandfather's gaunt face and felt a pang of sadness.

In my memory, my grandfather was thin but vigorous and spoke with a strong voice.

In just a few months, the old man seemed to have lost all his energy and spirit. He shrank back, his face sagged, and his eyes became sunken.

Yang Hanzhang sighed and shook his head, the sigh sounding as heavy as if it weighed a ton: "Let's save every little bit. In this situation, coal is hard to buy, the price changes every day. Your grandma and I stay in the house, not moving, we can manage."

As he spoke, he looked at the grain in his wife's arms, his eyes filled with complex emotions—a mixture of pride in his grandson's filial piety and a hint of barely perceptible helplessness. He knew his wife's thoughts all too well, but as she grew older, there were some things he couldn't say openly.

The old lady carefully placed the grain into the low cabinet by the kang (a heated brick bed). When she opened the cabinet door, Yang Guangming glimpsed that it was empty inside, with only a few rough porcelain bowls and a small cloth bag, which probably contained very little grain left.

She put the cornmeal and salted duck eggs inside, locked it, and clutched the key tightly in her hand. Only then did she turn around, satisfied, and begin to complain:
"Guangming, you have no idea how unbearable life has been lately! The lines outside the grain store stretch from one end of the street to the other! If you go too late, you can't even buy bran!"

She slapped her thigh, speaking in an exaggerated tone, spitting as she spoke, "The day before yesterday, your second aunt went to queue before dawn and stood for three hours until her legs were stiff. When it was her turn, she bought two catties of old sorghum rice mixed with sand!"
When I got home and washed the water, it was all murky, with a layer of sand at the bottom! How can anyone eat this?!

She glanced at Yang Guangming's face, and seeing that he was just listening quietly, she continued, her voice trembling with tears:
"Your second and third uncles' wages were not much to begin with, and now that grain prices have skyrocketed, what can they do with that little bit of money?"
What I bought was just a bunch of stale, mixed flour with sand; it was rough on the throat and didn't fill us up at all! The children were crying loudly from hunger, it really broke my heart to see them like that!

She wiped away non-existent tears. "The other night, Da Bao was so hungry he couldn't sleep. He hugged his mother and cried, saying it felt like there was a hand grabbing at his stomach... When I heard that, my heart broke!"

She paused, stole a glance at the old man, and seeing that Yang Hanzhang had his eyes closed and wasn't speaking, she became even bolder:
"Your grandfather is old and has a sensitive stomach. Eating those rough foods makes him groan at night. The other night he woke up in the middle of the night and vomited undigested bran..."

My old bones are fine, but looking at this whole family... sigh, it's tough! It's really tough!

She let out a long sigh, the sound echoing in the quiet room, sounding particularly desolate.

Yang Guang knew perfectly well that the old lady was using this opportunity to complain and hoped he would help her out more.

He understood the old lady's feelings as a mother, worrying about her two biological sons' families—her second uncle Yang Huaiyi and third uncle Yang Huaili were both her biological sons, while her own father Yang Huairen was born to her first husband's family. This difference in kinship was naturally deeply rooted in the old lady's heart.

However, it is also clear that people are insatiable, especially in such extreme circumstances. Giving must be done in moderation, otherwise it will not only fail to help people, but may also bring trouble, or even foster dependence and resentment.

The old saying, "A small favor is appreciated, but a large one breeds resentment," is not without reason.

He carefully considered his tone, his face displaying just the right amount of embarrassment and sincerity, and began to speak:
"Grandma, I understand what you're saying. In these times, no one is having an easy time."

His voice was low and carried a sense of shared misery, “Old Wang’s family at the alley entrance gave away their twelve-year-old daughter the day before yesterday in exchange for half a bag of millet.”

At the Li blacksmith's house at the west end, one of his three sons ran away, supposedly to try his luck in Northeast China; no one knows if he's alive or dead. In these days… just surviving is difficult enough.”

He paused, lowered his voice, and said in a candid tone, "To be honest, things seem to be going well on my end, but I'm just putting on a brave face."

There are five mouths to feed in the family. Jingwan and Jingyi are at the age where they are growing, and they will cry if they miss a meal.

Although my father's leg has healed, his body is severely weakened. The doctor said he needs at least six months of rest and to eat nutritious foods to replenish his strength.

My mother… as you know, she developed a chronic illness after giving birth to Jingyi. She coughs whenever the weather gets cold and can't sleep well at night.”

He looked into his grandmother's eyes, his gaze clear and earnest: "My translation job is no longer stable."

Everyone in the neighborhood is thinking about moving south, so a lot of work has stopped. Last month I could still get three or four translation jobs, but this month I only have one left, and it's an urgent job with tight deadlines. I stayed up several nights to finish it.

The little money I earn, though it looks like silver dollars, can't keep up with soaring prices; it doesn't buy much. Yesterday I went to the grain store, and it was quite a wait; one silver dollar got me five catties of cornmeal, which I've brought to you.”

He sighed, a sigh identical to the old woman's earlier, but with a more genuine heaviness: "The little bit of food I manage to squeeze out each time is truly saved from the cracks in my teeth."

Jingwan and Jingyi can only eat half full at a meal now. My mother leaves the thicker parts for my father and the children, and she drinks the thinner parts herself.

I was thinking that my grandparents were getting old and shouldn't go hungry, and my second and third uncles had many children and heavy burdens, so I wanted to help as much as I could.

He looked up at the old woman earnestly, "No matter how much more... I really don't have the ability. With such a large family, we have to take care of our own lives first, don't you think?"

His words explained his family's difficulties and the limits of his assistance, while also pointing out that the assistance stemmed from filial piety and kinship, and was not something to be taken for granted.

At the same time, the phrase "a large family like ours must first protect our own lives" subtly reminded the old lady that in these days, even self-preservation is difficult, and one should be mindful of what one asks for.

The words were spoken gently, but the meaning was clear.

Upon hearing this, the old lady's smile froze, and her eyes flickered a few times.

She understood the meaning behind her grandson's words and knew that complaining would probably be useless and might even upset him, causing him to stop providing her with financial support in the future.

She gave a dry laugh, the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth twitching into an unnatural arc, and quickly changed the subject:

"That's right, that's right! Guangming, you're right! It's only right to look after your own family."

"The fact that you think of us old folks, and your uncle and aunt, is already a huge act of filial piety! Grandma remembers it all!"

She rubbed her hands together, her tone becoming ingratiating, "You also need to take good care of your parents, as well as Jingwan and Jingyi."

The children are growing strong; they can't be neglected. Your mother's chronic cough needs some medicine; she can't tough it out.

These words carried a hint of sincerity—if her eldest son's family were to collapse, her source of support would be cut off.

Yang Guangming nodded, his expression softening slightly: "Thank you for your understanding, Grandma."

Yang Hanzhang, who hadn't said much until now, cleared his throat and spoke:

“Guangming is right. These days, no one has it easy. The fact that he often thinks of us and sends us food and supplies is already a huge favor.”

He opened his eyes and looked at the old lady. His eyes held both reproach and helplessness. “The eldest son has a large family and a heavy burden. As his grandmother, you can’t just think about squeezing money out of your grandson. You also have to understand the difficulties your children face.”

Huai Ren's leg has just healed, Yuan Jun is frail, Jing Wan and Jing Yi are still young, and Guangming is supporting the family all by himself; it's not easy for him."

His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried the authority of a head of household. It was the aura that had been cultivated over many years of being in charge, and even now that he was a retired man, he still commanded respect.

The old lady was embarrassed by her husband's scolding in front of the younger generation, and said awkwardly:
"I...I was just feeling sorry for Huaiyi and Huaili...I didn't really force Guangming to do anything..."

Her voice lowered, tinged with grievance, "Alright, alright, I won't say anything more, okay? Guangming is a good boy, I know."

She muttered to herself, then turned to fiddle with the stove, seemingly trying to start a fire. But after looking at the nearly empty coal pile, she gave up and simply took an old blanket and covered the old man with it.

Looking at his grandfather's increasingly thin and aged face, Yang Guangming felt a pang of sorrow in his heart.

He stopped talking about food and instead chatted with his grandfather about other things, asking about his second and third uncles' recent work situation and whether his cousins ​​were doing well.

He knew that although his grandfather didn't say it, he was actually lonely—his children were busy making a living, most of his grandchildren were still young, and there weren't many people he could talk to.

Yang Hanzhang also enjoyed talking to his eldest grandson, as if it could dispel some of the gloom in the house and the depression in his heart.

He told Yang Guangming that his second uncle's business was getting increasingly slow, and the boss was sighing all day long. He hadn't even paid all the wages for this month yet. His third uncle worked at the dock, but he was only able to work sporadically. Fewer and fewer cargo ships were coming. There was fighting in the south and the north was not peaceful either, so trade routes were cut off.

Speaking of this, the old man couldn't help but sigh: "In this world, it's so hard for honest people to earn a living with their own strength."

As they were talking, a series of slightly hurried footsteps came from outside the courtyard gate. The footsteps were heavy and disordered, making a "crunching" sound as they stepped on the frozen ground.

Immediately afterwards, the door to the main house was pushed open, and a gust of cold wind, carrying the chill from outside, rushed in.

The one who came in was my second uncle, Yang Huaiyi.

He was wearing a faded old cotton-padded jacket with dark patches on the cuffs and elbows, the stitches were thick, and it was obvious that he had sewn it himself.

His face bore a heavy weariness and a lingering anxiety; his eyes were sunken, his lips were chapped, and his stubble was messy.

When he saw Yang Guangming, he paused for a moment, then forced a smile, which was stiff and brief.

“The light is here too.” His voice was hoarse and chilling.

"Second Uncle," Yang Guangming stood up and greeted him.

Yang Hanzhang's heart sank when he saw his son return so early and his face looked strange. He asked, "Huaiyi, why are you back so early today? Is everything alright at the shop?" Yang Huaiyi walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and plopped down on a stool, which creaked under the weight.

He seemed to have all his strength drained away, and he took off his felt hat, revealing a head of messy hair.

Yang Huaiyi sighed heavily, "Dad, Guangming, the shop... is gone."

His voice was deep and dry, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

"That's all? What do you mean?" Yang Hanzhang sat up straight and asked.

The old lady also stopped what she was doing and looked over nervously.

"The owner has sold the shop."

Yang Huaiyi's voice was tinged with bitterness, a bitterness that seemed to permeate the air with his words, "They sold off everything, the goods and the shop, at a bargain price. They said... they said they were moving the whole family to the south, to Shanghai."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing. "This morning, I gathered a few of us old buddies together and gave everyone their wages for this month—there were no delays, and they even gave us an extra half-month's severance pay. They said... I'm sorry everyone, but there's really no other way."

The room was quiet for a moment, with only the howling of the cold wind sweeping across the eaves outside the window.

The old lady was the first to react, and hurriedly asked, "Moving south? So suddenly? Then... then what about you? What will you do in the future?" Her voice was sharp and filled with panic.

Yang Hanzhang's brows furrowed deeply, the wrinkles on his forehead as deep as if carved by a knife. "So sudden? Isn't the boss a local? His ancestral shop, just sold off like that?"

He knew that shop; it had been open for thirty years, and the owner's surname was Zhou. He was a native of Beiping (Beijing), and his family had been in business for three generations.

"Sigh, it's all because he was scared!"

Yang Huaiyi sighed again, this time with a hint of helplessness in his sigh. "The boss said that Beiping City is about to become a battlefield. Should we stay and wait to die?"

He has a relative who works in the government, and he revealed that the situation in North China is not optimistic.

He had some connections and was able to get a train ticket to Shanghai. He planned to pack up his valuables and leave as soon as possible.

There's no point in keeping the shop; it might be destroyed by a single shell one day. It's better to convert it into cash as soon as possible.

It was sold to a Shanxi merchant for...I heard it was less than half the usual price.

He paused, looked up at his father, his eyes filled with complex emotions—disappointment, confusion, and a hint of resolute determination forced upon him by reality.
"The boss... the boss is a nice person. Before he left, he told me privately that if... if my family also wanted to leave, he could help us."

He lowered his voice, "He has connections to get freight car tickets from inside the railway system. Although they ride in boxcars, the conditions are poor, cold and crowded, and you have to be crammed together with the cargo."

But it's cheap! It only costs five or six silver dollars per person.

It's so much cheaper than a regular bus ticket!

“Five or six silver dollars…” the old woman murmured, her eyes darting around as if she were calculating something.

Her fingers unconsciously made calculations, her lips moved, and the expression on her face slowly changed from initial shock to a focused calculation.

Yang Huaiyi's tone gradually became excited, with a kind of urgency as if he had grasped a lifeline: "The boss said that although it is tough to be a freight truck driver, as long as we can leave Beiping and leave this battlefield where war is about to break out, that is the way to survive!"

When I arrived in the south, I heard that Shanghai was a very prosperous place with many opportunities.

I'm somewhat educated, and I can do basic accounting. Finding a job to make ends meet shouldn't be too difficult...

As he spoke, it was as if he was trying to convince himself, or perhaps his father, that "it's better than staying here and waiting to die!"
If we stay here, and a real fight breaks out, guns and cannons don't discriminate! What can our big courtyard possibly protect us from?

The dilapidated house collapsed with a single blast!

If the city is besieged and supplies run out, then we'll be utterly helpless!

Yang Huaiyi's voice trembled, "Going south, at least we can escape the war, find a safe place, and start over! For the sake of the children, we have to go!"

Yang Guangming listened quietly without interrupting.

He could understand his second uncle's thoughts.

In this era of limited information and widespread fear, ordinary people have limited horizons.

They could not see the full picture of the battle, nor could they predict the course of history—that Beiping would eventually be peacefully liberated, and this ancient capital with a thousand-year history would be spared from the ravages of war.

All they knew was that war was terrible, that people would die, and that it was a monstrous flood that could destroy all peaceful lives.

Staying away from war zones is an instinct ingrained in people's bones.

Especially for someone like my second uncle, who had just lost his job and was facing a dead end, and who was convinced that Beiping was about to become a battlefield, moving south seemed to be the only visible way to survive.

That path to survival may also be fraught with difficulties, but at least it's about "leaving" rather than "waiting to die."

The old lady could no longer contain herself, her voice urgent: "Huaiyi, can your boss really get tickets that cheap? Five or six silver dollars per person?"

This...this is much cheaper than I expected!"

She turned to Yang Hanzhang, her face a mixture of hope and anxiety. "Father, listen to this! Huaiyi's idea is brilliant! The South is peaceful; if we go there, we can always find a way to survive!"

Shanghai is a big city, a bustling metropolis. I heard the streets are full of cars and the electric lights are brighter than the stars!

"We old bones can die easily, but the children are still so young! They can't suffer in this hellhole with us!"

Yang Hanzhang ignored his wife's nagging.

He remained silent, the wrinkles on his face seeming to deepen, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the void. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice filled with weariness and profound helplessness:

"Go...where to go? People are worthless when they leave their hometown."

Yang Hanzhang looked at his second son, his gaze complex, containing understanding, reluctance, worry, and also a stubbornness unique to the elderly.

"Huaiyi, I understand your thoughts. You're doing this for the safety of your family, and that's right. What father wouldn't want his child to be safe and sound?"

He paused, his voice growing even heavier, "But, I'm getting old. These old bones can't take any more of this. Riding in that stuffy freight car, bumping along the way, not eating or sleeping well, exposed to wind and rain, I'm afraid... I'll fall apart before we even get there."

He shook his head, his gray hair gleaming faintly under the oil lamp. "I don't want to leave. It's hard to leave my homeland."

I was born here, grew up here, and have spent most of my life here.

This courtyard, this alley, this city of Beiping—I could find every single lane even with my eyes closed.

In the end, you're making me leave my hometown, go to a place where I know no one, can't understand the language, can't get used to the food, and see unfamiliar faces... I... I can't get over this."

After he finished speaking, he closed his eyes, as if he had used up all his strength.

"Dad!" Yang Huaiyi exclaimed anxiously, standing up from his stool and raising his voice, "What do you mean by being reluctant to leave your homeland? Right now, saving your life is the most important thing! If you don't leave and stay here, what if... what if something bad happens to you? How can we, as your sons, live in peace?"

He walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), squatted down, looked up at his father with earnest eyes, and said, "Please come with us for our sake, for the sake of our grandchildren!"

No matter how difficult the journey may be, we will definitely take good care of you! Huai Li and I can take turns carrying you!
Once we get to the South, we'll work hard and earn money, and we'll make sure you live a good life!

His voice choked with emotion, "Father, I beg you!"

The old lady chimed in, her voice urgent: "That's right, old man! Don't be stubborn! What's wrong with following your son? Huaiyi and Huaili are both filial children, would they mistreat you?"

She stopped mid-sentence, glanced at Yang Guangming beside her, and swallowed the rest of her sentence, "You don't necessarily expect..." and changed her words:
"You don't necessarily want to stay here alone, do you? If we leave, who will take care of you? There won't even be anyone to bring you a drink of water!"

Yang Guangming knew it was time for him to make a statement.

He raised his head, his gaze calmly meeting that of his second uncle and grandfather. His voice was clear and steady, sounding remarkably composed in the emotionally charged room.
"Second Uncle, Grandpa, since we're on the topic, let me share my thoughts."

My second uncle wanted to move south to escape the war and for the safety of his family. I understand and respect his reasons.

Yang Guangming spoke slowly, carefully considering each word, "If my second uncle's family decides to leave, although I will be reluctant, after all, we are family and connected by blood, but I understand."

After all, this is a matter of life and death for the whole family, and no amount of caution is too much.

In chaotic times, survival is the top priority.

He paused, looked at his grandfather, and softened his tone, "As for Grandpa... since Grandpa doesn't want to leave his hometown, there's no need to force him. The old man has his own thoughts and his own roots. If Grandpa and Grandma don't plan to leave, they can move in with me."

My parents had said long ago that they wanted to bring my grandparents to live with them and take care of them.

Grandpa just felt he was used to living here and didn't want to move.

Our area is relatively peaceful now; we can move in after a little tidying up. The house is also more spacious, and the winter sun is strong, making it warmer than this crowded courtyard.

"If we live together from now on, my parents can be near me and I can take care of them."

His suggestion is reasonable.

This approach respected the second uncle's choice to move south, gave the grandfather an option to stay in his hometown, and demonstrated the eldest son's willingness to take on the responsibility of supporting his grandfather.

The words were well-considered and took into account all aspects.

Yang Hanzhang looked at his eldest grandson, a hint of relief flashing in his eyes, but more so a sense of worry.

“Guangming, your second uncle appreciates your and your parents’ good intentions.” Yang Huaiyi’s tone was sincere, but his attitude remained firm. “However, I still think that your family… should also consider leaving together.”

He earnestly advised, "Guangming, you're young and capable. You can find work anywhere. Take your second uncle's advice; you really can't stay in Beiping any longer! It's not too late to leave now!"

He became increasingly anxious as he spoke: "It's better for the whole family to leave together than to stay here and live in fear! Once a real fight breaks out and transportation is cut off, we won't be able to leave even if we want to!"

At that point, you'll truly be left with no one to turn to for help!

Think of Jingwan and Jingyi, they're still so young, how can you bear to let them experience the horrors of war?

His voice was filled with genuine concern, the most simple care an elder could have for a younger generation.

The old lady quickly chimed in, slapping her thigh: "Yes, yes, yes! Guangming, you should go back and persuade your father and mother! This is no joke! It's war! People will die! I experienced the Zhili-Fengtian War before. When the shells fell, an entire courtyard was wiped out! The streets were full of dead people, some without even a complete body... It was terrifying!"

As she spoke, she shivered, whether from the memory or from the cold, it was hard to tell.

Yang Hanzhang also looked at his grandson, his aged voice carrying admonition, which was mixed with worry and reluctance:
"Guangming, your second uncle's words, although... although they may not be entirely correct, are still the experience of someone who has been through it all."

It's always good to avoid war and its dangers.

You're still young, you haven't seen what real war is like... I have.

He closed his eyes, as if recalling some painful scene: "In 1926, the Fengtian Army and Feng Yuxiang's army fought outside the city. Stray bullets flew into the city and killed many civilians."

At the time, I was still young... I'll never forget that horrific scene.

He opened his eyes and looked at his grandson. "Your father's leg has just healed, your mother is weak, and Jingwan and Jingyi are still young... What if... Sigh."

He didn't finish his sentence, but that sigh contained all the terrible imaginings.

Faced with the heartfelt advice of his two elders, Yang Guangming smiled bitterly to himself.

He knew the course of history, knew that Beiping would eventually be liberated peacefully, and knew that this ancient city would be spared the direct ravages of war.

He also knew that moving south might not be a way out for ordinary people—Shanghai would soon undergo drastic changes, with soaring prices and social unrest, and many people who moved south did not fare well there, even more so than if they had stayed in Beiping.

But he couldn't say.

Any "prophecy" that is beyond the comprehension of this era will only invite suspicion and trouble. Even if it is spoken, others will not believe it.

He could only offer a reason that sounded reasonable and consistent with his current "persona" from a realistic perspective.

His face showed a serious expression as he carefully considered his words before speaking:

"Grandpa, Second Uncle, I understand and appreciate your concern. You are doing this for the good of our family, and I will remember your kindness."

He first acknowledged the other party's goodwill, a common conversational tactic, then said, "However, my family... really doesn't plan to leave." He spoke calmly, but with a firm tone.

He paused for a moment, then began to explain point by point: "Firstly, although my father's leg injury has healed, it has still depleted his vital energy, and he needs to rest and recuperate. He cannot withstand the strain of a long journey."

The doctor specifically instructed that I should not overwork myself or get cold for six months.

Sitting in that stuffy freight car, bumping along the way, without any warmth, I was worried that his leg injury would flare up again, which would be a real problem.

My mother isn't in the best of health; her chronic cough is most aggravated by drafts. This long journey might not be enough for her.

He continued, "Secondly, although the translation work I did with Teacher Zhu has decreased now, it still provides me with a relatively stable income."

Professor Zhu is very knowledgeable, knows many people, and has been very kind to me.

Staying here, with this job, my family can at least maintain a basic standard of living.

If I go to the south, where I'm unfamiliar with the place and the people, it's hard to say whether I'll still be able to take on the translation work.

Yang Guangming looked at Yang Huaiyi with a sincere and heartfelt tone: "Thirdly, Second Uncle, going to the South may allow us to escape the war, but everything will have to start from scratch."

Being in an unfamiliar place, finding a job and settling down are both difficult tasks.

The South isn't entirely peaceful right now either; I've heard prices are soaring there too. I met someone who came back from Nanjing a few days ago, and he said that rice prices there have increased tenfold, and ordinary people are suffering just as much.

Our family has elderly parents and young children to care for; going there rashly would be quite risky.

It's better to stay here, in familiar surroundings, with familiar people, taking a steady and pragmatic approach; perhaps that will allow us to weather the storm more easily."

Yang Guangming concluded, "As for the war... I think, Beiping is an ancient capital with a thousand-year history, a place where culture gathers and the population is dense. No matter which side it is, it won't be a case of... mutual destruction."

There will always be a way for ordinary people to survive.

If we're careful, stock up on food, and stay home, we'll find a way to get through this.

His words reflected both his practical considerations about his family's health and his reliance on his income, as well as the common sense of wishful thinking and wait-and-see attitude often seen among ordinary people in chaotic times.

It sounds reasonable and there's nothing particularly abrupt about it.

They neither showed blind optimism about the future nor completely rejected the possibility of moving south; they simply made the decision to "not leave for the time being" based on the current situation.

This attitude can be found in most ordinary people in this era—leaving is too risky; staying is filled with fear; so they can only hold on to a gamble and endure day by day.

After listening, Yang Huaiyi and Yang Hanzhang exchanged glances, both seeing helplessness in each other's eyes.

They knew that although Yang Guangming was young, he was very opinionated and once he made up his mind, it was difficult to persuade him otherwise.

Moreover, what he said made some sense—the southward migration was not without risk, and the health of Yang Huai-ren's family was indeed not suitable for a long journey.

"That's it, that's all."

Yang Hanzhang waved his hand, sighed wearily, and there was a deep sense of powerlessness in his sigh.

He leaned back against the headboard and pulled the quilt tighter around him. "You're all adults now, you have your own considerations."

Since you've made your decision, then... let's do it your way.

He looked at Yang Huaiyi with a complicated expression. "Huaiyi, if you want to leave, I won't stop you. But this matter needs to wait for Huaili to come back so you two brothers can discuss it properly."

This is no small matter; the cost of train tickets, travel expenses, and accommodation upon arrival all need to be carefully considered. A family of over ten people—it's not something to be taken lightly.

He turned to Guangming, his eyes softening, but with weariness and worry in them. "Guangming, your filial piety is known to your grandfather."

I'll discuss visiting you after I've discussed it with your second and third uncles.

Go back first and tell your parents what I said, ask them... to think about it some more.

He still held onto a sliver of hope that his eldest son's family would change their minds.

Yang Guangming nodded and stood up: "Grandpa, I will pass on the message to my parents."

He glanced out the window; the sky was growing increasingly dark. "It's getting late. I should head back now. Grandpa, Second Uncle, take care."

Yang Huaiyi also said, "Dad is right. We need to discuss this with Huaili. He's at work today. We'll talk about it in detail when he gets back."

He stood up and saw Yang Guangming to the door. "Guangming, be careful on the road. When you get back... talk to your parents properly."

Yang Huaiyi still felt that moving his entire family south was the wisest course of action.

Yang Guangming agreed to everything, picked up his empty canvas bag, and left the main house. (End of Chapter)