Chapter 88: Judgment - Refugees Begging for Food

"Mother, save me, please save me!" The little girl's shrill pleas for help cut through the air, unbearably sharp.

Around her stood six or seven haggard, starving men, their expressions lewd as they molested the tiny child.

By now, the men had already eagerly manhandled the little girl and pinned her to the ground. She was utterly powerless to resist.

The girl was only seven or eight years old—far too young to understand what was happening or the horrifying, repulsive torment that awaited her. All she knew was blind terror, a vague sense that these men were about to do something unspeakably awful to her.

One of the men gave a sick chuckle and tore open the girl’s already tattered clothes.

Beneath the rags, her emaciated frame revealed ribs starkly visible under her skin—no sight to lust after. Yet the men breathed like rabid animals, their excitement growing.

"Mother, I'm scared, save me!" Tears carved tracks through the grime on her face, her features now indistinguishable.

The sound of fabric ripping struck the woman’s ears like thunder. The men’s filthy grunts were like demons crawling from the depths of hell, and each plea stabbed her heart like a knife.

With a scream, the woman threw herself forward. "Get away! All of you, get away! Don’t touch my Xiao Niang!" *[Xiao Niang = little girl/daughter]*

But she was too weak. Her feeble strength was nothing against several grown men. Her intrusion was like a lamb charging into a pack of wolves—it didn’t frighten them, only excited them further.

Someone shoved her to the ground beside her daughter, laughing excitedly. "Bonus!"

"Mother!" The little girl turned her head and saw her mother pinned down just as helplessly as she was. She saw the despair in her mother’s eyes, the tears streaming down her face.

"Mother, don’t cry!" The little girl mustered all her courage to speak. "Mother, go. Leave me. I’m not afraid of pain, or death, or being eaten. Once I’m dead, I won’t feel anything anyway."

The woman’s tears fell harder. She had always known life was bitter, but she had never feared hardship. Now, however, the world had become something terrifying. She didn’t understand how people could become so cruel—how they could devour each other, more savage than animals.

Nearby, a man stirred but was immediately held back by his companions. "Are you insane? You dare provoke those men? Do you want to die? She’s just another plaything—it’s not like she hasn’t served other men before."

The man stayed still after that, but he snarled at the leering group, "Take the brat—fuck her or feast on her! But the older one isn’t sold to you. You can have your fun, but leave her alive, or I’ll have no one to serve me."

The men didn’t respond—whether they hadn’t heard or were ignoring him was unclear.

"Xiao Niang, will you listen to your mother?" The woman could feel rough hands roaming over her body and see the same filthy hands groping her daughter. The agony was unbearable.

"I always listen to you, Mother." The little girl trembled with fear but nodded.

The woman’s eyes suddenly turned fierce, her voice resolute. "Xiao Niang, if you obey me, set your jaw to bite through your tongue—now!"

The little girl’s wide eyes spilled fresh tears, but in that instant, her gaze suddenly seemed much older, as if she suddenly understood something.

She nodded firmly. "Okay, I’ll listen to you, Mother."

The next moment, she prepared to bite down hard—but suddenly, the foul, groping hands vanished. In the next instant, she was pulled into a familiar embrace. Looking up, she saw her mother’s worried face and heard her frantic voice. "Xiao Niang, are you hurt?"

The little girl curled tightly into her mother’s arms like a baby bird, her eyes full of trust and dependence. "Mother, I’m okay."

The men had no idea what had happened before they were sent sprawling, groaning in pain. One scrambled up, snarling, "Who the hell dares interfere with us?"

"I do." A cold voice rang out above them. The first thing they saw was a pair of black official boots. When the man looked up, he was met with the coldly handsome face of Bing Wengu, clad in magistrate’s robes.

"A-a official?" The man’s bravado vanished. Terrified, he scrambled to his knees at Bing Wengu’s feet.

Your Honor, I beg you..." The woman, clutching her daughter’s hand, also knelt before him. "Save my child! Save Xiao Niang!"

"Shut your damn mouth!" The man glared at her, his voice a low, venomous threat.

Bing Wengu lifted his foot and kicked the man hard in the chest, sending him flipping head over heels, blood spraying from his mouth.

The other men trembled in fear. One of them found the nerve to defend himself: "Your Honor, spare us! You can't blame us—we traded food for this child, and the woman was handed over to us by Wang San. We paid silver for her—it’s all legal, Your Honor!"

Bing Wengu turned to the woman and asked, "Did you consent when your husband gave you to others?"

The woman shook her head. "I beg Your Honor to rule for me—I did not agree."

Bing Wengu then asked the little girl, "Did you willingly agree when your father sold you?"

The woman quickly whispered for the girl to deny it, and the child timidly shook her head.

The woman's husband and the girl's father jumped up and shouted, "I am her heaven, I am her father—I am their heaven! I can sell them if I want!"

"Hah..." Bing Wengu sneered. "Today this official will teach you who’s really heaven here!"

"The laws of Great Yong decree that wives may not be casually bought or sold for entertainment—violators shall be sentenced to two years of penal servitude. Parents or grandparents who sell their children or grandchildren shall receive an even harsher punishment—four years of servitude."

This law was not fabricated by Bing Wengu but was indeed written in the legal code.

High-ranking families trading people never signed direct contracts of sale—they’d take roundabout methods, essentially exploiting legal loopholes. Such practices existed in every dynasty, and no one could stop them entirely.

As for commoners selling wives and daughters, it was just tacitly tolerated—not legal, but the authorities turned a blind eye unless a formal complaint was made.

"Your Honor, how can this be? I am their husband and father—their lives belong to me!"

"If you are ignorant of the law, then you shall enter prison and learn it properly." Bing Wengu waved to the imperial guards behind him. "First, give each of these men twenty strokes of the heavy paddle, then take them to the yamen and throw them in jail."

Jiang Jinghuai had long despised these men and strode forward with his guards, seizing them and delivering the punishment.

These guards were all Young Nobles from the capital, born into wealthy, illustrious families, and they found such things absolutely revolting. Thus, they struck with brutal force—within two strokes, the men were screaming for their parents, and by four, their skin split and flesh tore.

One of the men who had bullied the little girl couldn’t bear it and wailed, "Your Honor, spare me! Zhang San is the one who committed the crime of selling his wife and daughter—we didn’t commit any crime!"

"The buyer is as guilty as the seller," Bing Wengu coldly declared.

The guards increased their force, beating the pleading man into silent agony.

By the time the twenty strokes were finished, the men were more dead than alive.

Bing Wengu turned to the woman. "Your husband has wronged you first. This official sees that your marriage ties are severed and is willing to grant you a separation (pi-li). Do you agree?"

This was Bing Wengu’s offer—if she had the courage, she could escape this quagmire.

Suddenly, the woman felt a sharp pain in her arm. She looked down and saw the little girl gazing at her with pleading eyes.

The woman clutched the child’s hand and kowtowed heavily to Bing Wengu. "Your Honor, you saw what happened earlier. If I divorce, my little daughter would surely die."

Bing Wengu asked again, "How many children do you and Wang San have?"

"We have two—my little daughter and a son," the woman replied.

"Is that child still alive? If so, where is he now?" Bing Wengu pressed.

"Over there."

Following the woman’s finger, Bing Wengu saw a boy hiding behind six or seven people. When their eyes met, the boy flinched and averted his eyes in shame.

So her son had been present the whole time—hiding behind relatives, watching coldly as his father sold his sister and gave his mother away like property, letting them be violated without lifting a finger.

The refugees were all skin and bones, and Bing Wengu couldn't immediately tell the boy's age. "How old is your son now?"

"Fourteen," the woman replied, lowering her head as she spoke of her son, her eyes betraying her grief.

In truth, she had once loved her son more than her daughter. But after all they'd suffered fleeing the famine, her heart—just as human as anyone’s—had been hurt too many times.

Fourteen! At that age, whether in Dayong or the interstellar era, he was no kids anymore. He was old enough to know better.

Especially in Dayong, where boys of fifteen or sixteen could already marry, father children, and take on the roles of husband and father—no kids anymore. You couldn’t just brush off his actions with "He’s just a kid" anymore.

Bing Wengu turned his gaze away in disgust. "Perfect. You and Wang San have one son and one daughter. Since Wang San is about to serve a prison sentence—whether he’ll even survive is uncertain—it’s only right someone’s gotta keep the family name going. Therefore, I rule that the boy shall remain with Wang San, while the girl goes with you. Each of you will raise one child, with no need for either to pay child support. Fair’s fair."

The woman was overjoyed. "Thank you, sir! A thousand thanks!"

"I ain’t agreein’ to no divorce," Wang San gasped weakly.

Bing Wengu shook his head. "You’re the guilty one here—you sold your own wife. Your say don’t matter—only hers does."

Wang San knew his wife would never abandon Xiao Niang. If he could keep Xiao Niang, his wife wouldn’t leave him.

"What ’bout Xiao Niang? She’s my blood, a Wang!"

"Unfortunately, you are also guilty of selling your daughter," Bing Wengu said with feigned regret. "If she were left in your custody, she might be sold again. So she goes to your ex-wife. No choice. In fact, I’m doing you a favor. Given that you’re about to be imprisoned, raising two children would be too difficult for you. By splitting them between you, each taking one, it’s fair’s fair."

Bing Wengu turned to Jiang Jinghuai and the imperial guards behind him. "Do you find my judgment fair and just?"

Jiang Jinghuai led the chorus: "Fair’s fair! Your Honor is truly a righteous official!"

Bing Wengu then turned to the men who had assaulted the girl and woman, now battered and bloodied. "And you? Do you find my ruling in this divorce case fair and just?"

Half-dead and scared stiff, the men blurted, "Fair’s fair! Fair’s fair!"

Bing Wengu nodded in satisfaction.

Nobody could out-scheme Bing Wengu.

Wang San, boiling with rage, finally gave out. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

Putting on his best grave face, Bing Wengu nodded. "It seems the involved parties have no objections. Then I’ll write up the divorce papers. Once you press your fingerprints to it, the divorce will be finalized."

He ordered someone to fetch paper and brush from the carriage, meticulously recording the reasons for the divorce and the custody arrangements for the children. The woman and girl thumbprinted the paper.

As for Wang San—out cold—the guards didn’t bother waking him and dealt with the hassle themselves. They just mashed his thumb onto the paper. Then they marched up to Wang Xiaolang and impatiently forced him to do the same.

Bing Wengu distributed the three copies of the divorce decree: one to Wang Xiaolang, one to the woman, and kept one for official records.

"Where’s your ancestral home?" Bing Wengu asked the woman.

"I’m from Jixian, sir," she replied.

So she was one of his own constituents—this matter had been handled correctly after all.

"I am the newly appointed magistrate of Jixian County. This convoy’s hauling famine relief. If you trust me, follow behind the procession and return to Jixian. All I can promise is you’ll live if you go back."

"Thank you, sir." The woman hugged the girl and kowtowed hard.

As Bing Wengu turned to leave, a refugee suddenly stepped forward to block his path.

Jiang Jinghuai immediately moved to shield him, his sword out, steel glinting deadly. "Back off! One more step and you’re dead!"

Subsequently, the palace guards behind Jiang Jinghuai drew their swords, the sharp blades gleaming coldly under the sunlight.

The refugees, seeing this, didn't dare come closer, their eyes filled with regret.

"Your Honor, since you are the newly appointed magistrate of Ji County, and we are refugees who fled from Ji County, could you spare some of the famine relief grain for us? We are truly starving to death—we only sell our wives and daughters to survive. Your Honor, with food to eat, who would willingly sell their wives and daughters or resort to swapping children to eat?"

This refugee’s argument sounded reasonable, even convincing, at least resonating with some of the refugees present, as others quickly joined the plea.

Bing Wengu’s icy gaze pierced through the man, making him shiver from head to toe, as if a large predator had locked onto him, sending chills down his spine.

"If you’re truly starving to death, why not sell yourselves and exchange your flesh for your wives and children to eat? Why must you sell your wives and daughters to feed yourselves?" Bing Wengu’s question left the refugee speechless.

Jiang Jinghuai let out a loud, derisive snort behind Bing Wengu.

These refugees had been reduced to this state—long abandoning any sense of propriety or shame—so how could they care about a few jeers?

"Then, Your Honor, please have mercy on us. To prevent further sacrifices and end cannibalism, leave us some grain!"

"Please, Your Honor, save us!"

"Please, Your Honor, save us!"

The refugees echoed in unison, dropping to their knees before Bing Wengu.

Bing Wengu glanced at the leading refugee, seeing right through him. The man thought that since Bing Wengu had saved the girl and child and was young, he could be easily manipulated—exploiting his compassion with a mix of pitiful pleas and coercion to obtain grain.

But this precedent could not be set.

First, this was famine relief grain—who had ever heard of distributing it all before reaching the affected region?

Second, if this door were opened, refugees from all over would flock here. Once the grain was exhausted, what would happen to the people who had stayed behind in Ji County? What about this year’s seed stock? Without seeds, the land would remain fallow, yielding no harvest by year’s end, leaving the people to suffer again the following year.

Lastly, distributing famine relief grain midway was a grave offense. At best, Bing Wengu would be stripped of his position; at worst, he would face execution.

Bing Wengu addressed the kneeling refugees loudly, "Distributing famine relief grain midway is impossible. As I’ve said, if you trust me, those with Ji County household registration may follow me back. At the very least, I can ensure the people of Ji County do not starve to death."

The leading refugee suddenly grew agitated. "Return to Ji County? Do you think we don’t know? The Imperial Astronomical Bureau has already predicted that Ji County will endure at least five years of drought, with two more years to go! You want us to go back? Even if we have seed stock, with no water to irrigate in the summer, the crops will wither, leaving us with nothing by year’s end. What will we eat and drink then? We’ll just be waiting to die!"

Bing Wengu frowned slightly. How had news of the Imperial Astronomical Bureau’s prediction of a five-year drought in Ji County spread there? For the sake of stabilizing the people and maintaining social order, the Emperor should have kept such information tightly under wraps. How could it have leaked so easily and reached Ji County?

"Who told you this rumor?" Bing Wengu asked.

"It’s all over Ji County—every street and alley knows."

It seemed someone had deliberately spread the rumor to shake public confidence. No doubt, the culprit was targeting him.

"My stance remains unchanged: famine relief grain will only be distributed upon reaching Ji County."

With that, Bing Wengu wheeled around to leave with his retinue.

"Your Honor, save us! We don’t want to die—give us some grain!" The leading refugee made a desperate lunge at Bing Wengu and his party.

Bing Wengu was tall and powerfully built—earlier, he had kicked a grown man hard enough to make him vomit blood, a testament to his strength.

The leading refugee knew he stood no chance against Bing Wengu—he might not even get close—so he instead rushed toward Nan Jinping.

Nan Jinping, as Bing Wengu’s family member, was accompanying him to Ji County for his official post. She was wearing male clothing, so everyone present knew she was a *shuang er*.

People tend to follow the crowd—once one person moved, others quickly followed.

Bing Wengu moved swiftly as the wind, reacting instantly. He drew Jiang Jinghuai's sword from his side in one fluid motion, spun around, and cut the refugee's throat in one motion. Blood gushed out as Bing Wengu unfurled his wide sleeve to shield Nan Jinping's face, ensuring the blood splattered only on himself.

The refugee's eyes remained wide open in death, as if unable to believe his life had ended so abruptly.

He collapsed heavily onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The warm blood of the refugee acted like a bucket of cold water, snapping the other desperate refugees out of their frenzy.

Those who had begun to move or were about to lunge froze in place, eyeing Bing Wengu and his group warily, no longer daring to advance.

Jiang Jinghuai and the imperial guards shielded Bing Wengu, who in turn protected Nan Jinping with his bloodstained sword. The group swiftly withdrew and returned to their convoy.

Meanwhile, trailing at the back of the procession, a woman followed closely, gripping a little girl’s hand tightly.

Once back in the carriage, Jiang Jinghuai retrieved his sword and cast a concerned glance at Nan Jinping.

"Is this the first time you've seen someone killed, Jin Geer? Are you frightened?" Jiang Jinghuai asked.

"It's alright," Nan Jinping replied weakly, forcing a weak smile. In truth, he was still rattled, but Bing Wengu never let go of his hand, even after they boarded the carriage, which eased his fear somewhat.

Jiang Jinghuai looked between Bing Wengu and Nan Jinping. "Jin Geer, I know you're kind-hearted. But in that situation, if Yuan Ting hadn't set an example, those refugees might have rioted. So don’t hold it against Yuan Ting."

Nan Jinping glanced at Bing Wengu. "Of course I don’t blame Yuan Ting. Jinghuai, do you take me for someone so unreasonable?"

"Of course not," Jiang Jinghuai quickly clarified.

"You’d better head back," Bing Wengu signaled to Jiang Jinghuai. "We've lingered here too long. It's time to move on."

After Jiang Jinghuai left the carriage, Bing Wengu lifted the curtain. "Have someone keep an eye on that mother and daughter at the back of the convoy. I fear they might be in danger."

"Understood. I’ll make sure they’re guarded."

As the convoy pushed forward, Bing Wengu peered out the carriage window toward the rear. A handful seemed to have decided to trust him, silently following behind.

However, their numbers were few.

Sure enough, the next day, Jiang Jinghuai reported to Bing Wengu that someone had attempted to target the mother and daughter the previous night. Fortunately, the ever-watchful imperial guards stepped in just in time and rescued them once more.

The convoy pushed forward and finally entered the prefectural city. After paying respects to the prefectural magistrate, Bing Wengu wasted no time and immediately set out for Ji County.

The county town of Ji was desolate. Though it should have been the busy farming season, the fields lay untended and barren.

Bing Wengu noticed the trees along the road stripped bare of bark, and some were even resorting to eating clay.

At first, the refugees barely reacted to Bing Wengu’s arrival, their expressions blank, as if unsure of his purpose. Then, someone in the crowd shouted that the government relief grain had arrived, and the refugees suddenly perked up, quickly mobbing the supplies.

Jiang Jinghuai and the imperial guards drove back the advancing refugees, waving their swords as a warning rather than with intent to harm.

At last, Bing Wengu and his group arrived at the Ji County government office. When word spread of the new magistrate’s arrival, a messenger rushed in to alert County Magistrate Yuan.