“This is from my mother.”

Grace Foster set down the package, took out a bone wrapped in meat from inside, and handed it to the elderly woman in front of him.

The old woman took the bone with trembling hands.

“Did you see your third brother? He said he was going to repair the stupa... Did he finish it?”

“I don’t know.”

The old woman was stunned for a moment. “Alright... wait here for me.”

She tottered back inside, and soon returned to Grace Foster.

“These two eggs, take them to your mother.”

“I made lunch at noon, I’ll have your third brother bring it to your house.”

Grace Foster nodded, took the things, and turned to leave.

The old woman stood at the doorway, watching Grace Foster's back, not moving even after he had walked far away.

Grace Foster arrived at the next courtyard.

A woman warmly invited Grace Foster into the yard.

“Is that Mr. Foster?”

“Let him in!”

A voice came from inside the house.

Grace Foster carried the meat into the dim inner room. A filthy man, reeking with a strong stench, lay on the couch. He struggled to sit up, but below his knees there were no lower legs—it was hard to say if this could even be called sitting.

The man’s face was twisted, his eyes full of unspeakable guilt.

“Sigh, all these years, I’ve really relied on your family’s help. I can hardly get out of bed anymore...”

“My mother says, that’s how neighbors should be.”

“And you taught me the Xianbei language, which has been very useful.”

The man’s face tensed. “You’ve seen Xianbei people?”

“Don’t go near those people... they’re vicious. They might take your head for military merit.”

Suddenly, the man looked at his wife, his expression turning irritable. “What are you standing there for?! Where’s the food? It’s so late and you still haven’t cooked, are you making Mr. Foster wait for nothing?”

“If it weren’t for what Mr. Foster brought, we wouldn’t even have anything to cook! How am I supposed to make food?”

The two of them started shouting at each other.

“I won’t eat, I still have a few more houses to deliver to.”

“Eat something before you go!!”

“Next time.”

“You child... give the boy something... something...”

The man looked around helplessly, fumbling with his hands, and finally gave a hopeless laugh. “Be careful on the road.”

Grace Foster was once again walking along the path.

Now, at last, there were some people to be seen—women, old people, children, disabled men.

They carried all sorts of tools, greeting Grace warmly.

Grace didn’t need to go to their homes anymore; he stopped them and handed out food to each one.

When he reached the farthest edge of the village, Grace Foster suddenly stopped and slowly looked to the left.

The gate of the courtyard was tightly shut, and faint sounds of crying came from inside.

The crying was full of sorrow.

Grace Foster quietly approached the courtyard, then kicked out with one foot. The wooden door couldn’t withstand such force and shattered, collapsing.

Inside the yard, a four- or five-year-old child was squatting at the doorstep. He looked up blankly, his face a dirty mess of tears and snot.

He was wrapped in an oversized coat that covered his whole body, only his head sticking out.

His eyes were swollen from crying, and he was shivering.

Grace Foster looked around. “Where’s your yéye?”

“Mr. Foster!”

Seeing someone familiar, the child started crying again.

“My yéye left before dawn yesterday, said he was going to find something to eat, and would come back after dark.”

“But he, he still hasn’t come back... I’m scared all alone...”

As he spoke, he started crying again.

“Stop crying!”

The little boy was so frightened he quickly covered his mouth, not daring to make a sound, sobbing silently.

Grace Foster dropped the package in his hand. “Pick it up and come with me. If you dare cry again, I’ll feed you to the fish.”

The little boy grabbed his coat, hurriedly picked up the package, and followed behind Grace Foster.

This time, Grace Foster was heading back, with a little tail following behind.

“Go away, go away!!”

A shout came from ahead.

A girl of about fifteen or sixteen, skin and bones, barefoot, her two legs as thin as bamboo sticks stuck in the mud.

She carried a bamboo basket on her back, heavy with yams, so full she couldn’t straighten up, her whole body covered in mud.

Standing in the middle was a fat man, his body covered in rolls of flesh, fan-like ears, layers of fat on his neck. Two sturdy attendants stood beside him.

The two attendants were tall, with round bellies, one on each side, heads held high, faces fierce.

“What are you so angry about? I just want to buy your yams, that’s all.”

“Don’t you want to sell?”

“You’re pretty clever, huh? It rained last night, and you went up the mountain to gather herbs this morning. These are all mixed with water...”

As he spoke, he reached out to grab the yams, but his hand seemed to be about to touch her face.

One of the guards quickly tugged at the fat man and pointed at Grace Foster in the distance.

When the three of them looked toward Grace, the girl quickly slipped away to the side. The fat man reached out to block her, but slowly lowered his hand.

He looked at Grace Foster and grinned, revealing black, rotten teeth.

“Mr. Foster... how’s your grandfather doing?”