The two of them spent a day and a night crossing the meadow, with the surrounding scenery gradually becoming desolate and barren, faint traces of war visible. During the day, they occasionally heard the distant sound of cavalry hooves, prompting them to quickly hide in the grass, holding their breath and not daring to move.

At night, they curled up under the starlight, finding a large tree, breaking off a few branches, and gathering some dry grass to lay under them, falling into an exhausted sleep. Hunger became their most frequent nightmare, their stomachs growling, the increasingly hard-to-ignore hunger making it difficult for them to sleep.

Scattered in the forest were some small red berries, uncertain if they were safe. After hesitating for a long time, Mo Wen tasted one, finding it bitter and hard to swallow, and had to spit it out. When thirsty, they could only use leaves to scoop some water from the river, unable to consider whether the water was clean.

They slowly moved along a dirt road, gradually encountering more of their kind, who appeared to be refugees. The refugees were of all ages, many carrying simple luggage, looking for the next safe place to stay, hoping to find a glimmer of hope in this desolate land. Some held their children's hands, comforting the hungry children to face the difficulties bravely.

Although not everyone was completely downcast, the faces of the refugees were still filled with fatigue and unease. Their clothes were covered in dust but not completely tattered. On both sides of the dirt road, the once lush trees, though damaged, still swayed gracefully, time not having completely erased their vitality.

The two young men sat silently by the roadside, confused about where to go, looking at the sparse yet long line in front of them, unsure whether to try to integrate into this unfamiliar environment. Their hungry stomachs growled again, constantly searching for possible food sources, but even the leaves on both sides of the dirt road had been plucked clean. They came to a small river by the road, a small river channel formed by rainwater, the water muddy, with no choice but to drink it.

They hadn't had proper food or water for two days and were now extremely thirsty, despite the small river being crowded with thirsty refugees. They found a less crowded spot and scooped up the muddy river water, but Mo Wen couldn't swallow it. Little Hong, not caring as much, was about to drink like the other refugees when a pregnant woman with a three or four-year-old child noticed them. She looked at their chapped lips and handed them a bamboo tube. Mo Wen gratefully accepted it; it was an old bamboo tube filled with fine hemp fibers and sand. When filled with water, clean water slowly dripped out from the bottom.

The pregnant woman was evidently experienced, and the elderly woman beside her secretly tugged at her. The pregnant woman waited for a while, seeing that the two young men were no longer thirsty, then reached out to take back the bamboo tube and left silently.

In this group, everyone was an insignificant part. In these days of scarcity, some were willing to share a bit of food, some were willing to share shelter. Although insignificant, in this special moment, every small act of kindness seemed particularly precious.

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The silence of the night was broken by the sound of an argument not far away. A group of relatively strong refugees surrounded an old man and several women, demanding that they share some food. The old man cursed angrily, but it was useless, and a physical fight soon broke out. The refugees roughly seized everything from the cart, even toppling it by the roadside. The old man was beaten until he was barely alive, lying on the ground.

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The surrounding refugees watched indifferently. Some were relieved it wasn't happening to them, while others mocked, "Hah, you're pushing a cart full of stuff, who else would they rob but you?" Others were worried. Such robberies were becoming more frequent and larger in scale over time. Even though the two people had nothing, they moved far up the hill to avoid getting caught in the chaos.

Suddenly, Little Hong nudged Mo Wen, who had been dozing off. Mo Wen peeked out and saw a pregnant woman and a child by the roadside, about a hundred meters away, their only large bundle being stolen by a group of kids, about twelve or thirteen years old. That was their only food and clothing. The pregnant woman clung desperately to the bundle, but one of the kids struck her head with a rock. She endured the pain and screamed hoarsely, but the bundle was still taken. She rushed toward the kids, trying to retrieve it, but they were more agile. They tossed the bundle to each other, taunting her helplessness, before running off. The old woman was also shoved to the ground, powerless to take back the bundle, and could only curse bitterly.

Mo Wen pulled Little Hong up, and the two quickly ran down the slope, but they were blocked by several strong refugees wielding wooden sticks. The leader, a refugee with narrow, triangular eyes, glared coldly at them. "Trying to play heroes?" It seemed like a nod from them would result in a club to their heads.

Mo Wen held Little Hong back, silently retreating. "It's a misunderstanding. We just wanted to see if there was anything left."

"Get lost, this is our turf!" The refugee lowered his guard and disdainfully drove them away.

The two exchanged a glance and quietly left but continued to observe coldly from the high ground.

"Why did you say that?" Little Hong asked, confused.

"Sigh, can't you see they're a gang? The adults outside are keeping watch. If we were stronger, they'd vanish. If we said we were helping the pregnant woman, they might even eat us."

"So, what do we do now?" Little Hong started to rely on Mo Wen's judgment.

"Let's wait and see!" Mo Wen began to plan slowly.

Little Hong pursed his lips, slightly dissatisfied.

This group didn't seem willing to let them go. The next day, with more people in tow, they found the two sleeping under a tree, kicked them awake, and after some pointless questioning, discovered they were of no value. They then threatened fiercely, "Don't say we didn't warn you—get lost! If we see you again, we'll beat you to death!"

Little Hong protested, "Why should we leave? We're all refugees…"

Before he could finish, Mo Wen pulled him away. "Big brother, this kid doesn't know when to stop talking, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

One of the thugs was about to lose his temper, but Mo Wen's words stopped him. Instead, he kicked Mo Wen in the butt. "Get lost, get lost!"

Mo Wen nodded apologetically, pulling Little Hong into the fields. Little Hong shot him a resentful look and muttered, "Coward!"

In the distance, the pregnant woman felt a wave of dizziness, her body unable to support her as she collapsed to the ground, holding her child tightly and weeping softly. Her vision blurred, her ears filled with the taunts of children and the sound of her own heartbeat. She didn't know how much longer she or her child could survive, or how long the baby inside her could last. All she knew was that she was gradually losing everything: home, family, memories, hope.

She stood there stiffly, clutching her child, while the surrounding refugees silently watched. No one reached out to help, no one spoke, no one showed a trace of sympathy. When survival becomes the issue, selfishness is human nature. But is selfishness wrong?

Selfishness, in most cases, doesn't violate the law, but it crosses the moral line. The moral line is meant to protect the most vulnerable, but rulers always promote the highest moral ideals.

That night, the pregnant woman, holding her child, threw herself into the river. No one knew when they would become bloated corpses washed up on the shore. The old woman awoke to find her daughter-in-law had drowned herself in the river, and spent the night cursing viciously. By the second half of the night, people discovered she had hanged herself from a tree.

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