The Little Demonic Cultivator in the Courtyard: Borrowing 100,000 Japanese Pirates to Heal

The elm trees along the street were the first to suffer; their bark was stripped clean, revealing their white trunks, which gleamed with a teeth-grinding luster under the September sun.

The people who peeled the bark took it home, cut it into small pieces, and boiled it in a pot.

The boiled water is brown and has an indescribable earthy smell. Drinking it will make your stomach bloated, but at least it can fool your stomach and keep it from complaining for a while.

Later, after the elm bark was stripped off, they started stripping the bark from willows, locust trees, and poplars.

The old locust tree at the entrance of Nanluoguxiang has lived for decades. In the past, neighbors loved to sit under the tree in the summer to cool off and play chess. Now, the bark has been peeled off, and the leaves on the crown turn yellow in just a few days.

Then it withered, and when the wind blew, the withered branches snapped and fell to the ground, where no one picked them up because the branches were too hard to eat.

Some people started eating grass roots.

The weeds on the wasteland at the foot of the city wall were dug up cleanly, and even the roots were pulled out of the soil.

Someone ate an unfamiliar wild plant and suffered from vomiting and diarrhea, becoming dehydrated, with purple lips, and lay motionless in bed.

The family members could do nothing but cry, because there was no medicine and even a sip of clean water was hard to come by.

Some people have started eating Guanyin clay.

Guanyin clay is a grayish-white clay commonly used for firing porcelain. When ingested, it absorbs water and expands, distending the stomach.

It gives you a temporary feeling of fullness.

But this kind of soil cannot be digested or excreted, and it accumulates more and more in the intestines, eventually blocking them.

At the very back of Nanluoguxiang lived an old tailor surnamed Zhou. He was so hungry that he ate Guanyin clay for two days. On the third day, his stomach started to bloat, bloating like a woman who was six or seven months pregnant. He was in so much pain that he rolled around on the bed.

His wife went around asking for help, and finally found a clinic that was still open.

There was only one old doctor in the clinic. He pressed his hand on Zhou the tailor's stomach, listened to his wife's description, shook his head and said there was nothing he could do, even surgery couldn't save him.

Zhou the tailor endured two more days, and died on the morning of the fifth day. When he died, his stomach was as hard as a rock. His wife dragged him outside the city and buried him without even a coffin, just wrapping him in a straw mat.

Jia Dongxu was so hungry he cried.

He was only six years old, as thin as a bean sprout, his arms were as thin as two hemp stalks, and the skin on the back of his hands was so thin that you could see the bones underneath.

His greatest hope each day was to eat, but there was less and less food left at home.

Madam Jia sold everything she could in her house. She exchanged a few old clothes for half a pound of coarse grain, an iron pot for two cornbreads, and even her copper hairpin, which she had used for more than ten years, for half a bowl of broken rice.

The supplies they received lasted less than three days before they were gone. The stove was cold and the pot couldn't even boil water because there was no firewood; all the firewood nearby had been picked clean long ago.

Jia Dongxu was so hungry that he rolled around on the ground, kicking his little legs wildly, and cried out, "Grandma, I'm hungry!" His voice was hoarse and tearful.

Jia Zhangshi squatted beside her son, watching him roll on the ground. The fat on her face was squeezed together, and the corners of her mouth were turned down. She wanted to say something but couldn't.

What could she say? That her mother couldn't do anything about it? That she only drank a bowl of cold water all day? That she broke the last piece of cornbread in half, gave one half to Dongxu and ate the other half herself, and now her stomach was growling?

She thought of Xu Jiande.

That damned Xu Jiande is horrible. Last time he slapped me so hard I spun around halfway, and the finger mark on my face took several days to fade.

But his family had grain. He owned a rice shop, and even if there was a food shortage outside, people who owned rice shops could always keep a few extra pounds at home.

Moreover, he is now the courtyard manager and receives a monthly food ration.

Standing at her own door, Jia Zhangshi peered through the crack at Xu Jiande's door across the street, feeling as if two little people were fighting inside her.

One person said to go and beg him, "Dongxu is your grandson. If he starves, what will you give your son?"

The other person said we couldn't go. Have you forgotten that slap? The taste of that slap is still fresh on your face.

The two little figures fought for a while, and finally Dongxu cried out again and knocked the second little figure down.

Jia Zhangshi gritted her teeth, braced herself, pushed open the door, and walked towards Xu Jiande's house.

Xu Jiande had just finished dinner and was sitting at the table wiping his bayonet.

The blade was polished to a shine by the whetstone, gleaming coldly under the light. The fine, hair-like lines on the blade were the marks left from countless stabs into the bodies of Japanese soldiers, and could not be worn away.

Bai Ling sat opposite him, mending an old garment with a needle and thread in her hand.

Upon hearing the knock, the two exchanged a glance. Xu Jiande tucked his bayonet under his pillow, while Bai Ling put down her needlework to open the door.

As soon as the door opened, Jia Zhangshi stood in the doorway. Her usual shrewishness was gone; the corners of her mouth were downturned, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was clutching a faded handkerchief in her hand.

She looked at Bai Ling, her lips moved, and she called out, "Miss Bai."

Her voice was hoarse, unlike the usually high-pitched and bright Jia Zhangshi.

Bai Ling ushered her into the house. Jia Zhangshi stood at the door without going in, glancing towards the kitchen and noticing the half-bowl of leftover porridge on the stove.

He made a gurgling sound in his throat, then quickly looked away.

Xu Jiande looked at Jia Zhangshi without saying a word.

When Jia Zhangshi saw him, the corners of her mouth turned down even more, her eyes reddened even more, she opened her mouth as if to say something, but swallowed the words back, repeating this two or three times.

"Jiande," she finally spoke, her voice several octaves lower than usual, "Dongxu... he's starving. I... I really have no other choice."

After saying that, tears fell from her eyes.

These weren't the tears forced out during a typical tantrum; they welled up from within, trickling down the lines of her face and dripping onto the front of her clothes.

She didn't wipe it; she just stood there, twisting the handkerchief in her hands until her knuckles turned purple from the force.

Xu Jiande looked at her without saying a word. This old hag had stolen his rice before, cursed him behind his back for abusing his power, and this morning she was still cursing in the yard that grain prices had increased twentyfold and people were no longer able to live.

But now she stands before him, not to hurl insults, but to beg for his help.

Not for herself, but for her son.

It's shameful for a person to ask for help for their own sake, but it's not for their child's sake.

The crystallized resentment in his heart trembled slightly, and a very subtle chill rose from his dantian, circled his chest, and then dissipated.

He recalled the day he first traveled through time, walking from Lugou Bridge back to Nanluoguxiang on an empty stomach, his legs so weak from hunger.

He had experienced that feeling of hunger before, and it was unpleasant.

Xu Jiande turned and went into the kitchen. He opened the rice jar, scooped out two jin of coarse grains, put them into a cloth bag, carried it out, and handed the bag to Jia Zhangshi.

Jia Zhangshi looked down at the cloth bag, then looked up at Xu Jiande. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but only a muffled sob escaped her throat.

My hand trembled violently as I reached out to take the cloth bag; I was deeply moved.

When someone is at their most desperate moment and someone suddenly reaches out to help, the impact is more unsettling than hunger.

"Everyone is having a hard time, so please take good care of Dongxu." Xu Jiande's voice was calm, not like that of charity or sympathy.

Jia Zhangshi nodded frantically, her face covered in snot and tears, clutching the bag of coarse grains as if it were something more important than her own life.