Chapter 86: At the Foot of Ju Cheng

Heavens above!

Du Shanü said this, without a trace of other thought.

But Chinu seemed to think she was deliberately mocking, gave a sullen hum, and fell silent again.

What an immature, awkward weirdo!

Neither of them spoke anymore.

The fields on both sides of the road grew more barren; after walking a while, travelers on the road gradually increased.

They were not ordinary travelers.

In twos and threes, carrying families, they all walked in the opposite direction, seemingly trying to leave Judi.

An old man carried a load on a pole, with two baskets at each end holding two small children; the children's faces peeked out from the basket rims, so thin only their eyes remained, rolling around as they watched passersby.

A woman carried a bundle on her back; the bundle cloth was patched floral fabric, stuffed with several patches, bulging, unknown what inside; she walked slowly, each step seeming an effort.

There were also several men, empty-handed, heads bowed, walking silently like a row of trees blown by the wind.

Their clothes were ragged.

Each garment was more torn than the last.

Du Shanü's gaze swept over these people one by one, her brows knitting tighter and tighter—

Even that family's situation wasn't an isolated case!

Just how dire must the situation in Ju Cheng be?!

Du Shanü instinctively squeezed the horse's belly, and the horse quickened its pace.

The further they went, the more people there were.

Later, the nearer they got to Ju Cheng, the road was filled with a steady stream of people in twos and threes, all heading out, hardly anyone going in.

Someone pushed a single-wheel cart stacked with bedding and pots and pans, the pots upside down, still smeared with black grime.

Someone led a half-grown barefoot child, the child's feet scraping on the gravel road, soles rubbed raw red.

Another person carried a plank bed, with someone lying on it, face covered by a tattered cotton jacket, lifeless or alive indiscernible.

Everyone remained silent.

No one spoke; only footsteps, wheel noises, and the occasional child's cough could be heard.

The air was thick with a mix of dust and sour sweat, plus an indistinct sense of exhaustion.

If one had to put it into words......

It was somewhat like, 'the aura of death'.

Du Shanü slowed her pace, letting the horse carefully weave through the crowd.

After walking the time it takes to burn an incense stick, Ju Cheng's outline appeared in view.

The city wall wasn't high, dull gray, the sort of packed-earth wall common in the north; long exposed to wind and sun, its surface was covered in cracks.

The gate was wooden, double-leafed, with more than half of its paint peeled away, revealing the whitened wood underneath.

Above the lintel hung a plaque, the characters blurred, but one could just make out the two characters 'Ju Cheng'.

Compared to the desolate journey, the gate area was surprisingly lively.

Not the bustling kind of liveliness, but an irritating sort of bustle—

Several officials in dark uniforms lounged at the gate, knives at their waists, spears in hand, standing or not, some leaning against the gatehouse wall, some squatting on the ground, one simply tucking his spear under his armpit with both hands tucked into his sleeves.

The gate stood open, but very few entered.

Outside the gate gathered a small group of about seven or eight, dressed as ordinary folk, some carrying loads on poles, some with baskets on their backs, appearing to be petty vendors from outside the city wanting to come in to sell a few things.

But at this moment they were all crowded to one side of the gate, their faces showing a helpless anxiety.

Du Shanü rode closer, then finally saw the reason.

Everyone attempting to enter the city was stopped by a guard at the gate.

That guard was short and stout, his face full of flesh, his knife sheath bumping against his hip as he walked with a sway.

He held out his hand, fingers spread, flipping it over and back, saying something.

Too far away to hear clearly.

Immediately, the middle-aged man carrying a load on a pole showed an expression near tears, his lips moving as if pleading.

Du Shanü urged her horse a few steps nearer, and this time she heard clearly.

"Fifty cash."

The short, stout guard's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unyielding arrogance:

"One person, fifty cash—if you want to enter the city, don't think of saving this money."

The load‑bearing man bent down, set his pole down, rummaged in his bosom for a while, and produced a cloth bundle, which he opened layer by layer—

Inside were several copper coins; he counted them over and over, his clumsy fingers moving the coins one by one.

Having finished, he lifted his head, his voice so low it was barely audible:

"Sir… I only have thirty‑two cash."

The short, stout guard snorted:

"What city can you enter with thirty‑two cash? Go back, scrape together enough, then come again."

The guard's nostrils flared arrogantly, truly frightening; the man's voice trembled with tears:

"Sir! Please spare me!"

"I myself just had my land confiscated, and was preparing to go to the city to rely on distant relatives—how could I have so much money? Let me in, and I'll make it up when I come out…"

"No more talk! No means no!"

The guard didn't even look at him anymore, his gaze already shifting to the next person:

"Rules are rules—pay to enter the city! If you can't come up with it, don't come in!"

The man stood frozen on the spot, bent over and lifted the pole back onto his shoulder; his shoulder swayed a bit, he didn't walk, nor dared to go inside.

He just stood there at the side of the city gate, the carrying pole pressing on his shoulder, the two baskets swaying slightly.

Next was an old woman about fifty, carrying a basket on her back containing some cloth; the pattern was faded, folded fairly neatly.

She had been timidly hiding at the back; seeing the officials approaching, she quickly waved her hand and said:

"Sir, I won't go in, I won't go in; I spent half a month weaving this cloth, and I might not even earn fifty cash..."

Although the cloth would sell better inside the city, it's not that it can only be sold inside.

One trip into the city costs more than you'd earn—how could that work?

Better not to go in at all from the start!

The short, stout soldier hadn't even spoken when he was shut down; momentarily embarrassed and angry, he reached out and shoved the old woman's shoulder.

The force was considerable, shoving the old woman so she staggered; her basket tilted and several bolts of cloth slipped out, falling onto the dust.

The old lady felt heartbroken, tears streaming, yet she could only press one hand on the basket and reach with the other for the rolling cloth, knees on the ground, her skirt smeared with dust.

Du Shanü watched this scene from horseback, her fingers tightening slightly on the reins.

Behind her, a few more people saw this and their expressions changed.

A young man muttered quietly:

"There's never been a rule about paying to enter the city. These officials must—"

Beside him, an old man tugged his sleeve and gave him a look, signaling him to stay quiet.

The short, stout soldier's ears were sharp; he heard it and glared:

"What nonsense about rules or not; the County Magistrate's rule is the rule!"

"If you want to blame someone, blame those who fled! The higher-ups said how much tax and grain to pay, you must pay that amount; now some can't pay, if you don't share the cost, who will? You can't expect the County Magistrate to make up the difference!"

He said this while patting the hilt of his waist sword, his tone carrying a deliberate, affected menace:

"Think it's too expensive? If you think it's too expensive, don't come in! Ju Cheng doesn't need a few of you!"

Upon saying that, a long silence fell.

Several townsfolk looked at each other, none daring to take another step forward.

The old woman who had been groping around finally gathered all the scattered items, kneeling on the ground and gently patting the cloth, as if lulling a baby to sleep.

But her expression was even more bewildered and helpless than when she was young.

The short, stout soldier had already ignored her; his gaze swept past her head and glanced over the main road outside the city—

Then it stopped.

His gaze fell on Du Shanü and Chinu behind her.

Two people, two horses.

The horses were fine mounts: bright coat, well-fed and sturdy; the tack wasn't flashy, but the leather was top-quality cowhide, and the brass fittings were polished to a shine.

As for the riders, needless to say: although their clothing wasn't particularly luxurious, their overall bearing and the way they sat on horseback set them apart from these pole‑carrying folk.

The short, stout soldier's eyes lit up a bit, as if he'd spotted something interesting.

He shifted his scabbard to the back, sucked in his gut, and walked toward them with a deliberately slow, affected stride.

His boot heels clicked on the stone paving.

Du Shanü lowered her eyelids slightly to conceal her thoughts, but did not move.

The short, stout soldier walked to three or four paces in front of the horses, then stopped, first sizing them up from head to toe, his gaze traveling from the horses' heads to their tails and back to the riders.

That look wasn't at people; it was more like appraising a commodity's value.

Then he spoke.

His voice was louder and harder than before, carrying a deliberately amplified tone meant to intimidate:

"Hey—you two! Riding inside the city is forbidden, didn't you know? Get down! All of you, get down!"

?? Chinu: I'm already annoyed that no one's coaxing me! I really want to turn you guys into red bean paste, red bean paste! (bad raccoon slave sharpening knife. jpg)