Chapter Four: Fleeing for Their Lives

Outside the Yun family’s fence, the night watchmen huddled together. There was a man in the main house who had just risen from the dead, so no one dared to leave the group. They clung to each other for courage at the front door, while the pitch-black back door was left unguarded.

Chu Yuan and Mrs. Zhao carried a stretcher, and Yun Hao clutched a large bundle to his chest. Inside were the family’s valuables and the clothes Mrs. Zhao had hastily gathered. For mother and son, this was now an escape.

With the stretcher, they moved much faster. The pair had just rounded the backyard gate when they saw Chu Yuan’s father waiting for them. He seemed about to say something to Mrs. Zhao, but he quickly lowered his voice, “Sister-in-law, say no more—go quickly! Don’t ever come back! Our family isn’t wealthy either, but take these two strings of coins.” With that, he pressed a heavy bundle into Mrs. Zhao’s hands, filled with copper coins.

“Uncle, your family isn’t well-off either—this…” Mrs. Zhao tried to refuse. A peasant scraping by could hardly save much money. These two strings of coins were likely the Chu family’s entire savings, reserved for surviving a bad year.

“Sister-in-law, you must go now! This isn’t the time for talk—hurry!” Chu Yuan’s father pushed Mrs. Zhao, who was still trying to decline, then lifted Chu Yuan onto his shoulder and headed toward the town.

Yun Hao cast one last glance at the dark little mountain village—the place of his rebirth.

Just before dawn, Chu Yuan’s father carried Yun Hao into town. The Yun family’s village was remote, and word of what had happened clearly hadn’t reached town yet.

Chu Xiuhong set Yun Hao down and said to Mrs. Zhao, “Sister-in-law, the town is just ahead. Hire a carriage there. I’ll take Chu Yuan back to the village—if they see us together, it won’t end well.”

Mrs. Zhao understood. If the Yun family discovered she and her son had disappeared, they would search for them, and the Chu family—closely connected to the Yuns—would be their first suspects. If the Yuns found out the Chus had helped their escape, life in the village would become unbearable for the Chu family.

“Uncle, I can never repay this…!” Mrs. Zhao tried to kneel in gratitude, but Chu Xiuhong waved his hands frantically. “Sister-in-law, don’t say a word—go quickly! If they catch up, Hao will surely die.” Without another glance, he hurried away. There were still twenty or thirty miles of mountain road to cover; he had to get back before the Yuns realized anything.

Once the Chu father and son had left, Mrs. Zhao quickly hired a carriage in town, claiming her son was gravely ill and needed to be taken to the city for treatment. Thus began the mother and son’s journey as fugitives.

“Mother, you eat,” Yun Hao urged. After two days in the carriage, his blood was circulating better; his upper body could move freely, but his legs were still weak as noodles, useless for walking. At least he could feel them now—another day or two and he’d likely recover.

Mrs. Zhao squatted at his side, carefully feeding him. The meal was pork, known as “cheap meat,” with coarse millet rice. Millet was the staple of the poor in this era; the white steamed buns discarded by grandchildren in later generations were luxuries only the wealthy could afford. For peasant families, having even one such meal during the holidays was a rare treat.

“I’ve already eaten,” Mrs. Zhao lied gently. “While you were sleeping, a man selling flatbreads came by. I bought a big one and finished it since you were still asleep—none left for you. Come, have another bite. You’ve just recovered, and you need to eat more meat.” She scooped some pork and a large spoonful of millet rice soaked in broth into Yun Hao’s mouth.

Yun Hao knew she was lying—he hadn’t slept at all that day. How much could a family living off ten acres of paddy possibly have? Especially since his body had been sick for a year, and the cost of medicines alone could ruin a family. After paying for travel, Mrs. Zhao had little left. He hadn’t seen her eat a thing these past days.

After forcing down a few mouthfuls, Yun Hao claimed he was full, no matter how Mrs. Zhao coaxed him. She finished the remaining half-bowl of millet rice herself, not hesitating, mixing in the meat broth, mumbling something about not wasting food.

On the road, Mrs. Zhao’s care for Yun Hao was meticulous to the point of self-sacrifice. In his previous life, his father died at the Korean front; his mother raised him alone through hardship, feeding him with her own hands. The suffering was unspeakable, and during times of hunger in 1960, his mother would give him the little food she saved, even as her own body swelled with malnutrition. That loving gaze she had in his dreams was exactly what he saw in Mrs. Zhao’s eyes now.

He had thought that living two lives would make him hardened, but Mrs. Zhao’s care shattered his defenses in just a few days. Every time he saw her carrying him and swallowing some unknown black morsel, his heart ached. This was a bond of affection—a debt that could never be repaid. She was giving him more than food—she was giving him life.

In his past life, his mother had fallen ill with cancer and died after he married. Not fulfilling his filial duty had always been his deepest regret. Now, it seemed heaven was granting him a second chance; all the filial piety owed in two lives would now be repaid to Mrs. Zhao. In that sense, Mrs. Zhao was truly blessed.

As for their destination, Yun Hao and his mother disagreed. Having grown up in a peasant family, Mrs. Zhao naturally wanted to find a quiet, remote village to settle, rent two acres of land, and see Yun Hao marry, have children, and live a peaceful life. Her only wish was for her son to live in good health—nothing else mattered.

But Yun Hao thought differently. The more remote the place, the more local bullies would thrive. A thirty-something widow with a sickly teenage son, possessing nothing and no skills, would be easy prey. Though peasants were honest, every place had its share of villains. His own body was too weak to protect Mrs. Zhao. Better to go to a big city, where survival odds were higher. After all, in the modern world, if you wanted to get ahead, you wouldn’t hide in the forests of the northeast.

Besides, north of the Yanmen Mountains lived the fierce Turks. Ever since the Sui Dynasty’s failed campaigns against Koguryo, the Turks had become a menacing neighbor, raiding the borderlands at will. Peasants near the frontier suffered terribly. Hiding in a big city like Jinyang meant at least there were city walls for protection, and they wouldn’t have to fear for their lives every day. History books described the Turks as merciless killers.

It must be said that feudal values helped Yun Hao greatly here. The doctrine that a widow must obey her son made Mrs. Zhao quickly abandon her own plan. In fact, even if her son decided to go to Mars, she would have followed without complaint. As she always said, as long as Yun Hao was healthy, nothing else mattered.