This was a dog-eat-dog era. Mai Zi’s thin face was marked by sagging bags under her eyes, which stood out starkly. Her lips were so dry they were peeling in patches, and years of chronic hunger left her body feeling constantly weak.
Perhaps she should sing a little tune, like “Little Cabbage,” but she was even more bitter than a little cabbage. After all, there were no little cabbages in this world—only wild vegetable roots.
As for fine grains like millet, those were luxuries for high officials and nobles. All a village girl could afford was a single daily meal of water-soaked beans, known as shu. These beans were sour and astringent, yet Mai Zi’s stomach accepted them nonetheless.
A great drought was coming. In Mai Zi’s memory, this village would embark on a journey to escape the famine in just two or three months. The riverbed was already nearly exposed, reduced to a flow no larger than a small stream. The village wells would run dry in another month.
Mai Zi wanted to live. Even though the world was bitter and her stomach cramped with pain, she was fortunately blessed with an eight-square-meter Rental House Space. It contained nothing, but with its existence, she had a chance at survival.
