The Northern Song Dynasty returned south, seeking the truth of the Dao.

Wang Zhenhuan scrutinized the girl for a moment before noticing a slight bulge in her chest. However, due to her thinness, it was barely noticeable. This was a girl dressed as a boy!

He was immediately embarrassed, as the saying goes, "one should not look at what is improper." He quickly looked away, got up, and added some horse manure to the nearly extinguished fire. Then he sat down in the dark corner and ate the kudzu root in his hand in small bites.

The old man had seen everything, and he winked at the girl. The girl understood, and carrying the last remaining blanket, she walked over and blushed as she handed it to Wang Zhenhuan.

Wang Zhenhuan hurriedly waved his hand to decline, knowing the family was grateful, but they had a young child. He clearly couldn't accept the blanket, and the old man, seeing Wang Zhenhuan's understanding nature, agreed.

Moreover, feeling that his family had received kindness from him but had no way to repay it, he took the initiative to sit down next to Wang Zhenhuan and chat with him. From the conversation, he learned that the old man and his family had come all the way south from Yutian near Yanjing to this place.

No wonder they were in such a miserable state, Wang Zhenhuan nodded. Yanjing was now considered Jurchen territory, and it was no easy feat for this family to escape from Jurchen lands.

As the two were talking, heavy footsteps suddenly echoed on the main road outside. The old man and his family, like startled birds, hurriedly got up, looked at the old man's face, and waited for him to make a decision.

The old man looked at Wang Zhenhuan with a questioning gaze. Wang Zhenhuan waved his hand at him, gripped his curved sword, pushed open the door, and went out. As soon as he stepped out, he saw a ragged man entering from the entrance of the post station.

As soon as the woman entered the courtyard, she saw the curved knife in Wang Zhenhuan's hand, gasped in surprise, and was about to kneel before him. The woman was also holding a baby who was still breastfeeding.

Wang Zhen, seeing that it wasn't a Jurchen, hurriedly stepped forward to help the woman up. However, he forgot that he was still holding a curved sword. As the woman saw him approach, she retreated repeatedly on the ground in despair.

"Don't panic, I am also a Han Chinese."

The ragged woman's panic lessened slightly upon hearing Wang Zhenhuan speak Mandarin, but she still instinctively took a half-step back. Her fear, however, was impossible to conceal.

Wang Zhenhuan felt a pang of pain in his heart as he looked at the woman's expression. How much suffering had she endured on her journey south to show such terror? Every time he saw this, his hatred for the Jurchens intensified.

Upon hearing Wang Zhenhuan speak, the old man inside rushed out with a wooden stick in his hand. After eating, his overall condition had noticeably improved.

Seeing that she was a refugee like him, he paused for a moment. He slowly put down the stick in his hand, wanting to help, but seeing that she was a woman, he felt embarrassed to do so.

So he went back inside and called his wife out. The woman's expression softened slightly when she saw the old man's wife. The old woman helped her up from the ground, and then everyone went back inside together.

After returning to the house, Wang Zhen put his piece of kudzu root in a broken bowl and handed it to the woman. The woman looked up at him in surprise, then her eyes reddened, and she lowered her head, weeping.

As Wang Zhenhuan was handing food to the woman, she hurriedly got up and kowtowed. Wang Zhenhuan helped her up and saw that the child in her arms was barely breathing, thin, and had a head as big as a bucket; it was clear that the child was not going to live.

He sighed, shook his head, and sat back down. His heart was filled with mixed emotions. He had thought things were already terrible for him and Lin Qingyan, but reality was far heavier than he had imagined.

Whether it was this old man or this woman, they had already given their all to survive. There were many people worse off than him and Lin Qingyan; he had only gone hungry for a few days after encountering the Golden Princess.

The rest of the time, they could barely make ends meet. These refugees, however, were all ordinary people who knew nothing but farming. Even the most basic necessities of life were a problem for them.

Hunger had become commonplace for them. And those who ultimately made it south were probably less than one in ten. The rooms were too small to accommodate so many people.

So Wang Zhenhuan went to the western stables, tidied things up a bit, and cut some thatch outside, making it barely habitable. The old man, seeing this, felt guilty and desperately wanted to come over and take Wang Zhenhuan back.

However, the room was full of women, and Wang Zhenhuan was unwilling. He made an excuse, saying that he needed to practice his martial arts, and was thus refused. Nothing happened that night, but in the early hours of the next morning, Wang Zhenhuan was awakened by a sound of crying.

He rose from the straw and sighed deeply. Needless to say, the child in the woman's arms had died. He sat motionless on the hay, peering through the gaps at the barely brightening sky, lost in thought.

He was a sentimental person by nature and couldn't bear to see such separations of life and death. Listening to the intermittent sobs around him, and thinking about how he and Lin Qingyan were now separated by vast distances, he couldn't help but feel a little melancholy.

Suffering is never something to be praised, and tragedy does not make people stronger. Those so-called heroes and strong people are merely those whose hearts have been dulled by suffering and whose minds have been numbed by tragedy.

Suffering is suffering; it doesn't bring success, nor is it worth pursuing. The reason people choose suffering is mostly because life goes on, and suffering is unavoidable.

Wang Zhenzhen was unwilling to endure hardship and couldn't bear to see others suffer. After much deliberation, he packed his bags and quietly left alone before dawn.

They were ultimately just strangers who met by chance, and he was merely a passerby. Or perhaps they were all just passersby to each other; he was going to continue westward, while these people were going to continue southward.

We were never meant to be on the same path, so why force it? He'd given all the kudzu roots he'd dug up yesterday to the refugees. Now, the dry rations in his bundle weren't enough to sustain him on his journey to the next prefecture.

So Wang Zhenhuan searched for edible things in the mountains along the way. Kudzu root was not common, and he searched several mountains without finding it again.

Fortunately, it's rained a lot these past few days, and lots of mushrooms have sprouted in the mountains. Mushrooms generally grow in dark, damp places; you can often find plenty in piles of fallen leaves under trees.

However, some of these things are poisonous. Wang didn't know how to tell, so he only picked those that had been eaten by wild animals or insects. Although they were tattered, at least they were safe.

And so, traveling at a leisurely pace, before sunset, a magnificent city appeared at the end of the official road. Wang Zhenhuan was overjoyed and shaded his eyes with his hand to look into the distance.

The city gate was bustling with activity, a constant flow of carriages and people. Although a few soldiers were conducting checks, most passed through after a quick glance. It seemed he had finally escaped the territory controlled by the Jurchens.

He arrived at the city gate and looked up. A plaque hung on the gate tower.

Inscribed: Jeju City