The woman's face twists in disgust, her grip on the knife unsteady. "You—you're a monster…stay away from us." She attempts to turn away, but Xu Qingge's hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist with bruising force. The paring knife clatters to the ground as the woman gasps in pain.
"You know I'm right," Xu Qingge murmurs, her breath warm against the woman's ear. "Those kids back there—you know they wouldn't survive without you. And eventually, they'll become a liability. You don't have to say it out loud. I can see it in your eyes. You're already thinking it."
The woman trembles, a single tear tracking down her withered face. "No…" she whispers, more to herself than to Xu Qingge.
Xu Qingge releases the woman's wrist, letting her stumble back several steps. She watches as the woman bends to pick up her knife, hands unsteady. The woman stands there, knife dangling at her side, tears still tracking down her face. The thoughts warring in her head are visible—the shame battling against cold logic, Xu Qingge grins wider, enjoying the discomfort like a child playing with a particularly vicious toy.
"What if…" The woman's voice is faint now, her throat dry with fear. "What if we give you some food? Just some. Not much. Just enough so you don't… don't…" She can't bring herself to say it.
Xu Qingge hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one finger. "Mmm… I dunno. That's kinda boring."
The woman's shoulders sag slightly at the refusal, her fingers twitching around the knife's handle. A few feet away, by the campfire, Xu Qingge can see the others watching the exchange—half a dozen people in total. Their body language says everything. They're torn between hoping the old woman can drive Xu Qingge off and wondering what's in the bag.
"I'll tell you what—I'll give you this duffle bag for some food. In this bag holds… things I've gathered: a handful of cans of beans, spam, small packets of instant noodles, dried squid, preserved mustard greens, pickled bamboo shoots, vacuum-sealed pork floss, hard candies and so on. You get what I'm saying right?" Xu Qingge pauses, waiting expectantly for the woman's answer.
"Yes, I guess so," the woman replies, wiping her sleeve across her nose, eyes darting nervously between the now open bag of canned goods and Xu Qingge who's really a woman of her word, it's everything she would be willing to offer.
A greedy little smile reaches across the woman's face as she quickly reaches out to seize the duffle bag hanging loosely at Xu Qingge's side.
Xu Qingge lets the older woman take the bag and stares at the people coldly, and they rush over and begin digging through the bag like wild dogs sniffing at meat.
"Now what food are you gonna give me in return?" Xu Qingge asks, smiling widely.
The old woman looks like she wants to spit on Xu Qingge, but she refrains, already arrogant from receiving such a reward and thinking Xu Qingge is stupid for giving away such precious things. "I know you wanted some food from us, but let's add on to the deal. I'll give a bowl of that soup cooked plus a child, yes? This is Jiang Tai, he's a useful kid. He can run fast. I've seen him before."
Xu Qingge says nothing as the old woman brings forth a boy in skin and bone, shaggy overgrown hair over the eyes and mouth, looking miserable and tired. His thin, wiry frame seems even thinner in death, his ribs poking through his tattered clothes.
"Hey, hey, kid," the old woman coos, holding a bowl to the boy's lips. Jiang Tai chokes and spits out a mouthful of soup.
"Suck it up! This stuff won't poison you; if you die from it you won't feel any pain. See? It's just soup. You won't die. Eat!"
Jiang Tai takes a long sip and swallows it down with difficulty. When he opens his mouth again, he tries to speak, but only coughs out more broth.
The woman sighs loudly, her eyes narrowing. "You see that I just fed him? He won't go hungry on the road with you, will he?"
Xu Qingge shrugs indifferently, walking past the woman and squatting next to Jiang Tai. "Hey," she says softly, staring down at the boy whose gaze remains fixed on the ground, seemingly not wanting to look at Xu Qingge or acknowledge her presence at all. Xu Qingge pats his cheek gently to elicit a response, but nothing.
Xu Qingge isn't foolish. She got that 'food' from the corpse of a zombie—she killed it earlier and found a crystal lodged in its skull; when she broke it, the power to alter perception slipped into her. The thing is, all these people will die; they aren't actually eating food but zombie limbs and guts.
And besides, in the novel, this was a wicked group of people. They sold off children for scraps of food, forcing the little ones to beg, starve, and fight over every crumb, while the adults gorged themselves full. They laughed when a child fell, when a small hand was bitten, when hunger drove a boy or girl to desperation. They took pleasure in suffering, in bending innocence to their will.
The children tremble as she approaches, clutching their tattered blankets, but she ignores them, focused only on the older ones scrambling for the duffle bag.
"Do you mind if I take all of these children? I gave you enough to feed yourselves for a month," Xu Qingge says, voice light, almost conversational, the words sliding out like a bargain. "And I can always get you more."
"Yes, yes — I don't care what you do with them," the woman blurts, eyes already on the open duffle, hands trembling as she scoops out a 'tin'.
Xu Qingge smiles, small and satisfied. "Good. Then it's settled." She steps forward, and ushers the children to follow her.
"Follow me," she says softly, almost kindly, her voice carrying a calm authority that chills as much as it reassures. The children obey, their wide eyes downcast, some trembling as they clutch one another. Xu Qingge doesn't look back at the adults—they're irrelevant now she can already imagining them convulsing violently, vomiting blood, and writhing in the illusion of sustenance.
They'll only suffer more by living in constant starvation from this point forward; and when the hunger finally devours them, they will realize too late that no one cared, that their screams were meaningless — and perhaps, that is the cruelest mercy of all.